“Very well, then,” said Paul, “we need not hurry. You are to sleep in our room, I find. I have gone through a good deal from the fellows there, though they now let me alone. You’ll not have a pleasant night of it, I am afraid. I wish that I could help you.”
“You can help me,” exclaimed Digby, who had been been silent for some time, as they went upstairs. “I have made up my mind how to act. Is there no one who would support you?”
“Yes; I think that there is one, Farnham. He is a good sort of fellow, but he generally sides with the majority. However, if he sees anything done in a spirited way, it would take with him.”
“Then I’ll do it,” cried Digby. “There are no very big fellows who could thrash me easily.”
“There are two or three a good deal bigger than you are; and I don’t think that you could thrash them.”
“I don’t mind that,” answered Digby. “They would find me very tough, at all events, if they attempt to thrash me. You go into the room first; it won’t do to let it appear as if we had formed any plan together.”
Newland seemed highly delighted at Digby’s proposal, and ran on into the room, which was at the end of a long passage.
Digby followed in a few seconds. He had noted well the position of the bed Mrs Pike had told him was to be his, so he walked straight up to it. Susan had placed his night-shirt and night-cap on the pillow. A lamp, with a tin reflector, placed against the wall, over the wash-hand places, gave light to the room. Most of the boys had already got their clothes off, and had tumbled into bed; they were laughing, and talking, and cutting jokes with each other.
Paul had begun to undress. Presently one of them, directly opposite Digby’s bed, put up his head, and said—
“Ah, Master Digby Heathcote, son of Squire Heathcote, of Bloxholme Hall, how are you?”