Chapter Four.The New Captain’s Introduction.Of course a row was made, or attempted to be made, about the daring exploit of the fags of Parrett’s House narrated in the last chapter. The matter was duly reported to the head monitor of Welch’s by the injured parties. But the result only proved how very cunning the offenders had been in choosing this particular time for the execution of their raid.The head of Welch’s reported the matter to Bloomfield, as the head of Parrett’s. But Bloomfield, who had plenty to do to punish offences committed in his own House, replied that the head of Welch’s had better mention it to the captain of the school.Hecouldn’t do anything. The head of Welch’s pointed out that there was no captain of the school at present. What was he to do?Bloomfield suggested that he had better “find out,” and there the matter ended. Wherever the head Welcher took his complaint he got the same answer; and it became perfectly clear that as long as Willoughby was without a captain, law and order was at a discount.However, such a state of things was not destined long to last. A notice went round from the doctor to the monitors the next day asking them to assemble directly after chapel the following morning in the library. Every one knew what this meant; and when later on it was rumoured that Riddell had gone to the doctor’s that evening to tea, it became pretty evident in which direction things were going.“Tea at the doctor’s” was always regarded as rather a terrible ordeal by those who occasionally came in for the honour. Some would infinitely have preferred a licking in the library, and others would have felt decidedly more comfortable in the dock of a police-court. Even the oldest boys, whose conduct was exemplary, and whose conscience had as little to make it uneasy in the head master’s presence as in the presence of the youngest fag in Willoughby, were always glad when the ceremony was over.The reason of all this was not in the doctor. Dr Patrick was one of the kindest and pleasantest of men. He could not, perhaps, throw off the Dominie altogether on such occasions, but he always tried hard, and if there had been no one more formidable than “Paddy” to deal with the meal would have been comparatively pleasant and unalarming.But there was a Mrs Patrick and a Mrs Patrick’s sister, and before these awful personages the boldest Willoughbite quailed and trembled. From the moment the unhappy guest entered the parlour these two (who were always there) fastened their eyes on him and withered him. They spoke ceremoniously in the language in which the grand old ladies used to speak in the old story-books. If he chanced to speak, they sat erect in their chairs listening to him with all their ears, looking at him with all their eyes, freezing him with all their faintest of smiles. No one could sit there under their inspection without feeling that every word and look and gesture was being observed, probably with a view to recording it in a letter home; and the idea of being at one’s ease with them in the room was about as preposterous as the idea of sleeping comfortably on a wasp’s nest!And yet, if truth were known, these good females meant well. They had their own ideas of what boys should be (neither having any of their own), and fondly imagined that during these occasional ceremonies in the doctor’s parlour they were rendering valuable assistance in the “dear boy’s” education by giving him some idea of the manners and charms of polite society!It was in such genial company that Riddell, the head classic of Willoughby, was invited to bask for a short time on the evening of the day before the appointment of the new captain. He had been there once before when his father and mother had come over to visit him. And even with their presence as a set-off, the evening had been one of the most awful experiences of his life. But now that he was to go all alone to partake of state tea with those two, this shy awkward boy felt about as cheerful as if he had been walking helplessly into a lion’s den.“Well, Riddell,” said the doctor, pleasantly, as after long hesitation the guest at last ventured to arrive, “how are you? My dear, this is Riddell, whom I believe you have seen before. Miss Stringer too I think you met.”Riddell coloured deeply and shivered inwardly as he advanced first to one lady then to the other and solemnly shook hands.“I trust your parents are in good health, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick in her most precise tones.“Very well indeed, thank you,” replied Riddell; “that is,” he added, correcting himself suddenly, “my mother is very poorly, thank you.”“I regret to hear you say so,” said Mrs Patrick, transfixing the unhappy youth with her eyes. “I trust her indisposition is not of a serious character.”“I hope she will, thank you, ma’am,” replied Riddell, who somehow fancied his hostess had said, or had been going to say, she hoped his mother would soon recover.“Er, I beg your pardon?” said Mrs Patrick, leaning slightly forward and inclining her head a little on one side.“I mean, I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, suddenly perceiving his mistake and losing his head at the same time, “I mean, quite so, thank you.”“You mean,” interposed Miss Stringer at this point, in a voice a note deeper than her sister’s, “that your mother’s indispositionisof a serious character?”“Oh no, not at all, I’m sure,” ejaculated the hapless Riddell.“I am glad to hear you say so, very,” said Miss Stringer.“Very,” said Mrs Patrick.At this point Riddell had serious thoughts of bolting altogether, and might have done so had not the servant just then created a diversion by bringing in the kettle.“Sit down, Riddell,” said the doctor, “and make yourself at home. What are the prospects for the regatta this year? Is the schoolhouse boat to win?”“I’m sorry I can’t say,” replied Riddell. “I believe Parrett’s is the favourite.”“Mr Riddell means Mr Parrett’s, I presume?” asked Mrs Patrick in her sweetest tones, looking hard at the speaker, and emphasising the “Mr”“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I’m sorry.”“We shall miss Wyndham,” said the doctor.“Yes, thank you,” replied Riddell, who at that moment was dodging vaguely in front of Miss Stringer as she stood solemnly waiting to get past him to the tea-table.It was a relief when tea was at last ready, and when some other occupation was possible than that of looking at and being looked at by these two ladies.“You’re not very fond of athletics, Riddell?” asked the doctor.“No, sir,” answered Riddell, steadily avoiding the eyes of the females.“I often think you’d be better if you took more exercise,” said the doctor.“Judging by Mr Riddell’s looks,” said Mrs Patrick, “it would certainly seem as if he hardly did himself justice physically.”This enigmatical sentence, which might have been a compliment or might have been a rebuke or might have meant neither, Riddell found himself quite unable to reply to appropriately, and therefore, like a sensible man, took a drink of tea instead. It was the first dawn of reviving presence of mind.“Apart from your own health altogether,” continued the doctor, “I fancy your position with the other boys would be better if you entered rather more into their sports.”“I often feel that, sir,” said Riddell, with a touch of seriousness in his tones, “and I wish I could do it.”“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick. “I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, who did not quite take it in. Mrs Patrick never liked being asked to repeat her speeches. She flattered herself they were lucid enough to need no second delivery. She therefore repeated her remark slowly and in precisely the same words and tone—“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell?”Riddell took half a moment to consider, and then replied, triumphantly, “I’m quite well, thank you, ma’am.”“I am pleased to hear that,” said Mrs Patrick, rather icily, for this last observation had seemed to her a little rude. “Very,” chimed in Miss Stringer.After this there was a silence, which Riddell devoutly hoped might last till it was time to go. Had the ladies not been there he would have liked very much to speak to the doctor about school matters, and the doctor, but for the same cause, would have wished to talk to his head boy. But it was evident this tea-table was not the place for such conversation.“I hear,” said the doctor, after the pause had continued some time, addressing his sister-in-law, “there is likely to be an election in Shellport before long; Sir Abraham is retiring.”“Indeed, you surprise me,” said Miss Stringer. “It is unexpected,” said the doctor, “but it is thought there will be a sharp contest for the seat.”“And are you a Liberal or a Conservative, Mr Riddell?” asked Mrs Patrick, thinking it time that unfortunate youth was again tempted into the conversation.“A Liberal, ma’am,” replied Riddell. “Oh! boys are generally Conservatives, are they not?” She asked this question in a tone as if she expected him to try to deceive her in his answer. However, he evaded it by replying bashfully, “I hope not.”“And pray,” said Miss Stringer, putting down her cup, and turning full on her victim, “will you favour us with your reasons for such a hope, Mr Riddell?”Poor Riddell! he little thought what he had let himself in for. If there was one subject the two ladies were rabid on it was politics. They proceeded to pounce upon, devour, and annihilate the unlucky head classic without mercy. They made him contradict himself twice or thrice in every sentence; they proved to him clearly that he knew nothing at all of what he was talking about, and generally gave him to understand that he was an impertinent, conceited puppy for presuming to have an opinion of his own on such matters!Riddell came out of the ordeal very much as a duck comes out of the hands of the poulterer. Luckily, by the time the discussion was over it was time for him to go. He certainly could not have held out much longer. As it was, he was good for nothing after it, and went to bed early that night with a very bad headache.Before he left, however, the doctor had accompanied him into the hall, and said, “There are a few things, Riddell, I want to speak to you about. Will you come to my study a quarter of an hour before morning chapel to-morrow?”Had the invitation been to breakfast in that horrible parlour Riddell would flatly have declined it. As it was he cheerfully accepted it, and only wished the doctor had thought of it before, and spared him the misery of that evening with the two Willoughby griffins!He could hardly help guessing what it was the doctor had to say to him, or why it was he had been asked to tea that evening. And he felt very dejected as he thought about it. Like most of the other Willoughbites, the idea of a new captain having to be appointed had never occurred to him till Wyndham had finally left the school. And when it did occur, and when moreover it began to dawn upon him that he himself was the probable successor, horror filled his mind. He couldn’t do it. He was not cut out for it. He would sooner leave Willoughby altogether. The boys either knew nothing about him, or they laughed at him for his clumsiness, or they suspected him as a coward, or they despised him as a prig. He had wit enough to know what Willoughby thought of him, and that being so, how could he ever be its captain?“I would much rather you named some one else,” said he to the doctor at their interview next morning. “I know quite well I couldn’t get on.”“You have not tried yet,” said the doctor.“But I’ve not the strength, and the boys don’t like me,” pleaded Riddell.“You must make them like you, Riddell,” said the doctor.“How can I? They will dislike me all the more if I am made captain. I have no influence with them, indeed I have not.”“How do you know?” said the doctor again. “Have you tried yet?”“I could never do what Wyndham did. He was such a splendid captain.”“Why?” asked the doctor.“I suppose because he was a splendid athlete, and threw himself into all their pursuits, and—and set a good example himself.”“I think you are partly right and partly wrong,” said the doctor. “There are several fine athletes in Willoughby who would make poor captains; and as for throwing oneself into school pursuits and setting a good example, I don’t think either is beyond your reach.”Riddell felt very uncomfortable. He began to feel that after all he might be shirking a duty he ought to undertake. But he made one more effort.“There are so many others would do it better, sir, whom the boys look up to already,” he said. “Bloomfield, for instance, or—”The doctor held up his hand.“We will not go into that, Riddell,” he said. “You must not suppose I and others have not considered the good of Willoughby in this matter. It remains for you to consider it also. As you grow older you will constantly find duties confronting you which may be sorely against your inclination, but which as an honest man you will know are not to be shirked. You have a chance of beginning now. I don’t pretend to say you will find it easy or pleasant work, or that you are likely to succeed, at first at any rate, as well as others have done. But unless I am mistaken you will not give in on that account. Of course you will need to exert yourself. You know what boys look for in a captain; it’s not mere muscle, or agility. Get them by all means if you can; but what will be worth far more than these will be sympathy. If they discover you are one with them, and that in your efforts to keep order you have the welfare of the school chiefly at heart, they will come out, depend upon it, and meet you half-way. It’s worth trying, Riddell.”Riddell said nothing, but his face was rather more hopeful as he looked up at the doctor.