"I knew it must come, Eric," said Russell at last, "and I am so sorry you didn't speak at the time."
"Do the fellows ever talk in that way in either of your dormitories?" asked Eric.
"No," said Russell.
"Very little," said Montagu.
A pause followed, during which all three plucked the grass and looked away.
"Let me tell you," said Russell solemnly; "my father (he is dead now you know, Eric), when I was sent to school, warned me of this kind of thing. I had been brought up in utter ignorance of such coarse knowledge as is forced upon one here, and with my reminiscences of home, I could not bear even that much of it which was impossible to avoid. But the very first time such talk was begun in my dormitory I spoke out. What I said I don't know, but I felt as if I was trampling on a slimy poisonous adder, and, at any rate, I showed such pain and distress that the fellows dropped it at the time. Since then I have absolutely refused to stay in the room if ever such talk is begun. So it never is now, and I do think the fellows are very glad of it themselves."
"Well," said Montagu, "I don't profess to look on it from the religious ground, you know, but I thought it blackguardly, and in bad taste, and said so. The fellow who began it, threatened to kick me for a conceited little fool, but he didn't; and they hardly ever venture on that ground now."
"It is more than blackguardly--it is deadly," answered Russell; "my father said it was the most fatal curse which could ever become rife in a public school."
"Why do masters never give us any help or advice on these matters?" asked Eric thoughtfully.
"In sermons they do. Don't you remember Rowlands' sermon not two weeks ago on Kibroth-Hattaavah? But I for one think them quite right not to speak to us privately on such subjects, unless we invite confidence. Besides, they cannot know that any boys talk in this way. After all, it is only a very few of the worst who ever do."