“So do I,” answered Newland. “Slow coaches are apt to break down as often as fast ones.”
Another bell now rang loudly, and the boys all hurried away downstairs to the schoolroom. Digby accompanied Paul. He felt several fellows push against his back, to throw him downstairs, but he was on his guard; and one of them, to the fellow’s surprise, he lifted up on his shoulders, and, without difficulty, carried him down to the next landing-place, where he bumped him pretty hard against the wall. Another, not seeing what had occurred, tried the same trick. Digby, putting his hands suddenly behind his back, seized him, and had carried him down, holding the boy’s arms tight, and was beginning to bump him, when he felt his own ears pulled, and a voice exclaiming—
“Vat you do dat for? Is dat de way you new boy is going to behave here?”
Digby guessed that it was Monsieur Guillaume, the French master, who was thus addressing him.
“He tried to push me downstairs, sir; and I wish to show him that two can play at most games of that sort,” answered Digby, quietly.
“Ah, I do not tink you say de truth, you,” exclaimed the French master, angrily. “He is a good boy; my protégé; speak French well. Put him down, I say. Tommy Bray, come here; you not hurt, my poor boy?”
Digby put Tommy Bray on his feet, who accompanied Monsieur Guillaume into the schoolroom, where Paul and Digby followed.
“The Frenchman has given you a fair specimen of himself. He is the most uncertain, fickle little fellow I ever met. He bullies all the little fellows except his favourites, or protégés, as he calls them, and makes up to the older ones, who are big enough to thrash him, if they like. He spites those who don’t learn French, because he is not paid for them. He is always trying, therefore, to get new pupils. However, I do not believe that he is really bad tempered when he has his own way. He has been soured by loss of property; and having to live out of la belle France. And do you know, Heathcote, I really do believe that an usher at a school like this, when no one is exactly master, and the big boys have it much their own way, has a good deal to put up with.”
“I should think so,” observed Digby, as they entered the schoolroom.
They went to their desks. Mr Yates read prayers, and though everybody was cold and hungry, lessons began.