CHAPTER XVII.

TOM TOPOVER FINDS HIMSELF IGNORED.

On the first day of the new term, Captain Gildrock made his usual speech of welcome and explanation. Just one-half of the school were new scholars, and it took a week to get them properly classified. Nearly one-third of the number were "hard boys;" though six of them had been disciplined for two weeks, on board of the steamer. But the new pupils had not learned their duties in the schoolroom.

Tom Topover had come to that part of the programme of the institution, where he expected to recover his lost prestige as a leader of his gang. Study had always been an abomination to him; and he supposed it was to his companions, the original Topovers. For himself, he refused to make any effort to apply himself; and, when called upon for a recitation, he was entirely unprepared. He thought he could get the better of his teachers and the principal in this department.

Mr. Darlingby sent him to his room to learn his lesson when he failed. Tom laughed in his sleeve, at this sort of discipline. He stretched himself on the bed, and went to sleep. At dinner-time his meal consisted of nothing but bread and butter, and cold water. Tom did not touch it; for he was disgusted with such food, after the good living he had so greatly enjoyed since he came to the school.

Kidd Digfield and the others did the best they could with their lessons, and were subjected to no discipline on account of them. They had been to the grammar school, and were fair scholars in the ordinary branches. No difficult tasks were assigned to them, and they passed the forenoon with infinitely better satisfaction to themselves than they had expected.

In the afternoon, when the students were assembled in the shops, they all felt more at home. They were provided with tools, all in good order, and required to make a box two feet long, a foot wide, and eight inches deep. This was the work of all the new boys; and the use of the tools was explained to them, precisely as it had been to all the classes who had preceded them.

All of them, wherever they came from, took kindly to this lesson. It was a new thing to most of them, even to those who had some little skill in tinkering. Kidd Digfield declared at night, when the shopwork was finished, that he had had a first-rate time. In fact, he and his companions, with the exception of Tom, were fairly reconstructed. It was nothing but fun to make a box, with such excellent tools as they were provided with; and they laughed when they thought of the bungling work they had done on the Thunderer.

After supper, there was still an hour and a half of daylight, and the barges were manned with their new crews. One of them was assigned to the new pupils for the first lessons, and Dory Dornwood was to act as coxswain. But Captain Gildrock was in the Marian, with a crew of five of the old boys; and he kept near enough to quell a rebellion if one should break out. But this was fun for the boys; and they were instructed according to the man-of-war rules, rather than those of the sporting fraternity.

Tom Topover, from the grated window of his chamber, saw his companions in the boats, and wished he were with them. It had not occurred to him that he was to be deprived of his air and exercise, and be kept in his room after the closing of the study-hours. He realized now, that he was to be kept a prisoner in his room, on bread and water, until he learned his lesson.

He had some mechanical taste; and he had looked forward, with something like pleasure, to the time when he should be required to handle the tools in the shop. Enough had been said among the boys in regard to this part of their daily duties to inspire his ambition, and he expected to distinguish himself in this department. On Saturday the ship's company of the Sylph was to be organized, as it had been in the two preceding years; but the lessons came first.

The supper of the prisoner was the same as his dinner had been. He was so faint, that he ate his allowance, and drank the glass of water that came with the food; but he did it with a rebellious soul. In the evening he heard the voices of his companions about the dormitory. The excited speech and the noisy laugh in the adjoining rooms, as his late associates talked over the experiences of the day, indicated that they were all happy. But no one went near him after he had eaten his supper. As he listened to the sounds which came to him, he heard his friends say that the bars had been removed from the windows of their rooms sometime during the day.

In fact, Tom's three cronies were on precisely the same footing now as even the older pupils of the school. They were not locked into their rooms that night; for they had accepted the situation, and were doing all that was required of them in a cheerful spirit. In the boat, Dory Dornwood had instructed them in the use of the oars; but he had done it so pleasantly and politely, that they could not find a word of fault with him.

It was plain to Tom, that his friends had surrendered without conditions; though they still said they were acting only from motives of policy. It was no use, they continued to say, to buck their heads against a stone wall. It was easier to do their duty than it was to rebel, and take the consequences.

At about dark the rebellious chief heard the voices of his cronies in the next room, which was Kidd Digfield's. The discipline had been relaxed in their favor, for they had not before been allowed to visit one another's rooms. They did not talk about him: he had not heard his name mentioned by them. He felt very lonely, and very much hurt by the want of loyalty to him on their part. He rapped several times on the wall. It was more to see if they would notice his signal than for any other reason.

