I was not considered as formally received into the school until I had met J. Steerforth.  He was one of the older scholars, reputed to be brilliant and clever, and quite the lion of the school.  He inquired, under a shed in the playground, into the particulars of my punishment, and said it was “a jolly shame,” which opinion bound me to him ever afterwards.  Then he asked me what money I had, and when I answered seven shillings, he suggested that I spend a couple of shillings or so in a bottle of currant wine, and a couple or so in almond cakes, and another in fruit, and another in biscuit, for a little celebration that night in our bedroom, in honour of my arrival, and of course I said I should be glad to do so.  I was a little uneasy about wasting my mother’s half-crowns, but I did not dare to say so, and Steerforth procured the feast and laid it out on my bed, saying, “There you are, young Copperfield, and a royal spread you’ve got.”

I couldn’t think of doing the honours of the feast, and begged him to preside.  So he sat upon my pillow, handing round the viands, and dispensing the wine.  As to me, I sat next to him, and the rest grouped about us on the nearest beds and on the floor; and there we sat in the dim moonlight, talking in whispers, while I heard all the school gossip, about Mr. Creakle and his cruelty, and about the other masters, and that the only boy on whom Mr. Creakle never dared to lay a hand was Steerforth.  All this and much more I heard before we at last betook ourselves to bed.

The next day school began in earnest, and so far as the boys were concerned, Steerforth continued his protection of me, and was always a very firm and useful friend, as no one dared annoy any one whom he liked.

One night he discovered that my head was filled with stories of my favourite heroes, which I could relate with some measure of graphic talent, and after that I was obliged to reel off stories by the yard, making myself into a regular Sultana Scheherezade for his benefit.  I was much flattered by his interest in my tales, and the only drawback to telling them was that I was often very sleepy at night, and it was sometimes very hard work to be roused and forced into a long recital before the rising bell rang, but Steerforth was resolute, and as in return he explained sums and exercises to me, I was no loser by the transaction.  Also, I honestly admired and loved the handsome fellow, and desired to please him.

And so from week to week the story-telling in the dark went on, and whatever I had within me that was romantic or dreamy was encouraged by it.  By degrees the other boys joined the circle of listeners.  Traddles was always overcome with mirth at the comic parts of the stories.  He used to pretend that he couldn’t keep his teeth from chattering when an Alguazil was mentioned in connection with the adventures of Gil Blas, and I remember when Gil Blas met the captain of the robbers in Madrid, Traddles counterfeited such an ague of terror, that Mr. Creakle who was prowling about the passage, overheard him, and flogged him for disorderly conduct.