“Come,” said the latter, “there’s the bell for chapel. It’s time we went in.”Riddell entered chapel that morning in a strangely conflicting frame of mind. The hope was still in his face, but the misgivings were still in his heart, and the whole prospect before him seemed to be a dream.As the slight shy boy walked slowly up the floor to his place among the Sixth, the boys on either side eyed him curiously and eagerly, and a half-titter, half-sneer greeted his appearance.Some regarded him with a disfavour which amounted to positive dislike, others with disdain and even contempt, and others thought of Wyndham and wondered what Willoughby was coming to. Even among the Sixth many an unfriendly glance was darted at him as he took his seat, and many a whispered foreboding passed from boy to boy. Only a few watched him with looks of sympathy, and of these scarcely one was hopeful.Happily for Riddell, he could not see half of all this; and when in a moment the doctor entered and prayers began, he saw none of it. For he was one of a few at Willoughby to whom this early-morning service was something more than a mere routine, and who felt, especially at times like this, that in those beautiful familiar words was to be found the best of all preparations for the day’s duties.Telson, as he stood down by the door, with his hands in his pockets, beside his friend Parson, was void of all such reflections. What was chiefly occupying his lordly mind at that moment was the discovery suddenly made, that if Riddell was the new captain, he of course would be captain’s fag. And he was not quite sure whether to be pleased or the reverse at his new dignity.“You see,” said he to his ally, in a whisper, “it’s good larks marking the fellows off every morning as they come into chapel, but then, don’t you twig that means I’ve got to be here the moment the bell begins ringing? and that’s no joke.”“No, unless you got leave to ring the bell, too,” said Parson. “Then of course they couldn’t troop in till you were there. I’d come down and help with the bell, you know.”“Wouldn’t do, I fancy,” said Telson. “Then, of course, it’s swell enough work to have to go about and tell the monitors what they’ve got to do, but I’m not so sure if it’s a good thing to mix altogether with monitors—likely to spoil a chap, eh?”“Rather,” said Parson. “Look out, Porter’s looking.”Whereupon this brief but edifying dialogue broke off for the present.The monitors duly assembled in the doctor’s library after chapel. They all of them knew what was coming, and their general attitude did not seem promising for the newrégime. Each one possibly fancied he had the interests of Willoughby at heart, and all but one or two felt convinced that in putting Riddell into the position of captain the doctor was committing a serious mistake. Every one could have given good reasons for thinking so, and would have asserted that they had no personal ill-feeling towards the new captain, but for the sake of the school they were sure he was not the fit person. Whether each one felt equally sure that he himself would have filled the post better is a question it is not necessary to ask here.The doctor was brief and to the point.“I dare say you know why I have called you together,” he said. “Wyndham—whom every one here liked and respected, and who did a great deal for the school”—(“Hear, hear,” from one or two voices)—“has left, and we shall all miss him. The captain of the school has always for a long time past been the head classical boy. It is not a law of the Medes and Persians that it should be so, and if there seemed any special reason why the rule should be broken through there is nothing to prevent that being done.”At this point one or two breathed rather more freely and the attention generally was intensified. After all, this seemed like the preface to a more favourable announcement. But those who thought so found their mistake when the doctor proceeded.“In the present case there is no such reason, and Riddell here is fully aware of the duties expected of him, and is prepared to perform them. I look to you to support him, and am confident if all work heartily together no one need be afraid for the continued success of Willoughby.”The doctor ended his speech amid the silence of his audience, which was not broken as he turned and left the room. At the same moment, to the relief of no one more than of Riddell, the bell sounded for breakfast and the assembly forthwith broke up.
Of course a row was made, or attempted to be made, about the daring exploit of the fags of Parrett’s House narrated in the last chapter. The matter was duly reported to the head monitor of Welch’s by the injured parties. But the result only proved how very cunning the offenders had been in choosing this particular time for the execution of their raid.
The head of Welch’s reported the matter to Bloomfield, as the head of Parrett’s. But Bloomfield, who had plenty to do to punish offences committed in his own House, replied that the head of Welch’s had better mention it to the captain of the school.Hecouldn’t do anything. The head of Welch’s pointed out that there was no captain of the school at present. What was he to do?
Bloomfield suggested that he had better “find out,” and there the matter ended. Wherever the head Welcher took his complaint he got the same answer; and it became perfectly clear that as long as Willoughby was without a captain, law and order was at a discount.
However, such a state of things was not destined long to last. A notice went round from the doctor to the monitors the next day asking them to assemble directly after chapel the following morning in the library. Every one knew what this meant; and when later on it was rumoured that Riddell had gone to the doctor’s that evening to tea, it became pretty evident in which direction things were going.
“Tea at the doctor’s” was always regarded as rather a terrible ordeal by those who occasionally came in for the honour. Some would infinitely have preferred a licking in the library, and others would have felt decidedly more comfortable in the dock of a police-court. Even the oldest boys, whose conduct was exemplary, and whose conscience had as little to make it uneasy in the head master’s presence as in the presence of the youngest fag in Willoughby, were always glad when the ceremony was over.
The reason of all this was not in the doctor. Dr Patrick was one of the kindest and pleasantest of men. He could not, perhaps, throw off the Dominie altogether on such occasions, but he always tried hard, and if there had been no one more formidable than “Paddy” to deal with the meal would have been comparatively pleasant and unalarming.
But there was a Mrs Patrick and a Mrs Patrick’s sister, and before these awful personages the boldest Willoughbite quailed and trembled. From the moment the unhappy guest entered the parlour these two (who were always there) fastened their eyes on him and withered him. They spoke ceremoniously in the language in which the grand old ladies used to speak in the old story-books. If he chanced to speak, they sat erect in their chairs listening to him with all their ears, looking at him with all their eyes, freezing him with all their faintest of smiles. No one could sit there under their inspection without feeling that every word and look and gesture was being observed, probably with a view to recording it in a letter home; and the idea of being at one’s ease with them in the room was about as preposterous as the idea of sleeping comfortably on a wasp’s nest!
And yet, if truth were known, these good females meant well. They had their own ideas of what boys should be (neither having any of their own), and fondly imagined that during these occasional ceremonies in the doctor’s parlour they were rendering valuable assistance in the “dear boy’s” education by giving him some idea of the manners and charms of polite society!
It was in such genial company that Riddell, the head classic of Willoughby, was invited to bask for a short time on the evening of the day before the appointment of the new captain. He had been there once before when his father and mother had come over to visit him. And even with their presence as a set-off, the evening had been one of the most awful experiences of his life. But now that he was to go all alone to partake of state tea with those two, this shy awkward boy felt about as cheerful as if he had been walking helplessly into a lion’s den.
“Well, Riddell,” said the doctor, pleasantly, as after long hesitation the guest at last ventured to arrive, “how are you? My dear, this is Riddell, whom I believe you have seen before. Miss Stringer too I think you met.”
Riddell coloured deeply and shivered inwardly as he advanced first to one lady then to the other and solemnly shook hands.
“I trust your parents are in good health, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick in her most precise tones.
“Very well indeed, thank you,” replied Riddell; “that is,” he added, correcting himself suddenly, “my mother is very poorly, thank you.”
“I regret to hear you say so,” said Mrs Patrick, transfixing the unhappy youth with her eyes. “I trust her indisposition is not of a serious character.”
“I hope she will, thank you, ma’am,” replied Riddell, who somehow fancied his hostess had said, or had been going to say, she hoped his mother would soon recover.
“Er, I beg your pardon?” said Mrs Patrick, leaning slightly forward and inclining her head a little on one side.
“I mean, I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, suddenly perceiving his mistake and losing his head at the same time, “I mean, quite so, thank you.”
“You mean,” interposed Miss Stringer at this point, in a voice a note deeper than her sister’s, “that your mother’s indispositionisof a serious character?”
“Oh no, not at all, I’m sure,” ejaculated the hapless Riddell.
“I am glad to hear you say so, very,” said Miss Stringer.
“Very,” said Mrs Patrick.
At this point Riddell had serious thoughts of bolting altogether, and might have done so had not the servant just then created a diversion by bringing in the kettle.
“Sit down, Riddell,” said the doctor, “and make yourself at home. What are the prospects for the regatta this year? Is the schoolhouse boat to win?”
“I’m sorry I can’t say,” replied Riddell. “I believe Parrett’s is the favourite.”
“Mr Riddell means Mr Parrett’s, I presume?” asked Mrs Patrick in her sweetest tones, looking hard at the speaker, and emphasising the “Mr”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“We shall miss Wyndham,” said the doctor.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Riddell, who at that moment was dodging vaguely in front of Miss Stringer as she stood solemnly waiting to get past him to the tea-table.
It was a relief when tea was at last ready, and when some other occupation was possible than that of looking at and being looked at by these two ladies.
“You’re not very fond of athletics, Riddell?” asked the doctor.
“No, sir,” answered Riddell, steadily avoiding the eyes of the females.
“I often think you’d be better if you took more exercise,” said the doctor.
“Judging by Mr Riddell’s looks,” said Mrs Patrick, “it would certainly seem as if he hardly did himself justice physically.”
This enigmatical sentence, which might have been a compliment or might have been a rebuke or might have meant neither, Riddell found himself quite unable to reply to appropriately, and therefore, like a sensible man, took a drink of tea instead. It was the first dawn of reviving presence of mind.
“Apart from your own health altogether,” continued the doctor, “I fancy your position with the other boys would be better if you entered rather more into their sports.”
“I often feel that, sir,” said Riddell, with a touch of seriousness in his tones, “and I wish I could do it.”
“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick. “I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, who did not quite take it in. Mrs Patrick never liked being asked to repeat her speeches. She flattered herself they were lucid enough to need no second delivery. She therefore repeated her remark slowly and in precisely the same words and tone—
“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell?”
Riddell took half a moment to consider, and then replied, triumphantly, “I’m quite well, thank you, ma’am.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” said Mrs Patrick, rather icily, for this last observation had seemed to her a little rude. “Very,” chimed in Miss Stringer.
After this there was a silence, which Riddell devoutly hoped might last till it was time to go. Had the ladies not been there he would have liked very much to speak to the doctor about school matters, and the doctor, but for the same cause, would have wished to talk to his head boy. But it was evident this tea-table was not the place for such conversation.
“I hear,” said the doctor, after the pause had continued some time, addressing his sister-in-law, “there is likely to be an election in Shellport before long; Sir Abraham is retiring.”
“Indeed, you surprise me,” said Miss Stringer. “It is unexpected,” said the doctor, “but it is thought there will be a sharp contest for the seat.”
“And are you a Liberal or a Conservative, Mr Riddell?” asked Mrs Patrick, thinking it time that unfortunate youth was again tempted into the conversation.
“A Liberal, ma’am,” replied Riddell. “Oh! boys are generally Conservatives, are they not?” She asked this question in a tone as if she expected him to try to deceive her in his answer. However, he evaded it by replying bashfully, “I hope not.”
