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Brigson knew at a glance whom he had most to fear; Bull, Attlay, Llewellyn, Graham, all tolerated or even approved of him. Owen did not come in his way, so he left him unmolested. To Eric and Duncan he was scrupulously civil, and by flattery and deference managed to keep apparently on excellent terms with them.
Except Duncan, hardly one boy whom he really respected ever walked with him now. Even little Wright, one of the very few lower boys who had risen superior to Brigson's temptations, seemed to keep clear of him as much as he could; and, in absolute vacuity, he was obliged to associate with fellows like Attlay, and Graham, and Llewellyn, and Bull. Even with Bull!
Prayers over, the boys noisily dispersed to their bed rooms, and Eric found himself placed in a room immediately to the right of the lavatory, occupied by Duncan, Graham, Llewellyn, and two other boys named Bull and Attlay, all in the same form with himself They were all tired with their voyage, and the excitement of coming back to school, so that they did not talk much that night, and before long Eric was fast asleep, dreaming, dreaming, dreaming that he should have a very happy life at Roslyn school, and seeing himself win no end of distinctions, and make no end of new friends.
Any two boys talking to each other about Bull would probably profess to like him "well enough," but if they were honest, they would generally end by allowing their contempt. "We've got a nice set in No. 7, haven't we?" said Duncan to Eric one day. "Capital. Old Llewellyn's a stunner, and I like Attlay and Graham." "Don't you like Bull then?" "O yes; pretty well."
Next evening, when preparation began, Pietrie and Graham got everything ready for a carouse in their class-room. The cook had roasted for them the fowls and pigeons, and Billy had brought an ample supply of beer and some brandy for the occasion. A little before eight o'clock everything was ready, and Eric, Attlay, and Llewellyn were summoned to join the rest.
"No!" said Eric, emphatically. "At any rate I won't lead him into mischief any more." "Attlay, then; and what do you say to Brooking?" "No, again," said Eric; "he's a blackguard." "I wonder you haven't mentioned Duncan," said Wildney. "Duncan! why, my dear child, you might as well ask Owen, or even old Rose, at once. Bless you, Charlie, he's a great deal too correct to come now."
Eric's reckless gaiety was kindled by Wildney's frolicsome vivacity, and Graham's sparkling wit; they were all six in a roar of perpetual laughter at some fresh sally of fun elicited by the more phlegmatic natures of Attlay or Llewellyn, and the dainties of Wildney's parcel were accompanied by draughts of brandy and water, which were sometimes exchanged for potations of the raw liquor.
For a while Eric said nothing, but as the strain grew worse, he made a faint remonstrance. "Shut up there, Williams," said Attlay, "and don't spoil the story." "Very well. It's your own fault, and I shall shut my ears." He did for a time, but a general laugh awoke him. He pretended to be asleep, but he listened.
At bolstering, Duncan was a perfect champion; his strength and activity were marvellous, and his mirth uproarious. Eric and Graham backed him up brilliantly; while Llewellyn and Attlay, with sturdy vigor, supported the skirmishers. Bull, the sixth boy in No. 7, was the only fainéant among them, though he did occasionally help to keep off the smaller fry.
Meanwhile, the dormitory-boys were aghast, and as soon as they heard the doctor's retreating footsteps, began flocking in the dark to No. 7, not daring to relight their candles. "Good gracious!" said Attlay, "only to think of Rowley appearing! How could he have twigged?" "He must have seen our lights in the window as he came home," said Eric. "I say, what a row that tin-basin dodge of yours made!