“Well, what do you find that he has got?”
Spiller looked big enough to keep in awe a dozen such little fellows as Paul Newland, but he seemed in no way inclined to pick a quarrel with him.
“Nothing that I know of,” he answered. “We have been merely talking about things in general; have we not, Heathcote? It will soon be bed-time, or I should like to have heard more about your part of the country. I’ll get you to tell me to-morrow. Good-night, Heathcote.” Saying this, he moved away.
“I’m glad I came back when I did,” sail Newland. “That fellow is the most notorious sponge in the school. We call him Spongy Spiller. He makes friends with all the new fellows, and sticks like a leech to them as long as they have a piece of cake, or a lump of barley-sugar, or anything else in their boxes, which he can get hold of. His desk is full of things, which, he says, were given him, but which he has, in reality, sponged out of fellows. About your box; unless there is anything in it which won’t keep, just don’t open it for a day or two, till you are able to judge for yourself a little of fellows. To-morrow is a half-holiday, and you will better see what the different fellows really are.”
Digby said he would take his advice, for he felt sure that he might trust him. Both Newland and Spiller were strangers, but, when comparing the two, he did not for a moment hesitate as to which was most worthy of his confidence.
Just then the bell rang; and Paul told him they were to have prayers. He expected to see Mr Sanford; but instead, Mr Yates entered the head-master’s desk, and saying that he was too unwell to come into the schoolroom, read a very brief form of prayer, while the boys knelt up on the forms at their desks.
Digby was not surprised to find very little attention or reverence, for though Mr Yates read slowly, in a loud voice, there was a something in his tone which showed that the devotional spirit was not there.
The moment prayers were over, the boys rushed off upstairs. The lamps were put out by a man in a fustian coat, whom Digby had not seen before. Digby found Paul by his side.
“Come along quickly, or you will have an apple-pie bed made,” he said, in a low voice. “You ought to have been out one of the first.”
“Never mind,” answered Digby, laughing. “I know how to unmake it fast enough. I have done such a thing as make one myself.”