To Tom Topover, the most galling feature of the discipline was in the fact that no notice had been taken of him. Even his companions would have no intercourse with him. He was shut up in the brig, and as fully ignored as though he had been dead and buried. But he had decided not to study his lessons, and he could not give up. He spent a miserable night in the gloom of the dark prison. His breakfast was brought to him in the morning, but it was the same as his dinner and his supper the day before. Without a word of explanation, he was conducted back to his chamber, and locked into it. The book he had brought from the schoolroom was there.
All he had to do in order to end his term of imprisonment, was to learn the lesson assigned to him. The book was a simple treatise on natural philosophy. He was not required to commit any thing to memory, only to read over the first half-dozen pages. It was simply a question of will. He had refused even to look into the book. No one came near him during the forenoon, and he hardly heard a sound. His slices of bread and butter, and his glass of water, came to him at noon.
"How long have I got to stand this thing?" asked Tom, in a tone of utter disgust, when Bates put his dinner on the table.
The old man made no reply to him, and would not even look at him. He would not come again till supper-time; and Tom saw that he must back down then, or there would be no chance to do so before night. But he had not the moral courage to say he would learn his lesson. When the door was locked upon him, he picked up the book; but, before he had looked into it, he began to cry, though he was a great fellow of fifteen. It took him an hour to get over this feeling of depression, and then he looked into the book. He began to read the lesson which had been assigned to him.
It was simple reading, and about matters within his comprehension. Before he realized that he was actually engaged in learning the lesson assigned to him, he was interested in the subject. It had been chosen for this reason,—that he could hardly help enjoying what he read. He found a solace in the book during the afternoon; and, when his supper was brought to him, he informed Bates that he had learned his lesson. The old man did not say a word, even to hint that he heard him; but, in a few minutes, Mr. Darlingby appeared. He had nothing to say on the question of discipline, but took the book at once, and proceeded to examine Tom on the first pages. The rebellious pupil was well posted in every thing he had read, and had studied far beyond the task assigned to him.
All the instructor did when he had finished the recitation, was to inform him that he was at liberty to leave his room. He made no remarks, did not preach to him, or even point a moral from the events of his imprisonment. Tom went out of the room, and descended the stairs. The students were just coming out of the mansion after their supper, and they were hurrying to the boat-house. Tom showed himself among them; but not one of them manifested any surprise at seeing him, or said a word to him about his conduct.
All this was very strange. He hastened to Kidd Digfield when he saw him coming, and was thinking how he should explain to his crony the fact that he had given in. He had yielded, and that was a thing he was not in the habit of doing; and he felt that some apology was necessary to atone for his wickedness.
"We are going to row in the Gildrock," said Kidd, as soon as he saw his defeated chief. "There is a place for you in the boat, Tom."
"All right: I shouldn't mind taking a turn at the oars," replied Tom, as they were joined by Nim and Pell.
"You are No. 11, next to the stroke oar," added Nim.