“And pray,” said Miss Stringer, putting down her cup, and turning full on her victim, “will you favour us with your reasons for such a hope, Mr Riddell?”
Poor Riddell! he little thought what he had let himself in for. If there was one subject the two ladies were rabid on it was politics. They proceeded to pounce upon, devour, and annihilate the unlucky head classic without mercy. They made him contradict himself twice or thrice in every sentence; they proved to him clearly that he knew nothing at all of what he was talking about, and generally gave him to understand that he was an impertinent, conceited puppy for presuming to have an opinion of his own on such matters!
Riddell came out of the ordeal very much as a duck comes out of the hands of the poulterer. Luckily, by the time the discussion was over it was time for him to go. He certainly could not have held out much longer. As it was, he was good for nothing after it, and went to bed early that night with a very bad headache.
Before he left, however, the doctor had accompanied him into the hall, and said, “There are a few things, Riddell, I want to speak to you about. Will you come to my study a quarter of an hour before morning chapel to-morrow?”
Had the invitation been to breakfast in that horrible parlour Riddell would flatly have declined it. As it was he cheerfully accepted it, and only wished the doctor had thought of it before, and spared him the misery of that evening with the two Willoughby griffins!
He could hardly help guessing what it was the doctor had to say to him, or why it was he had been asked to tea that evening. And he felt very dejected as he thought about it. Like most of the other Willoughbites, the idea of a new captain having to be appointed had never occurred to him till Wyndham had finally left the school. And when it did occur, and when moreover it began to dawn upon him that he himself was the probable successor, horror filled his mind. He couldn’t do it. He was not cut out for it. He would sooner leave Willoughby altogether. The boys either knew nothing about him, or they laughed at him for his clumsiness, or they suspected him as a coward, or they despised him as a prig. He had wit enough to know what Willoughby thought of him, and that being so, how could he ever be its captain?
“I would much rather you named some one else,” said he to the doctor at their interview next morning. “I know quite well I couldn’t get on.”
“You have not tried yet,” said the doctor.
“But I’ve not the strength, and the boys don’t like me,” pleaded Riddell.
“You must make them like you, Riddell,” said the doctor.
“How can I? They will dislike me all the more if I am made captain. I have no influence with them, indeed I have not.”
“How do you know?” said the doctor again. “Have you tried yet?”
“I could never do what Wyndham did. He was such a splendid captain.”
“Why?” asked the doctor.
“I suppose because he was a splendid athlete, and threw himself into all their pursuits, and—and set a good example himself.”
“I think you are partly right and partly wrong,” said the doctor. “There are several fine athletes in Willoughby who would make poor captains; and as for throwing oneself into school pursuits and setting a good example, I don’t think either is beyond your reach.”
Riddell felt very uncomfortable. He began to feel that after all he might be shirking a duty he ought to undertake. But he made one more effort.
“There are so many others would do it better, sir, whom the boys look up to already,” he said. “Bloomfield, for instance, or—”
The doctor held up his hand.
“We will not go into that, Riddell,” he said. “You must not suppose I and others have not considered the good of Willoughby in this matter. It remains for you to consider it also. As you grow older you will constantly find duties confronting you which may be sorely against your inclination, but which as an honest man you will know are not to be shirked. You have a chance of beginning now. I don’t pretend to say you will find it easy or pleasant work, or that you are likely to succeed, at first at any rate, as well as others have done. But unless I am mistaken you will not give in on that account. Of course you will need to exert yourself. You know what boys look for in a captain; it’s not mere muscle, or agility. Get them by all means if you can; but what will be worth far more than these will be sympathy. If they discover you are one with them, and that in your efforts to keep order you have the welfare of the school chiefly at heart, they will come out, depend upon it, and meet you half-way. It’s worth trying, Riddell.”
Riddell said nothing, but his face was rather more hopeful as he looked up at the doctor.
“Come,” said the latter, “there’s the bell for chapel. It’s time we went in.”
Riddell entered chapel that morning in a strangely conflicting frame of mind. The hope was still in his face, but the misgivings were still in his heart, and the whole prospect before him seemed to be a dream.
As the slight shy boy walked slowly up the floor to his place among the Sixth, the boys on either side eyed him curiously and eagerly, and a half-titter, half-sneer greeted his appearance.
Some regarded him with a disfavour which amounted to positive dislike, others with disdain and even contempt, and others thought of Wyndham and wondered what Willoughby was coming to. Even among the Sixth many an unfriendly glance was darted at him as he took his seat, and many a whispered foreboding passed from boy to boy. Only a few watched him with looks of sympathy, and of these scarcely one was hopeful.
Happily for Riddell, he could not see half of all this; and when in a moment the doctor entered and prayers began, he saw none of it. For he was one of a few at Willoughby to whom this early-morning service was something more than a mere routine, and who felt, especially at times like this, that in those beautiful familiar words was to be found the best of all preparations for the day’s duties.
Telson, as he stood down by the door, with his hands in his pockets, beside his friend Parson, was void of all such reflections. What was chiefly occupying his lordly mind at that moment was the discovery suddenly made, that if Riddell was the new captain, he of course would be captain’s fag. And he was not quite sure whether to be pleased or the reverse at his new dignity.
“You see,” said he to his ally, in a whisper, “it’s good larks marking the fellows off every morning as they come into chapel, but then, don’t you twig that means I’ve got to be here the moment the bell begins ringing? and that’s no joke.”
“No, unless you got leave to ring the bell, too,” said Parson. “Then of course they couldn’t troop in till you were there. I’d come down and help with the bell, you know.”
“Wouldn’t do, I fancy,” said Telson. “Then, of course, it’s swell enough work to have to go about and tell the monitors what they’ve got to do, but I’m not so sure if it’s a good thing to mix altogether with monitors—likely to spoil a chap, eh?”
“Rather,” said Parson. “Look out, Porter’s looking.”
Whereupon this brief but edifying dialogue broke off for the present.
The monitors duly assembled in the doctor’s library after chapel. They all of them knew what was coming, and their general attitude did not seem promising for the newrégime. Each one possibly fancied he had the interests of Willoughby at heart, and all but one or two felt convinced that in putting Riddell into the position of captain the doctor was committing a serious mistake. Every one could have given good reasons for thinking so, and would have asserted that they had no personal ill-feeling towards the new captain, but for the sake of the school they were sure he was not the fit person. Whether each one felt equally sure that he himself would have filled the post better is a question it is not necessary to ask here.
The doctor was brief and to the point.
“I dare say you know why I have called you together,” he said. “Wyndham—whom every one here liked and respected, and who did a great deal for the school”—(“Hear, hear,” from one or two voices)—“has left, and we shall all miss him. The captain of the school has always for a long time past been the head classical boy. It is not a law of the Medes and Persians that it should be so, and if there seemed any special reason why the rule should be broken through there is nothing to prevent that being done.”
At this point one or two breathed rather more freely and the attention generally was intensified. After all, this seemed like the preface to a more favourable announcement. But those who thought so found their mistake when the doctor proceeded.
“In the present case there is no such reason, and Riddell here is fully aware of the duties expected of him, and is prepared to perform them. I look to you to support him, and am confident if all work heartily together no one need be afraid for the continued success of Willoughby.”
The doctor ended his speech amid the silence of his audience, which was not broken as he turned and left the room. At the same moment, to the relief of no one more than of Riddell, the bell sounded for breakfast and the assembly forthwith broke up.
Chapter Five.The New Captain is discussed on Land and Water.The doctor’s announcement was not long in taking effect. As soon as third school was over that afternoon the monitors assembled in the Sixth Form room to discuss the situation. Fortunately for Riddell’s peace of mind, he was not present; but nearly all the others, whether friendly or otherwise, were there.Game, with his usual downrightness, opened the ball.“Well, you fellows,” said he, “what are you going to do?”“Let’s have a game of leapfrog while the fags aren’t looking,” said Crossfield, a schoolhouse monitor and a wag in a small way.“It’s all very well for you to fool about,” said Game, ill-temperedly. “You schoolhouse fellows think, as long as you get well looked after, Willoughby may go to the dogs.”“What do you mean?” said Fairbairn. “I don’t think so.”“I suppose you’d like to make out that Riddell is made captain because he’s the best man for the place, and not because the doctor always favours the schoolhouse,” snarled Wibberly.“He’s made captain because he’s head classic,” replied Fairbairn; “it has nothing to do with his being a schoolhouse fellow.”“All very well,” said Tucker, of Welch’s, “but it’s a precious odd thing, all the same, that the captain is always picked out of the schoolhouse.”“And it’s a precious odd thing too,” chimed in Crossfield, “that a head classic was never to be got out of Welch’s for love or money!”This turned the laugh against the unlucky Tucker, who was notoriously a long way off being head classic.“What I say is,” said Game, “we want an all-round man for captain—a fellow like Bloomfield here, who’s well up in the Sixth, and far away the best fellow in the eleven and the boats. Besides, he doesn’t shut himself up like Riddell, and give himself airs. I can’t see why the doctor didn’t name him. The only thing against him seems to be that he’s not a schoolhouse gentleman.”“That’s the best thing about him in my opinion,” said Ashley.If Game and his friends had determined to do their best to gain friends for the new captain, this constant bringing-up of the rivalry between Parrett’s house and the schoolhouse was the very way to do it. Many of the schoolhouse monitors had felt as sore as anybody about the appointments, but this sort of talk inclined not a few of them to take Riddell’s side.“I don’t want any row made on my account,” said Bloomfield. “If Paddy thinks Riddell’s the best man, we have no choice in the matter.”“Haven’t we, though!” said Wibberly. “We aren’t going to have a fellow put over our heads against our will—at any rate, not without having a word in the matter.”“What can you do?” asked Coates.“We can resign, I suppose?” said Tucker.“Oh, yes!” said Crossfield. “And suppose Paddy took you at your word, my boy? Sad thing for Welch’s that would be!”“I don’t know why you choose to make a beast of yourself whenever I speak,” said Tucker, angrily; “I’ve as much right—”“Shut up, Tucker, for goodness’ sake!” said Bloomfield; “don’t begin by quarrelling.”“Well, then, what does he want to cheek me for?” demanded Tucker. “He’s a stuck-up schoolhouse prig, that’s what he is!”“And if I only had the flow of costermonger’s talk which some people possess—” began Crossfield.“Are you going to shut up or not?” demanded Bloomfield.“Hullo! you aren’t captain yet, old man!” replied the irrepressible Crossfield; “but if you want to know, I am going to shut up now till I want to speak again.”“We might get up a petition to the doctor, anyhow,” suggested Game, returning to the subject; “he’d have to take notice of that.”“What will you say in the petition?” asked Porter.“Oh! easy enough that. Say we don’t consider Riddell fit to be captain, and we’d sooner have some one else.”“Better say we’d sooner have Bloomfield at once,” said Wibberly.“No; please don’t mention my name,” said Bloomfield.“Wouldn’t the best thing be to send Riddell back with a label, ‘Declined, with thanks,’ pinned on his coat-tail?” suggested Crossfield.“Yes; and add, ‘Try again, Paddy,’” said Coates, laughing.“And just mention no schoolhouse snobs are wanted,” said Tucker.“And suggest, mildly, that a nice, clever, amiable, high-principled Welcher like Tom Tucker would be acceptable,” added Crossfield.“Look here,” said Tucker, very red in the face, advancing towards his tormentor, “I’ve stood your impudence long enough, you cad, and I won’t stand any more.”“Sit down, then,” replied Crossfield, cheerfully, “plenty of forms.”“Look here, you fellows,” said Bloomfield again, “for goodness’ sake shut up. Have it out afterwards if you like, but don’t fight here.”“I don’t mind where I have it out,” growled Tucker, “but I’ll teach him to cheek me, see if I don’t.”So saying, much to the relief of every one, he turned on his heel and left the room.After this the discussion again got round to Riddell, and the question of a petition was revived.“It would be quite easy to draw something up that would say what we want to say and not give offence to any one,” said Ashley.