I
had no special friend as yet; Rupert had stuck to me all the first
day, and had now left me to find my own level. I had lingered near the
door as we came out, and there Weston had joined me. He now led me
back into the deserted school-room, and we sat down together on an old
black oak locker, at the bottom of the room.
How well I remember the scene! The dirty floor, the empty benches, the
torn books sprinkled upon the battered desks, the dusty sunshine
streaming in, the white-faced clock on the wall opposite, over which
the hands moved with almost incredible rapidity. But when does time
ever fly so fast as with people who are talking about themselves or
their relations?
Once the mathematical master passed through the room. He glanced at us
curiously, but Weston's face was inscrutable, and I--tracing some
surprise that I should have secured so old and so fine-mannered a boy
for a friend--held up my head, and went on with my narrative, as
fluently as I could, to show that I had parts which justified Weston
in his preference.
Tick, tack! went the clock. Click, clack! went my tongue. I fear that
quite half-an-hour must have passed, when a big boy, with an open
face, blue eyes, and closely curling fair hair, burst in.
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