that Mrs。 and Miss Creakle had been in a sad way； ever since。
But the greatest wonder that I heard of Mr。 Creakle was； there
being one boy in the school on whom he never ventured to lay a
hand； and that boy being J。 Steerforth。 Steerforth himself
confirmed this when it was stated； and said that he should like to
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begin to see him do it。 On being asked by a mild boy （not me） how
he would proceed if he did begin to see him do it； he dipped a
match into his phosphorus…box on purpose to shed a glare over his
reply； and said he would commence by knocking him down with a
blow on the forehead from the seven…and…sixpenny ink…bottle that
was always on the mantelpiece。 We sat in the dark for some time；
breathless。
I heard that Mr。 Sharp and Mr。 Mell were both supposed to be
wretchedly paid； and that when there was hot and cold meat for
dinner at Mr。 Creakle’s table； Mr。 Sharp was always expected to
say he preferred cold； which was again corroborated by J。
Steerforth； the only parlour…boarder。 I heard that Mr。 Sharp’s wig
didn’t fit him； and that he needn’t be so ‘bounceable’—somebody
else said ‘bumptious’—about it； because his own red hair was very
plainly to be seen behind。
I heard that one boy； who was a coal…merchant’s son； came as a
set…off against the coal…bill； and was called； on that account；
‘Exchange or Barter’—a name selected from the arithmetic book
as expressing this arrangement。 I heard that the table beer was a
robbery of parents； and the pudding an imposition。 I heard that
Miss Creakle was regarded by the school in general as being in
love with Steerforth； and I am sure； as I sat in the dark； thinking of
his nice voice； and his fine face； and his easy manner； and his
curling hair； I thought it very likely。 I heard that Mr。 Mell was not
a bad sort of fellow； but hadn’t a sixpence to bless himself with；
and that there was no doubt that old Mrs。 Mell； his mother； was as
poor as job。 I thought of my breakfast then； and what had sounded
like ‘My Charley！’ but I was； I am glad to remember； as mute as a
mouse about it。
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The hearing of all this； and a good deal more； outlasted the
banquet some time。 The greater part of the guests had gone to bed
as soon as the eating and drinking were over； and we； who had
remained whispering and listening half…undressed； at last betook
ourselves to bed； too。
‘Good night； young Copperfield；’ said Steerforth。 ‘I’ll take care
of you。’
‘You’re very kind；’ I gratefully returned。 ‘I am very much
obliged to you。’
‘You haven’t got a sister； have you？’ said Steerforth； yawning。
‘No；’ I answered。
‘That’s a pity；’ said Steerforth。 ‘If you had had one； I should
think she would have been a pretty； timid； little； bright…eyed sort
of girl。 I should have liked to know her。 Good night； young
Copperfield。’
‘Good night； sir；’ I replied。
I thought of him very much after I went to bed； and raised
myself； I recollect； to look at him where he lay in the moonlight；
with his handsome face turned up； and his head reclining easily on
his arm。 He was a person of great power in my eyes； that was； of
course； the reason of my mind running on him。 No veiled future
dimly glanced upon him in the moonbeams。 There was no
shadowy picture of his footsteps； in the garden that I dreamed of
walking in all night。
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Chapter 7
MY ‘FIRST HALF’ AT SALEM HOUSE
School began in earnest next day。 A profound impression
was made upon me； I remember； by the roar of voices in
the schoolroom suddenly becoming hushed as death when
Mr。 Creakle entered after breakfast； and stood in the doorway
looking round upon us like a giant in a story…book surveying his
captives。
Tungay stood at Mr。 Creakle’s elbow。 He had no occasion； I
thought； to cry out ‘Silence！’ so ferociously； for the boys were all
struck speechless and motionless。
Mr。 Creakle was seen to speak； and Tungay was heard； to this
effect。
‘Now； boys； this is a new half。 Take care what you’re about； in
this new half。 Come fresh up to the lessons； I advise you； for I
come fresh up to the punishment。 I won’t flinch。 It will be of no
use your rubbing yourselves； you won’t rub the marks out that I
shall give you。 Now get to work； every boy！’
When this dreadful exordium was over； and Tungay had
stumped out again； Mr。 Creakle came to where I sat； and told me
that if I were famous for biting； he was famous for biting； too。 He
then showed me the cane； and asked me what I thought of that； for
a tooth？ Was it a sharp tooth； hey？ Was it a double tooth； hey？
Had it a deep prong； hey？ Did it bite； hey？ Did it bite？ At every
question he gave me a fleshy cut with it that made me writhe； so I
was very soon made free of Salem House （as Steerforth said）； and
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was very soon in tears also。