“But what do you want to say?” asked Fairbairn. “If you want to tell the doctor he’s wrong, and that we are the people to set him right, I don’t see how you can help offending him.”“That’s not what we want to say at all,” said Game. “We want to say that the captain of Willoughby has always been a fellow who was good all round, and we think the new captain ought to be of the same sort for the sake of the school.”“Hear, hear,” said one or two of Parrett’s house; “what could be better than that?”“Well,” said Porter, “I don’t see much difference between saying that and telling the doctor he doesn’t know what he’s about.”“Of courseyousay so—that’s your schoolhouse prejudice,” replied Wibberly.“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Fairbairn, warmly; “you know that as well as I do, Wibberly.”“I know it is,” retorted Wibberly; “you’d put up with anybody as long as he wasn’t a Parrett fellow.”And so the wrangle went on; and at the end of it the company was as near agreeing as they had been at the beginning.Finally one or two of the schoolhouse fellows, such as Fairbairn, Coates, and Porter, withdrew, and the Parrett faction, having it then pretty much their own way, drew up the following petition:“We the undersigned monitors respectfully hope you will reconsider your decision as to the New Captain. The captain has hitherto always been an ‘all-round man,’ and we think it would be best for the discipline of the school to have a fellow of the same sort now. We wish to say nothing against Riddell except that we do not think he is the best fellow for the position. We hope you will excuse us for stating our opinion.”To this extraordinary document all the monitors of Parrett’s and Welch’s houses present put their names, as well as Gilks and one or two others of the schoolhouse, and after deciding not to present it till next day, by which time it was hoped other signatures might be procured, the august assembly broke up.The reign of Riddell had not, to say the least of it, opened auspiciously as far as his fellow-monitors were concerned. And outside that body, in Willoughby at large, things did not look much more promising.The feeling in Parrett’s house was of course one of unmingled wrath and mutiny. When once the heads of the house were known to have declared so unmistakably against the new captain, it was not much to be wondered at that the rank and file followed their lead in a still more demonstrative manner.It happened that Parson and his friends, Telson (who, though a schoolhouse boy, seemed to live most of his life in Parrett’s), King, Wakefield, and Lawkins, had planned a little expedition up the river between third school and “call-over” that afternoon, and the present state of affairs in the school formed a rather lively topic of discussion for these worthies as they pulled the Parrett’s “Noah’s Ark”—by which complimentary title the capacious boat devoted to the use of the juniors of the house was known—lazily up on the tide towards Balsham.The river was pretty full, as usual at that time of day, and as one form which the wrath of the youthful Parretts took was to insult, and if opportunity arose, to run down the craft of either of the other houses, the discussion on the condition of Willoughby was relieved by more than one lively incident.“Think of that chap being captain,” said Parson, standing up on the back seat, with the rudder-lines in his hands so as to command a good view of the stream ahead. “He couldn’t row as well as old Bosher there.”As “old Bosher” was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.“Oh, he’s an awful cad,” said Wakefield, who was rowing bow. “He reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed.”“What a beastly shame!” was the sympathising chorus.“And you know—” added King.But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did not come out.After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate. As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.“Bravo! Well rowed, our house! Two to one on Parrett’s! Three cheers for Bloomfield! Three cheers for the captain! Hooroo!”With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend, leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.“Isn’t old Bloomfield a stunner?” said Lawkins. “He’s the sort of fellow for captain! Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell.”“Easy all there about the schoolhouse,” shouted down Telson from his place at stroke. “I’ll fight you if you say it again.”“Hurrah! let’s land and have a mill!” cried King. “I back you, Telson, old man.”“Oh, I didn’t mean to cheek you, Telson,” said Lawkins, humbly. “I’ll apologise, you know.”“Jolly good job,” said Telson, grandly, “or I’d have licked you.”“All the same,” said Lawkins, “old Bloomfield’s—”“Look out now!” suddenly broke in Parson, who had been gradually getting excited where he stood; “there’s the Welchers coming! Pull hard, you fellows, or they’ll cut us out. Now then! Row, Bosher, can’t you, you old cow? Yah! hoo! Welchers ahoy!” he cried, raising his voice in tones of derisive defiance. “Yah! boo! herrings and dough-nuts, jolly cowards, daren’t wait for us! Booh, funk-its!”With such taunts the Hector of Parrett’s endeavoured to incite the enemy to battle. And the enemy, if truth must be told, needed very little persuasion, especially as the crew in question consisted of Cusack, Pilbury, and the three other ill-starred victim of the raid of two days ago.They lay on their oars and waited for the foe to come up, Cusack shouting meanwhile, “Who’d be afraid of a pack of thieves like you!Iwouldn’t! I dare you to land and fight us! Dare you to run into us! Dare you to stand still till we lick you! Dare you to do anything but steal other fellows’ grub! Ye-ow!”“Now, you fellows,” cried Parson, “put it on.”A few strokes brought the two boats level, and then, as they lay side by side at oar’s distance, ensued a notable and tremendous splashing match, which was kept up with terrific vigour on both sides, until not only was every combatant splashed through, but the two boats themselves were nearly swamped.Then, after either side had insultingly claimed the victory, the boats separated, and the dripping warriors parted with a final broadside.“There you are, take that, and go and tell the captain!” shouted Parson.“You wouldn’t dare do it if Bloomfield was captain,” retorted the Welchers. “We’ll have him captain, then see how you’ll smile! Yah! bah!”And, amid terrific cat-calling on either side, the crews parted.This last taunt was a sore one for the young Parretts. It had never occurred to them that Bloomfield, if he were captain, might perhaps spoil their sport more than Riddell. But it was only a passing annoyance. After all they were Parretts, and Bloomfield was their man, whether he spoiled their sport or not. Telson had no objection to this sentiment as long as no one presumed “to cheek the schoolhouse” in uttering it. Whenever that was done he insisted on his unalterable determination to fight the offender unless he swallowed his words, which the offender usually did.The tide was getting slack, and it was time for them to turn if they were to be in for “call-over.” Just, however, as they were about to do so, a shout behind attracted them, and they became aware of another four-oared boat approaching with the schoolhouse flag in the prow. It came along at a fair pace, but with nothing like the style which had marked the Parretts’ boat.The crew consisted of Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Gilks, with Crossfield steering: the first time a complete schoolhouse crew had appeared on the river this year.The blood of the young Parretts was up, and the credit of their house was in question.“Put it on now,” said Parson to his men, as the schoolhouse boat came up. “Show ’em what you can do! Now then, slide into it! Race ’em!”And the young heroes laid into their work and made Noah’s Ark forge along at an unwonted pace. Parson busily encouraged them, varying his exhortations by occasional taunts addressed to the other boat.“Now then,” he shouted, “two to one on us. Come on, you there, jolly schoolhouse louts—”“Parson, I’ll fight you if you say it again,” interposed Telson by way of parenthesis.“Oh, beg pardon, old man. Pull away, you fellows! Parretts for ever! No Riddell for us! Three cheers for Bloomfield! You’re gaining, you fellows. Oh, well pulled indeed our boat!”The schoolhouse boat had slackened speed, and paddling gently alongside, was taking careful note of these audacious youngsters, who, puffing and plunging along, fully believed they were beating the picked four of the rival house by their own prowess.The big boys seemed amused on the whole, and good-humouredly kept up the semblance of a race for about half a mile, taking care to give the challenging crew a wide berth.At last, after about ten minutes had been spent in this way, and when the young champions were all, except Parson, fairly exhausted, Crossfield took out his watch and said to his crew, winking as he did so, “Time we turned, you fellows; it’s five o’clock. Easy all, pull bow side! back water, stroke!”And so saying, the schoolhouse boat suddenly turned round and started off at a smart pace down stream, where it was soon out of reach of the parting taunts and opprobrious noises which Parson, for the credit of his house, continued to hurl at its crew till they were beyond earshot.Then it suddenly began to occur to these elated young navigators that if it had been time for the four-oar to turn three minutes ago it was possibly time for them to turn also.“What did he say the time was?” asked King.“Five o’clock!” said Lawkins.“Five o’clock! and call-over is at 5:20! We can’t do it in the time!” exclaimed Parson, aghast.“My eye, what a row there’ll be,” groaned Telson. “I’ve been late for call-over twice this week already, and I’m certain to get reported now!”“So shall I be,” said Bosher.“It’s all a vile dodge of those schoolhouse cads,” exclaimed King. “I mean,” said he (perceiving that Telson was about to make a remark), “of those cads. They did it on purpose to make us late. I see it all now. And then they’ll report us. Ugh! did you ever know such blackguards?”The discovery was too late to be any good—that is, as far as the hope of reaching Willoughby before call-over was concerned. However, it warned them the sooner they turned now the sooner they would get back at all. So they turned viciously and started homewards.The rowers were all too tired and enraged to talk much, and the journey down stream was silent and gloomy. They heard, about a mile from home, the school bell ringing for call-over, and groaned inwardly when presently it ceased, and they knew their names were being called over and not one of them there to answer. Parson alone made any attempt to keep up the drooping spirits of his crew.“Never fear. We’ll pay them out, you see. And if they do report us we’ll only get impots. The beasts! I wish we’d run into them and drowned them all! so I do.”At this point the speaker became aware of an outrigger skiff rapidly approaching them. The rower of course had his back turned, and evidently not expecting anything ahead, was steering himself “over his toes,” as the term is—that is by some landmark behind the boat. Who he was Parson could not make out, but he wore a light-blue ribbon on his straw, and that was enough. Light-blue was the schoolhouse colour. Here was a chance of paying out of the enemy, anyhow!So he ordered his men to “easy all” and allow the unconscious sculler to come close up. Then when he was within a few yards he started up, and with a wild shout of, “Yah booh, cad!” gave the signal to his crew to pull on, and brought his boat close alongside the skiff. The rower, startled by the sudden shout, turned quickly round.Horror of horrors! It was Mr Parrett himself!There was no time to do anything. At the instant he turned, his left scull came into violent contact with the oars of the Noah’s Ark, and was jerked from his hand, and at the same time the light boat gave a violent lurch over and capsized, sending her occupant headlong into the river!The small boys, pale with fright and dazed by the suddenness of the accident, sat for a moment unable to move or cry out. Then by a sudden wild impulse Parson sprang boldly into the water, followed in a second or two first by Telson, then by Lawkins. The other three held to the oars and waited where they were.The tide was running down at a good pace, and the river was fairly wide, but there was not much danger to any of the immersed ones. All Willoughby boys could swim, and as Mr Parrett had taught most of them to do so himself, he hardly stood in need of the help of his three pupils. A few strokes brought them all to the bank in safety.An uncomfortable moment ensued. Mr Parrett said nothing to the three dripping boys who stood before him, but called to the boys in the boat to row in, bringing the skiff with them.All the while this was being done, Telson and Parson looked despairingly at one another, and darted scared looks at Mr Parrett. He appeared not to notice them, but stood impatiently waiting for the boats.“Is the scull broken?” he called out as they approached.“No, sir,” said Wakefield.The skiff was put in close to the bank, and a brief examination showed that it was not damaged. Mr Parrett got into it, and without saying a word began to push off.“Please, sir,” cried Parson at this point, feeling that his last chance was going, “I’m so sorry. We didn’t know it was you, sir. It was all my fault.”“No, sir,” shouted Telson, “it was all my fault. We’re awfully sorry, sir.”Mr Parrett took no notice of these protestations, but said, quietly, “You’d better get home quickly and change your things.”So saying he sculled off, with a face hardly less puzzled than the small scared faces which, after watching him go, turned dismally to their own unlucky Noah’s Ark.On their arrival at the school some half-hour later, Parson, Telson, Bosher, King, and Lawkins were informed that, having been reported for being absent at call-over, the captain wished to see them in his study after breakfast the next morning.Later on that same evening another notice reached them that they were wanted in Mr Parrett’s room at once.