Kidd knocked on the wall, in reply to the call. Tom asked him to come to the door, and speak to him through the keyhole. Kidd replied that he could not do it, they were forbidden to have any communication with him. This he said loud enough to be heard by the prisoner. He did not care who else heard him, though he suspected that Bates could not be far off.

The answer roused the anger of the bully, and he began to use some strong language. Nim Splugger advised Kidd not to make any reply. This increased Tom's wrath; and he called them traitors, so that his voice could be heard half the length of the hall. Then, in his anger, he resorted to kicking against the wall again. This soon brought Bates. The door was unlocked; and, without a word of any kind, the old salt collared him, and marched him to the brig. The furniture had not been restored to its place, and he was left alone in the iron-bound cell.

To Tom Topover, the most galling feature of the discipline was in the fact that no notice had been taken of him. Even his companions would have no intercourse with him. He was shut up in the brig, and as fully ignored as though he had been dead and buried. But he had decided not to study his lessons, and he could not give up. He spent a miserable night in the gloom of the dark prison. His breakfast was brought to him in the morning, but it was the same as his dinner and his supper the day before. Without a word of explanation, he was conducted back to his chamber, and locked into it. The book he had brought from the schoolroom was there.

All he had to do in order to end his term of imprisonment, was to learn the lesson assigned to him. The book was a simple treatise on natural philosophy. He was not required to commit any thing to memory, only to read over the first half-dozen pages. It was simply a question of will. He had refused even to look into the book. No one came near him during the forenoon, and he hardly heard a sound. His slices of bread and butter, and his glass of water, came to him at noon.

"How long have I got to stand this thing?" asked Tom, in a tone of utter disgust, when Bates put his dinner on the table.

The old man made no reply to him, and would not even look at him. He would not come again till supper-time; and Tom saw that he must back down then, or there would be no chance to do so before night. But he had not the moral courage to say he would learn his lesson. When the door was locked upon him, he picked up the book; but, before he had looked into it, he began to cry, though he was a great fellow of fifteen. It took him an hour to get over this feeling of depression, and then he looked into the book. He began to read the lesson which had been assigned to him.

It was simple reading, and about matters within his comprehension. Before he realized that he was actually engaged in learning the lesson assigned to him, he was interested in the subject. It had been chosen for this reason,—that he could hardly help enjoying what he read. He found a solace in the book during the afternoon; and, when his supper was brought to him, he informed Bates that he had learned his lesson. The old man did not say a word, even to hint that he heard him; but, in a few minutes, Mr. Darlingby appeared. He had nothing to say on the question of discipline, but took the book at once, and proceeded to examine Tom on the first pages. The rebellious pupil was well posted in every thing he had read, and had studied far beyond the task assigned to him.

All the instructor did when he had finished the recitation, was to inform him that he was at liberty to leave his room. He made no remarks, did not preach to him, or even point a moral from the events of his imprisonment. Tom went out of the room, and descended the stairs. The students were just coming out of the mansion after their supper, and they were hurrying to the boat-house. Tom showed himself among them; but not one of them manifested any surprise at seeing him, or said a word to him about his conduct.

All this was very strange. He hastened to Kidd Digfield when he saw him coming, and was thinking how he should explain to his crony the fact that he had given in. He had yielded, and that was a thing he was not in the habit of doing; and he felt that some apology was necessary to atone for his wickedness.

"We are going to row in the Gildrock," said Kidd, as soon as he saw his defeated chief. "There is a place for you in the boat, Tom."

"All right: I shouldn't mind taking a turn at the oars," replied Tom, as they were joined by Nim and Pell.

"You are No. 11, next to the stroke oar," added Nim.

"I am No. 2," added Pell, as if he was simply recalling the locality of his place in the barge.

Not a word about his imprisonment, not a hint in relation to their opinion of his conduct. Tom thought it was very strange. He was allowed to take his place in the ranks of the students, and no one seemed to know that he had been standing out against orders. The same state of things had bothered delinquents in years before, and they could not explain it. Others could, if they had been disposed to do so.

The principal had requested all the pupils not to allude to any matters of discipline to offenders. If one had been punished, they were not to talk about the matter, and not to inform the delinquent that they even knew of the fact. To the reformed Topovers, it seemed more like a good joke on Tom not to notice what had happened; and they took pleasure in complying with the principal's request. He had made quite a speech in regard to this matter. Tom's vanity had no standing-room. Nobody seemed to care whether he had been punished or not.