Not that I mean to say these were special marks of distinction；
which only I received。 On the contrary； a large majority of the boys
（especially the smaller ones） were visited with similar instances of
notice； as Mr。 Creakle made the round of the schoolroom。 Half the
establishment was writhing and crying； before the day’s work
began； and how much of it had writhed and cried before the day’s
work was over； I am really afraid to recollect； lest I should seem to
exaggerate。
I should think there never can have been a man who enjoyed
his profession more than Mr。 Creakle did。 He had a delight in
cutting at the boys； which was like the satisfaction of a craving
appetite。 I am confident that he couldn’t resist a chubby boy；
especially； that there was a fascination in such a subject； which
made him restless in his mind； until he had scored and marked
him for the day。 I was chubby myself； and ought to know。 I am
sure when I think of the fellow now； my blood rises against him
with the disinterested indignation I should feel if I could have
known all about him without having ever been in his power； but it
rises hotly； because I know him to have been an incapable brute；
who had no more right to be possessed of the great trust he held；
than to be Lord High Admiral； or Commander…in…Chief—in either
of which capacities it is probable that he would have done
infinitely less mischief。
Miserable little propitiators of a remorseless Idol； how abject we
were to him！ What a launch in life I think it now； on looking back；
to be so mean and servile to a man of such parts and pretensions！
Here I sit at the desk again； watching his eye—humbly
watching his eye； as he rules a ciphering…book for another victim
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whose hands have just been flattened by that identical ruler； and
who is trying to wipe the sting out with a pocket…handkerchief。 I
have plenty to do。 I don’t watch his eye in idleness； but because I
am morbidly attracted to it； in a dread desire to know what he will
do next； and whether it will be my turn to suffer； or somebody
else’s。 A lane of small boys beyond me； with the same interest in
his eye； watch it too。 I think he knows it； though he pretends he
don’t。 He makes dreadful mouths as he rules the ciphering…book；
and now he throws his eye sideways down our lane； and we all
droop over our books and tremble。 A moment afterwards we are
again eyeing him。 An unhappy culprit； found guilty of imperfect
exercise； approaches at his command。 The culprit falters excuses；
and professes a determination to do better tomorrow。 Mr。 Creakle
cuts a joke before he beats him； and we laugh at it；—miserable
little dogs； we laugh； with our visages as white as ashes； and our
hearts sinking into our boots。
Here I sit at the desk again； on a drowsy summer afternoon。 A
buzz and hum go up around me； as if the boys were so many
bluebottles。 A cloggy sensation of the lukewarm fat of meat is upon
me （we dined an hour or two ago）； and my head is as heavy as so
much lead。 I would give the world to go to sleep。 I sit with my eye
on Mr。 Creakle； blinking at him like a young owl； when sleep
overpowers me for a minute； he still looms through my slumber；
ruling those ciphering…books； until he softly comes behind me and
wakes me to plainer perception of him； with a red ridge across my
back。
Here I am in the playground； with my eye still fascinated by
him； though I can’t see him。 The window at a little distance from
which I know he is having his dinner； stands for him； and I eye
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that instead。 If he shows his face near it； mine assumes an
imploring and submissive expression。 If he looks out through the
glass； the boldest boy （Steerforth excepted） stops in the middle of
a shout or yell； and becomes contemplative。 One day； Traddles
（the most unfortunate boy in the world） breaks that window
accidentally； with a ball。 I shudder at this moment with the
tremendous sensation of seeing it done； and feeling that the ball
has bounded on to Mr。 Creakle’s sacred head。
Poor Traddles！ In a tight sky…blue suit that made his arms and
legs like German sausages； or roly…poly puddings； he was the
merriest and most miserable of all the boys。 He was always being
caned—I think he was caned every day that half…year； except one
holiday Monday when he was only ruler’d on both hands—and
was always going to write to his uncle about it； and never did。
After laying his head on the desk for a little while； he would cheer
up； somehow； begin to laugh again； and draw skeletons all over his
slate； before his eyes were dry。 I used at first to wonder what
comfort Traddles found in drawing skeletons； and for some time
looked upon him as a sort of hermit； who reminded himself by
those symbols of mortality that caning couldn’t last for ever。 But I
believe he only did it because they were easy； and didn’t want any
features。
He was ve