The doctor’s announcement was not long in taking effect. As soon as third school was over that afternoon the monitors assembled in the Sixth Form room to discuss the situation. Fortunately for Riddell’s peace of mind, he was not present; but nearly all the others, whether friendly or otherwise, were there.
Game, with his usual downrightness, opened the ball.
“Well, you fellows,” said he, “what are you going to do?”
“Let’s have a game of leapfrog while the fags aren’t looking,” said Crossfield, a schoolhouse monitor and a wag in a small way.
“It’s all very well for you to fool about,” said Game, ill-temperedly. “You schoolhouse fellows think, as long as you get well looked after, Willoughby may go to the dogs.”
“What do you mean?” said Fairbairn. “I don’t think so.”
“I suppose you’d like to make out that Riddell is made captain because he’s the best man for the place, and not because the doctor always favours the schoolhouse,” snarled Wibberly.
“He’s made captain because he’s head classic,” replied Fairbairn; “it has nothing to do with his being a schoolhouse fellow.”
“All very well,” said Tucker, of Welch’s, “but it’s a precious odd thing, all the same, that the captain is always picked out of the schoolhouse.”
“And it’s a precious odd thing too,” chimed in Crossfield, “that a head classic was never to be got out of Welch’s for love or money!”
This turned the laugh against the unlucky Tucker, who was notoriously a long way off being head classic.
“What I say is,” said Game, “we want an all-round man for captain—a fellow like Bloomfield here, who’s well up in the Sixth, and far away the best fellow in the eleven and the boats. Besides, he doesn’t shut himself up like Riddell, and give himself airs. I can’t see why the doctor didn’t name him. The only thing against him seems to be that he’s not a schoolhouse gentleman.”
“That’s the best thing about him in my opinion,” said Ashley.
If Game and his friends had determined to do their best to gain friends for the new captain, this constant bringing-up of the rivalry between Parrett’s house and the schoolhouse was the very way to do it. Many of the schoolhouse monitors had felt as sore as anybody about the appointments, but this sort of talk inclined not a few of them to take Riddell’s side.
“I don’t want any row made on my account,” said Bloomfield. “If Paddy thinks Riddell’s the best man, we have no choice in the matter.”
“Haven’t we, though!” said Wibberly. “We aren’t going to have a fellow put over our heads against our will—at any rate, not without having a word in the matter.”
“What can you do?” asked Coates.
“We can resign, I suppose?” said Tucker.
“Oh, yes!” said Crossfield. “And suppose Paddy took you at your word, my boy? Sad thing for Welch’s that would be!”
“I don’t know why you choose to make a beast of yourself whenever I speak,” said Tucker, angrily; “I’ve as much right—”
“Shut up, Tucker, for goodness’ sake!” said Bloomfield; “don’t begin by quarrelling.”
“Well, then, what does he want to cheek me for?” demanded Tucker. “He’s a stuck-up schoolhouse prig, that’s what he is!”
“And if I only had the flow of costermonger’s talk which some people possess—” began Crossfield.
“Are you going to shut up or not?” demanded Bloomfield.
“Hullo! you aren’t captain yet, old man!” replied the irrepressible Crossfield; “but if you want to know, I am going to shut up now till I want to speak again.”
“We might get up a petition to the doctor, anyhow,” suggested Game, returning to the subject; “he’d have to take notice of that.”
“What will you say in the petition?” asked Porter.
“Oh! easy enough that. Say we don’t consider Riddell fit to be captain, and we’d sooner have some one else.”
“Better say we’d sooner have Bloomfield at once,” said Wibberly.
“No; please don’t mention my name,” said Bloomfield.
“Wouldn’t the best thing be to send Riddell back with a label, ‘Declined, with thanks,’ pinned on his coat-tail?” suggested Crossfield.
“Yes; and add, ‘Try again, Paddy,’” said Coates, laughing.
“And just mention no schoolhouse snobs are wanted,” said Tucker.
“And suggest, mildly, that a nice, clever, amiable, high-principled Welcher like Tom Tucker would be acceptable,” added Crossfield.
“Look here,” said Tucker, very red in the face, advancing towards his tormentor, “I’ve stood your impudence long enough, you cad, and I won’t stand any more.”
“Sit down, then,” replied Crossfield, cheerfully, “plenty of forms.”
“Look here, you fellows,” said Bloomfield again, “for goodness’ sake shut up. Have it out afterwards if you like, but don’t fight here.”
“I don’t mind where I have it out,” growled Tucker, “but I’ll teach him to cheek me, see if I don’t.”
So saying, much to the relief of every one, he turned on his heel and left the room.
After this the discussion again got round to Riddell, and the question of a petition was revived.
“It would be quite easy to draw something up that would say what we want to say and not give offence to any one,” said Ashley.
“But what do you want to say?” asked Fairbairn. “If you want to tell the doctor he’s wrong, and that we are the people to set him right, I don’t see how you can help offending him.”
“That’s not what we want to say at all,” said Game. “We want to say that the captain of Willoughby has always been a fellow who was good all round, and we think the new captain ought to be of the same sort for the sake of the school.”
“Hear, hear,” said one or two of Parrett’s house; “what could be better than that?”
“Well,” said Porter, “I don’t see much difference between saying that and telling the doctor he doesn’t know what he’s about.”
“Of courseyousay so—that’s your schoolhouse prejudice,” replied Wibberly.
“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Fairbairn, warmly; “you know that as well as I do, Wibberly.”
“I know it is,” retorted Wibberly; “you’d put up with anybody as long as he wasn’t a Parrett fellow.”
And so the wrangle went on; and at the end of it the company was as near agreeing as they had been at the beginning.
Finally one or two of the schoolhouse fellows, such as Fairbairn, Coates, and Porter, withdrew, and the Parrett faction, having it then pretty much their own way, drew up the following petition:
“We the undersigned monitors respectfully hope you will reconsider your decision as to the New Captain. The captain has hitherto always been an ‘all-round man,’ and we think it would be best for the discipline of the school to have a fellow of the same sort now. We wish to say nothing against Riddell except that we do not think he is the best fellow for the position. We hope you will excuse us for stating our opinion.”
To this extraordinary document all the monitors of Parrett’s and Welch’s houses present put their names, as well as Gilks and one or two others of the schoolhouse, and after deciding not to present it till next day, by which time it was hoped other signatures might be procured, the august assembly broke up.
The reign of Riddell had not, to say the least of it, opened auspiciously as far as his fellow-monitors were concerned. And outside that body, in Willoughby at large, things did not look much more promising.
The feeling in Parrett’s house was of course one of unmingled wrath and mutiny. When once the heads of the house were known to have declared so unmistakably against the new captain, it was not much to be wondered at that the rank and file followed their lead in a still more demonstrative manner.
It happened that Parson and his friends, Telson (who, though a schoolhouse boy, seemed to live most of his life in Parrett’s), King, Wakefield, and Lawkins, had planned a little expedition up the river between third school and “call-over” that afternoon, and the present state of affairs in the school formed a rather lively topic of discussion for these worthies as they pulled the Parrett’s “Noah’s Ark”—by which complimentary title the capacious boat devoted to the use of the juniors of the house was known—lazily up on the tide towards Balsham.
The river was pretty full, as usual at that time of day, and as one form which the wrath of the youthful Parretts took was to insult, and if opportunity arose, to run down the craft of either of the other houses, the discussion on the condition of Willoughby was relieved by more than one lively incident.
“Think of that chap being captain,” said Parson, standing up on the back seat, with the rudder-lines in his hands so as to command a good view of the stream ahead. “He couldn’t row as well as old Bosher there.”
As “old Bosher” was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.
“Oh, he’s an awful cad,” said Wakefield, who was rowing bow. “He reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed.”
“What a beastly shame!” was the sympathising chorus.
“And you know—” added King.
But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did not come out.
After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.
They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate. As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.
“Bravo! Well rowed, our house! Two to one on Parrett’s! Three cheers for Bloomfield! Three cheers for the captain! Hooroo!”
With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend, leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.
“Isn’t old Bloomfield a stunner?” said Lawkins. “He’s the sort of fellow for captain! Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell.”
“Easy all there about the schoolhouse,” shouted down Telson from his place at stroke. “I’ll fight you if you say it again.”
“Hurrah! let’s land and have a mill!” cried King. “I back you, Telson, old man.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to cheek you, Telson,” said Lawkins, humbly. “I’ll apologise, you know.”
“Jolly good job,” said Telson, grandly, “or I’d have licked you.”
“All the same,” said Lawkins, “old Bloomfield’s—”
“Look out now!” suddenly broke in Parson, who had been gradually getting excited where he stood; “there’s the Welchers coming! Pull hard, you fellows, or they’ll cut us out. Now then! Row, Bosher, can’t you, you old cow? Yah! hoo! Welchers ahoy!” he cried, raising his voice in tones of derisive defiance. “Yah! boo! herrings and dough-nuts, jolly cowards, daren’t wait for us! Booh, funk-its!”
With such taunts the Hector of Parrett’s endeavoured to incite the enemy to battle. And the enemy, if truth must be told, needed very little persuasion, especially as the crew in question consisted of Cusack, Pilbury, and the three other ill-starred victim of the raid of two days ago.
