“Silence!” cried Mr. Mell, suddenly rising up, and striking his desk with the book.  “What does this mean!  It’s impossible to bear it.  It’s maddening.  How can you do it to me, boys?”

The boys all stopped, some suddenly surprised, some half afraid, and some sorry perhaps.

Steerforth alone remained in his lounging position, hands in his pockets, and looked at Mr. Mell with his mouth shut up as if he were whistling, when Mr. Mell looked at him.

“Silence, Mr. Steerforth!” said Mr. Mell.

“Silence yourself,” said Steerforth, turning red.  “Whom are you talking to?”

“Sit down!” said Mr. Mell.

“Sit down yourself!” said Steerforth, “and mind your business.”

There was a titter and some applause; but Mr. Mell was so white, that silence immediately succeeded.

“When you make use of your position of favouritism, here, sir,” pursued Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling very much, “to insult a gentleman——­”

“A what?—­where is he?” said Steerforth.

Here somebody cried out, “Shame, J. Steerforth!  Too bad!” It was Traddles; whom Mr. Mell instantly discomfited by bidding him to hold his tongue,——­

“—­to insult one who is not fortunate in life, sir, and who never gave you the least offence, and the many reasons for not insulting whom you are old enough and wise enough to understand,” said Mr. Mell, with his lip trembling more and more, “you commit a mean and base action.  You can sit down or stand up as you please, sir.”

“I tell you what, Mr. Mell,” said Steerforth, coming forward, “once for all.  When you take the liberty of calling me mean or base, or anything of that sort, you are an impudent beggar.  You are always a beggar, you know; but when you do that, you are an impudent beggar.”

Had Mr. Creakle not entered the room at that moment, there is no knowing what might have happened, for the highest pitch of excitement had been reached by combatants and lookers-on.

Both Steerforth and the under-teacher at once turned to Mr. Creakle, pouring out in his attentive ear the story of the burning wrong to which each had subjected the other, and the end of the whole affair was that Mr. Mell—­having discovered that Mr. Creakle’s veneration for money, and fear of offending his head-pupil, far outweighed any consideration for the teacher’s feelings,—­taking his flute and a few books from his desk, and leaving the key in it for his successor, went out of the school, with his property under his arm.

Mr. Creakle then made a speech, in which he thanked Steerforth for asserting (though perhaps too warmly) the independence and respectability of Salem House; and which he wound up by shaking hands with Steerforth; while we gave three cheers—­I did not quite know what for, but I supposed for Steerforth, and joined in them, though I felt miserable.  Mr. Creakle then caned Tommy Traddles for being discovered in tears, instead of cheers, and went away leaving us to ourselves.