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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
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
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 very honourable； Traddles was； and held it as a solemn
duty in the boys to stand by one another。 He suffered for this on
several occasions； and particularly once； when Steerforth laughed
in church； and the Beadle thought it was Traddles； and took him
out。 I see him now； going away in custody； despised by the
congregation。 He never said who was the real offender； though he
smarted for it next day； and was imprisoned so many hours that he
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
came forth with a whole churchyard…full of skeletons swarming all
over his Latin Dictionary。 But he had his reward。 Steerforth said
there was nothing of the sneak in Traddles； and we all felt that to
be the highest praise。 For my part； I could have gone through a
good deal （though I was much less brave than Traddles； and
nothing like so old） to have won such a recompense。
To see Steerforth walk to church before us； arm…in…arm with
Miss Creakle； was one of the great sights of my life。 I didn’t think
Miss Creakle equal to little Em’ly in point of beauty； and I didn’t
love her （I didn’t dare）； but I thought her a young lady of
extraordinary attractions； and in point of gentility not to be
surpassed。 When Steerforth； in white trousers； carried her parasol
for her； I felt proud to know him； and believed that she could not
choose but adore him with all her heart。 Mr。 Sharp and Mr。 Mell
were both notable personages in my eyes； but Steerforth was to
them what the sun was to two stars。
Steerforth continued his protection of me； and proved a very
useful friend； since nobody dared to annoy one whom he
honoured with his countenance。 He couldn’t—or at all events he
didn’t—defend me from Mr。 Creakle； who was very severe with
me； but whenever I had been treated worse than usual； he always
told me that I wanted a little of his pluck； and that he wouldn’t
have stood it himself； which I felt he intended for encouragement；
and considered to be very kind of him。 There was one advantage；
and only one that I know of； in Mr。 Creakle’s severity。 He found
my placard in his way when he came up or down behind the form
on which I sat； and wanted to make a cut at me in passing； for this
reason it was soon taken off； and I saw it no more。
An accidental circumstance cemented the intimacy between
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
David Copperfield
Steerforth and me； in a manner that inspired me with great pride
and satisfaction； though it sometimes led to inconvenience。 It
happened on one occasion； when he was doing me the honour of
talking to me in the playground； that I hazarded the observation
that something or somebody—I forget what now—was like
something or somebody in Peregrine Pickle。 He said nothing at
the time； but when I was going to bed at night； asked me if I had
got that book？
I told him no； and explained how it was that I had read it； and
all those other books of which I have made mention。
‘And do you recollect them？’ Steerforth said。
‘Oh yes；’ I replied； I had a good memory； and I believed I
recollected them very well。
‘Then I tell you what； young Copperfield；’ said Steerforth； ‘you
shall tell ’em to me。 I can’t get to sleep very early at night； and I
generally wake rather early in the morning。 We’ll go over ’em one
after another。 We’ll make some regular Arabian Nights of it。’
I felt extremely flattered by this arrangement； and we
commenced carrying it into execution that very evening。 What
ravages I committed on my favourite authors in the course of my
interpretation of them； I am not in a condition to say； and should
be very unwilling to know； but I had a profound faith in them； and
I had； to the best of my belief； a simple； earnest manner of
narrating what I did narrate； and these qualities went a long way。
The drawback was； that I was often sleepy at night； or out of
spirits and indisposed to resume the story； and then it was rather
hard work； and it must be done； fo