They lay on their oars and waited for the foe to come up, Cusack shouting meanwhile, “Who’d be afraid of a pack of thieves like you!Iwouldn’t! I dare you to land and fight us! Dare you to run into us! Dare you to stand still till we lick you! Dare you to do anything but steal other fellows’ grub! Ye-ow!”
“Now, you fellows,” cried Parson, “put it on.”
A few strokes brought the two boats level, and then, as they lay side by side at oar’s distance, ensued a notable and tremendous splashing match, which was kept up with terrific vigour on both sides, until not only was every combatant splashed through, but the two boats themselves were nearly swamped.
Then, after either side had insultingly claimed the victory, the boats separated, and the dripping warriors parted with a final broadside.
“There you are, take that, and go and tell the captain!” shouted Parson.
“You wouldn’t dare do it if Bloomfield was captain,” retorted the Welchers. “We’ll have him captain, then see how you’ll smile! Yah! bah!”
And, amid terrific cat-calling on either side, the crews parted.
This last taunt was a sore one for the young Parretts. It had never occurred to them that Bloomfield, if he were captain, might perhaps spoil their sport more than Riddell. But it was only a passing annoyance. After all they were Parretts, and Bloomfield was their man, whether he spoiled their sport or not. Telson had no objection to this sentiment as long as no one presumed “to cheek the schoolhouse” in uttering it. Whenever that was done he insisted on his unalterable determination to fight the offender unless he swallowed his words, which the offender usually did.
The tide was getting slack, and it was time for them to turn if they were to be in for “call-over.” Just, however, as they were about to do so, a shout behind attracted them, and they became aware of another four-oared boat approaching with the schoolhouse flag in the prow. It came along at a fair pace, but with nothing like the style which had marked the Parretts’ boat.
The crew consisted of Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Gilks, with Crossfield steering: the first time a complete schoolhouse crew had appeared on the river this year.
The blood of the young Parretts was up, and the credit of their house was in question.
“Put it on now,” said Parson to his men, as the schoolhouse boat came up. “Show ’em what you can do! Now then, slide into it! Race ’em!”
And the young heroes laid into their work and made Noah’s Ark forge along at an unwonted pace. Parson busily encouraged them, varying his exhortations by occasional taunts addressed to the other boat.
“Now then,” he shouted, “two to one on us. Come on, you there, jolly schoolhouse louts—”
“Parson, I’ll fight you if you say it again,” interposed Telson by way of parenthesis.
“Oh, beg pardon, old man. Pull away, you fellows! Parretts for ever! No Riddell for us! Three cheers for Bloomfield! You’re gaining, you fellows. Oh, well pulled indeed our boat!”
The schoolhouse boat had slackened speed, and paddling gently alongside, was taking careful note of these audacious youngsters, who, puffing and plunging along, fully believed they were beating the picked four of the rival house by their own prowess.
The big boys seemed amused on the whole, and good-humouredly kept up the semblance of a race for about half a mile, taking care to give the challenging crew a wide berth.
At last, after about ten minutes had been spent in this way, and when the young champions were all, except Parson, fairly exhausted, Crossfield took out his watch and said to his crew, winking as he did so, “Time we turned, you fellows; it’s five o’clock. Easy all, pull bow side! back water, stroke!”
And so saying, the schoolhouse boat suddenly turned round and started off at a smart pace down stream, where it was soon out of reach of the parting taunts and opprobrious noises which Parson, for the credit of his house, continued to hurl at its crew till they were beyond earshot.
Then it suddenly began to occur to these elated young navigators that if it had been time for the four-oar to turn three minutes ago it was possibly time for them to turn also.
“What did he say the time was?” asked King.
“Five o’clock!” said Lawkins.
“Five o’clock! and call-over is at 5:20! We can’t do it in the time!” exclaimed Parson, aghast.
“My eye, what a row there’ll be,” groaned Telson. “I’ve been late for call-over twice this week already, and I’m certain to get reported now!”
“So shall I be,” said Bosher.
“It’s all a vile dodge of those schoolhouse cads,” exclaimed King. “I mean,” said he (perceiving that Telson was about to make a remark), “of those cads. They did it on purpose to make us late. I see it all now. And then they’ll report us. Ugh! did you ever know such blackguards?”
The discovery was too late to be any good—that is, as far as the hope of reaching Willoughby before call-over was concerned. However, it warned them the sooner they turned now the sooner they would get back at all. So they turned viciously and started homewards.
The rowers were all too tired and enraged to talk much, and the journey down stream was silent and gloomy. They heard, about a mile from home, the school bell ringing for call-over, and groaned inwardly when presently it ceased, and they knew their names were being called over and not one of them there to answer. Parson alone made any attempt to keep up the drooping spirits of his crew.
“Never fear. We’ll pay them out, you see. And if they do report us we’ll only get impots. The beasts! I wish we’d run into them and drowned them all! so I do.”
At this point the speaker became aware of an outrigger skiff rapidly approaching them. The rower of course had his back turned, and evidently not expecting anything ahead, was steering himself “over his toes,” as the term is—that is by some landmark behind the boat. Who he was Parson could not make out, but he wore a light-blue ribbon on his straw, and that was enough. Light-blue was the schoolhouse colour. Here was a chance of paying out of the enemy, anyhow!
So he ordered his men to “easy all” and allow the unconscious sculler to come close up. Then when he was within a few yards he started up, and with a wild shout of, “Yah booh, cad!” gave the signal to his crew to pull on, and brought his boat close alongside the skiff. The rower, startled by the sudden shout, turned quickly round.
Horror of horrors! It was Mr Parrett himself!
There was no time to do anything. At the instant he turned, his left scull came into violent contact with the oars of the Noah’s Ark, and was jerked from his hand, and at the same time the light boat gave a violent lurch over and capsized, sending her occupant headlong into the river!
The small boys, pale with fright and dazed by the suddenness of the accident, sat for a moment unable to move or cry out. Then by a sudden wild impulse Parson sprang boldly into the water, followed in a second or two first by Telson, then by Lawkins. The other three held to the oars and waited where they were.
The tide was running down at a good pace, and the river was fairly wide, but there was not much danger to any of the immersed ones. All Willoughby boys could swim, and as Mr Parrett had taught most of them to do so himself, he hardly stood in need of the help of his three pupils. A few strokes brought them all to the bank in safety.
An uncomfortable moment ensued. Mr Parrett said nothing to the three dripping boys who stood before him, but called to the boys in the boat to row in, bringing the skiff with them.
All the while this was being done, Telson and Parson looked despairingly at one another, and darted scared looks at Mr Parrett. He appeared not to notice them, but stood impatiently waiting for the boats.
“Is the scull broken?” he called out as they approached.
“No, sir,” said Wakefield.
The skiff was put in close to the bank, and a brief examination showed that it was not damaged. Mr Parrett got into it, and without saying a word began to push off.
“Please, sir,” cried Parson at this point, feeling that his last chance was going, “I’m so sorry. We didn’t know it was you, sir. It was all my fault.”
“No, sir,” shouted Telson, “it was all my fault. We’re awfully sorry, sir.”
Mr Parrett took no notice of these protestations, but said, quietly, “You’d better get home quickly and change your things.”
So saying he sculled off, with a face hardly less puzzled than the small scared faces which, after watching him go, turned dismally to their own unlucky Noah’s Ark.
On their arrival at the school some half-hour later, Parson, Telson, Bosher, King, and Lawkins were informed that, having been reported for being absent at call-over, the captain wished to see them in his study after breakfast the next morning.
Later on that same evening another notice reached them that they were wanted in Mr Parrett’s room at once.
Chapter Six.Breakers ahead.Mr Parrett was a popular master at Willoughby. He was an old Cambridge “blue,” and it was to his influence and example that the school in general, and Parrett’s house in particular, were chiefly indebted for their excellence in all manly sports. He was the most patient of trainers, and the most long-suffering of “coaches.” Nearly all his spare time was given up to the public service. Every afternoon you would be sure to find him in his flannels running along the bank beside some boat, or standing to be bowled at by aspiring young cricketers in the meadow, or superintending a swimming party up at the Willows.Boys didn’t give Mr Parrett credit for all the self-denial he really underwent; for he had a way of seeming to enjoy even the drudgery of his self-imposed work, and it rarely occurred even to the most hopeless of “duffers” to imagine that all the trouble spent over him was anything but a pleasure to the master who spent it.Mr Parrett had his reward, however, in the good will of the boys generally, which he prized highly, and nowhere was he more popular than among the juniors of his own house.What was their dismay, therefore, at the accident of that unlucky afternoon, and with what doleful faces did they present themselves in a melancholy procession at the door of his room at the appointed hour!“Come in,” said Mr Parrett, who was still in his flannels, and had not quite done tea. “Oh, you are the boys that I met on the river this afternoon. All except one belonging to my house, I see.”“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Telson, who was the distinguished exception, “they’re all Parretts except me, and it was all my fault, sir, and I’m—”“No,” interrupted Parson, “it was all my fault; I was steering.”“It was all our faults,” said Lawkins.“Oh,” said Mr Parrett, who could not help looking a little amused at the eager faces of the young culprits. “Perhaps it was my fault for not looking where I was coming to.”“Oh, sir,” said Parson, “that wouldn’t have been any good. We ran you down on purpose.”“Eh?” said Mr Parrett, not quite sure whether he had heard correctly.“That is, we didn’t know it was you, sir; we thought it was a schoolhouse—” (here Telson looked threatening)—“I mean we thought it was some one else. We wouldn’t have done it if we thought it was you, sir—indeed we wouldn’t.”“No, sir, that we wouldn’t,” chimed in the chorus.“And who did you think it was, pray?” inquired Mr Parrett.“A schoolhouse fellow,” replied Parson, avoiding Telson’s glances.“Which schoolhouse boy?” asked the master.“Any one, sir. It didn’t matter much which.”“Indeed. And what has the schoolhouse done to you?” said Mr Parrett, leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away.It wasn’t an easy question, but Parson felt something ought to be said.“Some of them are rather cads, sir,” he said.(“Parson,” whispered Telson. “I’ll fight you when you get outside.”)“I mean, sir,” said Parson, hurriedly, “that is—(I beg pardon, Telson, old man, I didn’t mean)—they don’t like us, and—”“And we don’t like them,” said Lawkins.“And you think they ought to like you?” asked Mr Parrett, severely.This was a poser. The Parrett juniors had never asked themselves the question before.“Now listen to me,” said Mr Parrett. “I’m angry with you, and I’m going to punish you. I am not angry with you for capsizing me this afternoon. You did it by mistake, you say, and no harm was done. And I’m not going to punish you for being out late, for that the captain will do. But boys who make nuisances of themselves and then complain that other boys don’t like them are not to be put up with in Willoughby. You five have had a lesson already. You might have caused a much worse accident than you did by your folly. You may be thankful you did not. For a week neither of you is to go on to the river at all, and after that till the end of the term you will only be allowed to go with the captain’s permission, or in the company of a senior. You can go.”The party turned to obey, when Mr Parrett added, “Three of you, Telson, Parson, and Lawkins, remain a moment.”The other two went off, leaving their three comrades standing at the end of the table, wondering what on earth was coming next.Mr Parrett’s manner changed as he turned to them. He became embarrassed, and spoke almost nervously.