SCHOOL DAYS
While matters were in this state, East and Tom were one evening sitting in their study. They had done their work for first lesson, and Tom was in a brown study, brooding, like a young William Tell, upon the wrongs of fags in general, and his own in particular.
"I say, Scud," said he at last, rousing himself to snuff the candle, "what right have the fifth-form boys to fag us as they do?"
"No more right than you have to fag them," answered East, without looking up from an early number of Pickwick, which was just coming out, and which he was luxuriously devouring, stretched on his back on the sofa.
Tom relapsed into his brown study, and East went on reading and chuckling. The contrast of the boys' faces would have given infinite amusement to a looker-on, the one so solemn and big with mighty purpose, the other radiant and bubbling over with fun.
"Do you know, old fellow, I've been thinking it over a good deal," began Tom again.
"Oh yes, I know, fagging you are thinking of. Hang it all—but listen here, Tom—here's fun. Mr. Winkle's horse—"
"And I've made up my mind," broke in Tom, "that I won't fag except for the sixth."
"Quite right, too, my boy," cried East, putting his finger on the place and looking up; "but a pretty peck of troubles you'll get into, if you're going to play that game. However, I'm all for a strike myself, if we can get others to join—it's getting too bad."
"Can't we get some sixth-form fellow to take it up?" asked Tom.
"Well, perhaps we might; Morgan would interfere, I think. Only," added East, after a moment's pause, "you see, we should have to tell him about it, and that's against School principles. Don't you remember what old Brooke said about learning to take our own parts?"
"Ah, I wish old Brooke were back again—it was all right in his time."
"Why, yes; you see, then the strongest and best fellows were in
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