“As the gentleman who has just sat down has poured so many bottles of wrath—”
“Bottles of French varnish,” suggested Henderson—“on our heads generally, I must be allowed to make a few remarks in reply. His speech consisted of nothing but rabid abuse; without a shred of argument.”—“Rabid fact without a shred of fudge,” interpolated Henderson.
“If for every trifling freak fellows were to be telling the monitors, we had better inaugurate at once the era of sneaks and cowards.”
“Era of sham polish and fiddlestick ends,” echoed Henderson; and Mackworth, who had every intention of making a very flourishing speech, was so disconcerted by this unwonted pruning of his periods, that he somewhat abruptly sat down, muttering anathemas on Henderson, and flustered quite out of his usual bland manner.
“Something has been said about cowardice and sneaking,” said Whalley, getting up. “I should like to know whether you think it more cowardly to fight a fellow twice one’s size, and to mark him pretty considerably too” (a remark which Whalley unceremoniously emphasised by pointing at Harpour’s black eye), “or to lay a plot to frighten in the dark a mere child, very nervous and very timid, who has never harmed any one in his life.”
Next, Howard Tracy, addressing the meeting, running his hand occasionally through his hair, “would put the question on a different footing altogether. As to what had been done to Eden, he stood on neutral ground, and gave no opinion. But who, he asked, were these monitors that they should thrash any one at all? He had never heard that they were of particularly good families, or that they had anything whatever which gave them a claim to interfere with other fellows. The question was, whether a parcel of monitors were to domineer over the school?”
“The question was nothing of the kind!” said Franklin very bluntly; “it was, whether big bullies, like Harpour, were to be at perfect liberty to frighten fellows into idiots or beat them into mummies, at their own will and pleasure? That was the only question. Harpour or Somers—bullies or monitors—which will you have, boys?”
And after this arose a perfect hubbub of voices. Some got up and ridiculed the monitors; others extolled Harpour, and tried to make out that he was misused for being called to account for a mere frolic; others taunted Evson and Henderson with a conspiracy against their private enemies. On the whole, they were nearly unanimous in agreeing that the school should prevent the monitors from any exercise of their authority.
And then, in the midst of the hubbub, Power rose, “in act more graceful,” and there was an immediate and general call for silence. To the great majority of the boys, Power was hardly known except by name and by sight; but his school successes, his rare ability, his stainless character, and many personal advantages, commanded for him the highest admiration. His numerous slight acquaintances in the school all liked his pleasant and playful courtesy, and were proud to know him; his few friends entertained for him an almost extravagant affection. His ancient name, his good family, and the respect due to his high position in the school, would alone have been sufficient to gain him a favourable hearing; but, besides this, he had hitherto come forward so little, that there was a strong curiosity to see what line he would take, and how he would be able to speak. There were indeed a few who were most anxious to silence him as quickly as possible, knowing what effect his words would be likely to produce; and when he began, they raised several noisy interruptions; but Kenrick, for very shame, was obliged at first to demand for him the attention which, after the first sentence or two, his quiet, conciliatory, and persuasive manner effectually secured.
Reviewing the whole tumultuary discussion, he began by answering Kenrick. After alluding to the long course of bullying which had been ended in this manner, he appealed to the common sense of the meeting whether the thing could be regarded as a mere joke, when they remembered Eden’s tender age and highly susceptible nature? Was it not certain, and must it not have been obvious to the bullies, that serious, if not desperately dangerous results must follow? What those results had been was well-known, and in describing what he had seen of them in the sickroom only half an hour before, Power made a warm appeal to their feelings of pity and indignation—an appeal which every one felt to be manly, and which could not fail of being deeply touching, because it was both simple and natural.