“You three,” he said, “jumped in after me this afternoon, did you not?”“Yes, please, sir,” said Telson; “Parson was first, sir.”Mr Parrett rose from his seat, and, without saying a word, shook hands with each one of them, greatly to their astonishment and confusion.“You can go now,” said the master, when the ceremony was concluded; “good-night, boys.”“Good-night, sir,” said they, and filed out of the room.It was some time before Parson and Telson, as they walked slowly back along the passage, could find words suitable to the occasion. Then Telson said, “Well, that was a rum thing of him to do!”“What did he mean?” asked Parson.“Goodness knows. But, I say, it’s a jolly soak being stopped the river, though.”“Yes, and having to get a ‘permit’ when the time is up. I’d sooner not go on than beg a ‘permit’ of the captain.”“I wonder what he’ll say to us to-morrow,” said Telson. “He won’t lick us, eh?”“He’d better not,” said Parson. “You and I could lick him easy.”“I suppose he’ll give us a howling impot. I say I’m getting fagged of impots. I’ve had four this week.”“I’ve had three,” sighed Telson. “Heigho! Willoughby’s going to the dogs. I’ve a good mind to cut the whole concern.”And so in rather desponding mood the two friends separated, and Telson had an exciting chase across the quadrangle to avoid two monitors who were prowling about there (as he concluded) for the express purpose of “potting” him.In this, however, he was mistaken. The two monitors were Gilks of the schoolhouse and Silk of Welch’s, who were taking the air this hot summer evening, and thinking and talking of anything but Master Telson.“I tell you,” said Gilks, “I detest the fellow.”“You detest such a lot of fellows, Gilks,” said Silk.“I know I do,” said Gilks, “but I hate Riddell more than the lot put together.”“I should have thought he was rather an inoffensive duffer,” suggested Silk.“That’s just the worst of it. I’d give anything to catch him out in anything that wasn’t quite square, just to pay him out for his sickening priggishness. Why,” he exclaimed, with increasing anger in his tone, “what do you think he did the other day, long before he was captain, or had any pretence to give himself airs? He pulled me up before all the fellows for—well, for using—”“For swearing?” said Silk.“Yes, if you like. For swearing. What business is it of his what I say? I should like to know.”“Usen’t Wyndham to be down on fellows for swearing too?” asked Silk.“Yes, he was,” said Gilks (who had good reason to know); “but he had a right to do it. This cub hasn’t.”“What did Riddell say?”“What did he say? He said it didn’t make what I said any better worth hearing for sticking in an oath, and that— Oh, I don’t know what precious impudence he didn’t give me.”“Ha, ha,” said Silk, “it wasn’t bad. But I agree with you, the fellow is a prig—”“I know I mean to make a stand now,” said Gilks. “He shan’t stick up his sanctimonious nose over us all, now he’s captain, if I can help it.”“Why, what will you do?” asked Silk.“Do! I’ll punch his head the first time he dare lecture me.”“My dear fellow,” said Silk, “don’t be such a fool. You won’t do a bit of good by that. If you do want to pay him out, pay him out in his own coin.”“How do you mean?” inquired Gilks.“I mean, keep a sharp lookout till you catch his holiness tripping.”“But the beggar never does trip. He’s so vilely careful, he never gives a chance,” growled Gilks.“Awfully uncivil of him, when he knows how grateful we should be to him,” said Silk, laughing. “Never mind, old man, keep in with him if you can. Something’s sure to turn up. He won’t suspect you, as you’re in the schoolhouse; and we ought to be able to manage to put a spoke in his wheel somehow.”“Wish you may do it,” said Gilks. “Anyhow, I dare say you are right; it’s no use flaring up too soon, if there is a chance of doing him. By the way, Fairbairn’s pretty nearly as bad as Riddell; they’re a pair, you know.”“Yes, but Fairbairn’s in the boat,” said Silk.“So he is; and what’s more, he’s got a spite against me, and wants to turn me out of it.”“Why?”“He says I don’t do enough work. I should like to know how a fellow is to work behind a sanctimonious ass like him?”“I hear the schoolhouse boat isn’t a bad one, even without Wyndham,” said Silk.“Pretty fair. But if I’m in it I’ll see it doesn’t win,” said Gilks.“What a nice boy you are, to be sure! I suppose you’ve a bet on Parrett’s, like me?”“No, I haven’t,” said Gilks, “but I want it to win all the same, because of Bloomfield. If Parrett’s gets to the head of the river, there’s all the better chance of getting Bloomfield for captain next term; and things would be far pleasanter then.”“Yes. I don’t suppose Bloomfield’s very particular,” said Silk.“Not he. You can make him do what you like. He’s not all the notions of his own that the Reverend Riddell has, hang him!”“Well, old man,” said Silk, “as I said before, you’re a nice boy, and a sweet companion for a tender youth like me. Ha, ha! Good-night. Are you one of the deputation that’s going to present the petition in the morning?”“Yes, I am,” said Gilks.“Take my advice and back out of it. It won’t come to anything, and if you’re not mixed up in it our pious friends will think you are one of them, and that’ll pay. Do you twig? Good-night. Youarea nice boy!”So saying these two worthies separated.Gilks acted on his friend’s advice, and contrived to be absent after chapel next morning, when it was proposed to present the petition to the doctor. He managed to invent some excuse for his desertion which made it appear it was unavoidable. Nevertheless it was a good deal complained of, because he had been the only representative of the schoolhouse who had promised to go with the others to the doctor.However it was decided not to postpone the ceremony any further. As it was, one or two were beginning to have their doubts as to its wisdom, and Game and those like him, who were the prime movers in the matter, began to fear the whole thing might fall through.So, directly after morning chapel, the deputation, consisting of three, marched boldly to the doctor’s library and knocked at the door.“Come in,” said Dr Patrick.He was surprised to see three monitors obey the invitation. It was very rarely that a petition was presented from the school to the head master at Willoughby. Once, some years ago, a petition signed by the entire school, from the captain down to the junior fag, praying for a holiday in honour of an old Willoughbite having led the British troops to victory in a great battle, had been presented and granted. And once since then, a petition from the monitors of each house requesting that the head of each house might be allowed to use the cane when necessary, instead of the captain of the school only, had been presented and declined.Now came a third petition, signed by certain monitors of two houses, asking the doctor to withdraw one captain and substitute another.“What is it?” asked the head master.“A petition, sir,” said Game, handing the momentous document in.The doctor opened it and glanced at it with a puzzled look, which soon darkened into a frown.“What is all this?” he asked, looking up.His aspect was not promising. Nevertheless it was necessary for some one to speak, and Game therefore blurted out, “We don’t think Riddell will make a good captain, sir, and—” and here stopped.“And what, sir?” demanded the doctor.“And,” said Game, in rather a faltering voice, “we thought you would not be angry if we petitioned you about it.”“Do you speak for yourself, Game,” said the doctor, “or for others?”“For the monitors, sir; that is, for those who have signed that paper.”The doctor folded up the petition and handed it back to Game without reading it.“I am glad you have told me what it is all about,” said he, sternly, “in time to prevent my reading either the petition or the names attached. It does not do you credit as monitors, and I hope you will soon see the matter in the same light. I did not expect it of you, but I regret it less on your account than on account of the school, to whom you have set a bad example. You may go.”The doctor spoke in tones of unwonted anger, not unmixed with scorn. He rarely “flared up,” but when he did it was always uncomfortable for those against whom his wrath was roused.The deputation slunk off sheepishly, carrying their petition with them, and too glad to get out of the angry presence of the head master to think of anything else.The doctor may have been right, and probably was right in thus summarily extinguishing the petition and the petitioners. But he had done it in a manner which was hardly calculated to smooth matters.Indeed, when the deputation reported their bad success to the monitors who awaited them, the general feeling was far more one of anger at being snubbed than of repentance for having done a foolish thing.“If Paddy had only taken the trouble to read the thing through,” said Ashley, “and honour us with one or two reasons for not doing what we asked, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”“As it is he’s as good as told us to mind our own business and he’ll mind his,” said Tipper, little thinking how exactly he had described the case.“If we’re not to be allowed to say a word about the management of the school,” said Game, “I don’t see what right he has to expect us to do his work for him, and keep order.”“Oh, it won’t do to resign or anything of that sort,” said Ashley. “That would be like funking it altogether.”“He’ll soon find his mistake out, never fear,” said another. “He won’t listen to us, but he can’t help believing his own eyes.”“Yes, it can’t go on for long,” said Tipper. “Riddell’s bound to show that he’s not up to his work sooner or later, and I won’t interfere to prevent it.”“Meanwhile,” said Game, who of all the malcontents was the most honest, “what’s to become of Willoughby? We must keep some sort of order, whoever is captain.”“Why, whatever authority can we have when the most we can do is to report fellows to that milksop?” said Tipper.“I’ll tell you what,” said Ashley, “if we’re compelled tocallRiddell captain, there’s nothing to prevent us considering another fellow so.”“What do you mean?” asked some one.“He means,” said Game, “and it’s not half a bad idea, that if Bloomfield will help us to keep order, we can consider him captain whether he’s called so or not. If once the fellows know they’ll get reported to him, we shall have some sort of authority.”“Of course,” said Bloomfield, who had not yet spoken, “I’ll do my best to keep order and all that; but as I’m not captain, it’s no use to pretend being it.”“Oh, we’ll see about that,” said Ashley. “If you choose to work for the school after what has happened, all I can say is you deserve to be backed up, and I’ll back you up for one.”“So will I,” said Wibberly.Bloomfield could not resist flattery. As soon as it was represented to him that the hope of Willoughby centred in him, and that he was acting a beautiful and Christian part in still taking an interest in its welfare after the way he had been treated, he felt as if he really ought to meet his admirers half-way.“Already a lot of the kids consider you as captain,” said Game. “Didn’t you hear a boatful of them cheering you yesterday?”“Yes,” said Bloomfield, “I heard that.”“Very well, they’re much more likely to keep order for you than for that other fellow. We’ll try it anyhow.”“I know a lot of the schoolhouse monitors think just the same as we do,” said Tipper, “but they’re so precious jealous for their house. They’d sooner stick to Riddell than allow a Parrett’s fellow to be cock of the school.”“A Parrett’s fellow is cock of the school all the same,” said Wibberly. “I wish the regatta was over. That will put things right.”“Yes; when once Parrett’s boat is at the head of the river the schoolhouse won’t have much to crow for,” said Ashley.“For all that,” replied Bloomfield, “they seem to be grinding a bit with the crew they have got.”“Let them grind,” said Game, laughing. “I’d as soon back Welch’s boat as theirs. Fairbairn’s the only man that does any work, and he’s no form at all. Why don’t they put the new captain in the boat, I wonder?”The bare idea was sufficient to set the company laughing, in the midst of which the assembly-dispersed.“By the way,” said Game to Ashley, as they went into the “Big,” “to-night is the opening meeting of the School Parliament. I mean to propose Bloomfield for president; will you second it?”“Rather,” said Ashley.
Mr Parrett was a popular master at Willoughby. He was an old Cambridge “blue,” and it was to his influence and example that the school in general, and Parrett’s house in particular, were chiefly indebted for their excellence in all manly sports. He was the most patient of trainers, and the most long-suffering of “coaches.” Nearly all his spare time was given up to the public service. Every afternoon you would be sure to find him in his flannels running along the bank beside some boat, or standing to be bowled at by aspiring young cricketers in the meadow, or superintending a swimming party up at the Willows.
Boys didn’t give Mr Parrett credit for all the self-denial he really underwent; for he had a way of seeming to enjoy even the drudgery of his self-imposed work, and it rarely occurred even to the most hopeless of “duffers” to imagine that all the trouble spent over him was anything but a pleasure to the master who spent it.
Mr Parrett had his reward, however, in the good will of the boys generally, which he prized highly, and nowhere was he more popular than among the juniors of his own house.
What was their dismay, therefore, at the accident of that unlucky afternoon, and with what doleful faces did they present themselves in a melancholy procession at the door of his room at the appointed hour!
“Come in,” said Mr Parrett, who was still in his flannels, and had not quite done tea. “Oh, you are the boys that I met on the river this afternoon. All except one belonging to my house, I see.”
“Yes, sir,” exclaimed Telson, who was the distinguished exception, “they’re all Parretts except me, and it was all my fault, sir, and I’m—”
“No,” interrupted Parson, “it was all my fault; I was steering.”
“It was all our faults,” said Lawkins.
“Oh,” said Mr Parrett, who could not help looking a little amused at the eager faces of the young culprits. “Perhaps it was my fault for not looking where I was coming to.”
“Oh, sir,” said Parson, “that wouldn’t have been any good. We ran you down on purpose.”
“Eh?” said Mr Parrett, not quite sure whether he had heard correctly.
“That is, we didn’t know it was you, sir; we thought it was a schoolhouse—” (here Telson looked threatening)—“I mean we thought it was some one else. We wouldn’t have done it if we thought it was you, sir—indeed we wouldn’t.”
“No, sir, that we wouldn’t,” chimed in the chorus.
“And who did you think it was, pray?” inquired Mr Parrett.
“A schoolhouse fellow,” replied Parson, avoiding Telson’s glances.
“Which schoolhouse boy?” asked the master.
“Any one, sir. It didn’t matter much which.”
“Indeed. And what has the schoolhouse done to you?” said Mr Parrett, leaning back in his chair and pushing his plate away.
It wasn’t an easy question, but Parson felt something ought to be said.
“Some of them are rather cads, sir,” he said.
(“Parson,” whispered Telson. “I’ll fight you when you get outside.”)
“I mean, sir,” said Parson, hurriedly, “that is—(I beg pardon, Telson, old man, I didn’t mean)—they don’t like us, and—”
“And we don’t like them,” said Lawkins.
“And you think they ought to like you?” asked Mr Parrett, severely.
This was a poser. The Parrett juniors had never asked themselves the question before.
“Now listen to me,” said Mr Parrett. “I’m angry with you, and I’m going to punish you. I am not angry with you for capsizing me this afternoon. You did it by mistake, you say, and no harm was done. And I’m not going to punish you for being out late, for that the captain will do. But boys who make nuisances of themselves and then complain that other boys don’t like them are not to be put up with in Willoughby. You five have had a lesson already. You might have caused a much worse accident than you did by your folly. You may be thankful you did not. For a week neither of you is to go on to the river at all, and after that till the end of the term you will only be allowed to go with the captain’s permission, or in the company of a senior. You can go.”
The party turned to obey, when Mr Parrett added, “Three of you, Telson, Parson, and Lawkins, remain a moment.”
The other two went off, leaving their three comrades standing at the end of the table, wondering what on earth was coming next.
Mr Parrett’s manner changed as he turned to them. He became embarrassed, and spoke almost nervously.
“You three,” he said, “jumped in after me this afternoon, did you not?”
“Yes, please, sir,” said Telson; “Parson was first, sir.”
Mr Parrett rose from his seat, and, without saying a word, shook hands with each one of them, greatly to their astonishment and confusion.
“You can go now,” said the master, when the ceremony was concluded; “good-night, boys.”
“Good-night, sir,” said they, and filed out of the room.
It was some time before Parson and Telson, as they walked slowly back along the passage, could find words suitable to the occasion. Then Telson said, “Well, that was a rum thing of him to do!”
“What did he mean?” asked Parson.
“Goodness knows. But, I say, it’s a jolly soak being stopped the river, though.”
“Yes, and having to get a ‘permit’ when the time is up. I’d sooner not go on than beg a ‘permit’ of the captain.”
“I wonder what he’ll say to us to-morrow,” said Telson. “He won’t lick us, eh?”
“He’d better not,” said Parson. “You and I could lick him easy.”
“I suppose he’ll give us a howling impot. I say I’m getting fagged of impots. I’ve had four this week.”
“I’ve had three,” sighed Telson. “Heigho! Willoughby’s going to the dogs. I’ve a good mind to cut the whole concern.”
And so in rather desponding mood the two friends separated, and Telson had an exciting chase across the quadrangle to avoid two monitors who were prowling about there (as he concluded) for the express purpose of “potting” him.
In this, however, he was mistaken. The two monitors were Gilks of the schoolhouse and Silk of Welch’s, who were taking the air this hot summer evening, and thinking and talking of anything but Master Telson.
“I tell you,” said Gilks, “I detest the fellow.”
“You detest such a lot of fellows, Gilks,” said Silk.
“I know I do,” said Gilks, “but I hate Riddell more than the lot put together.”
“I should have thought he was rather an inoffensive duffer,” suggested Silk.
“That’s just the worst of it. I’d give anything to catch him out in anything that wasn’t quite square, just to pay him out for his sickening priggishness. Why,” he exclaimed, with increasing anger in his tone, “what do you think he did the other day, long before he was captain, or had any pretence to give himself airs? He pulled me up before all the fellows for—well, for using—”
“For swearing?” said Silk.
“Yes, if you like. For swearing. What business is it of his what I say? I should like to know.”
“Usen’t Wyndham to be down on fellows for swearing too?” asked Silk.
“Yes, he was,” said Gilks (who had good reason to know); “but he had a right to do it. This cub hasn’t.”
“What did Riddell say?”
“What did he say? He said it didn’t make what I said any better worth hearing for sticking in an oath, and that— Oh, I don’t know what precious impudence he didn’t give me.”
“Ha, ha,” said Silk, “it wasn’t bad. But I agree with you, the fellow is a prig—”
“I know I mean to make a stand now,” said Gilks. “He shan’t stick up his sanctimonious nose over us all, now he’s captain, if I can help it.”
“Why, what will you do?” asked Silk.
“Do! I’ll punch his head the first time he dare lecture me.”
“My dear fellow,” said Silk, “don’t be such a fool. You won’t do a bit of good by that. If you do want to pay him out, pay him out in his own coin.”
“How do you mean?” inquired Gilks.
“I mean, keep a sharp lookout till you catch his holiness tripping.”
“But the beggar never does trip. He’s so vilely careful, he never gives a chance,” growled Gilks.
“Awfully uncivil of him, when he knows how grateful we should be to him,” said Silk, laughing. “Never mind, old man, keep in with him if you can. Something’s sure to turn up. He won’t suspect you, as you’re in the schoolhouse; and we ought to be able to manage to put a spoke in his wheel somehow.”
“Wish you may do it,” said Gilks. “Anyhow, I dare say you are right; it’s no use flaring up too soon, if there is a chance of doing him. By the way, Fairbairn’s pretty nearly as bad as Riddell; they’re a pair, you know.”
“Yes, but Fairbairn’s in the boat,” said Silk.
“So he is; and what’s more, he’s got a spite against me, and wants to turn me out of it.”
“Why?”
“He says I don’t do enough work. I should like to know how a fellow is to work behind a sanctimonious ass like him?”
“I hear the schoolhouse boat isn’t a bad one, even without Wyndham,” said Silk.
“Pretty fair. But if I’m in it I’ll see it doesn’t win,” said Gilks.
“What a nice boy you are, to be sure! I suppose you’ve a bet on Parrett’s, like me?”
“No, I haven’t,” said Gilks, “but I want it to win all the same, because of Bloomfield. If Parrett’s gets to the head of the river, there’s all the better chance of getting Bloomfield for captain next term; and things would be far pleasanter then.”
“Yes. I don’t suppose Bloomfield’s very particular,” said Silk.
“Not he. You can make him do what you like. He’s not all the notions of his own that the Reverend Riddell has, hang him!”
“Well, old man,” said Silk, “as I said before, you’re a nice boy, and a sweet companion for a tender youth like me. Ha, ha! Good-night. Are you one of the deputation that’s going to present the petition in the morning?”
“Yes, I am,” said Gilks.
“Take my advice and back out of it. It won’t come to anything, and if you’re not mixed up in it our pious friends will think you are one of them, and that’ll pay. Do you twig? Good-night. Youarea nice boy!”
So saying these two worthies separated.
Gilks acted on his friend’s advice, and contrived to be absent after chapel next morning, when it was proposed to present the petition to the doctor. He managed to invent some excuse for his desertion which made it appear it was unavoidable. Nevertheless it was a good deal complained of, because he had been the only representative of the schoolhouse who had promised to go with the others to the doctor.
However it was decided not to postpone the ceremony any further. As it was, one or two were beginning to have their doubts as to its wisdom, and Game and those like him, who were the prime movers in the matter, began to fear the whole thing might fall through.
So, directly after morning chapel, the deputation, consisting of three, marched boldly to the doctor’s library and knocked at the door.
“Come in,” said Dr Patrick.
He was surprised to see three monitors obey the invitation. It was very rarely that a petition was presented from the school to the head master at Willoughby. Once, some years ago, a petition signed by the entire school, from the captain down to the junior fag, praying for a holiday in honour of an old Willoughbite having led the British troops to victory in a great battle, had been presented and granted. And once since then, a petition from the monitors of each house requesting that the head of each house might be allowed to use the cane when necessary, instead of the captain of the school only, had been presented and declined.
Now came a third petition, signed by certain monitors of two houses, asking the doctor to withdraw one captain and substitute another.
“What is it?” asked the head master.
“A petition, sir,” said Game, handing the momentous document in.
The doctor opened it and glanced at it with a puzzled look, which soon darkened into a frown.
“What is all this?” he asked, looking up.
His aspect was not promising. Nevertheless it was necessary for some one to speak, and Game therefore blurted out, “We don’t think Riddell will make a good captain, sir, and—” and here stopped.
“And what, sir?” demanded the doctor.
“And,” said Game, in rather a faltering voice, “we thought you would not be angry if we petitioned you about it.”
“Do you speak for yourself, Game,” said the doctor, “or for others?”
“For the monitors, sir; that is, for those who have signed that paper.”
The doctor folded up the petition and handed it back to Game without reading it.
“I am glad you have told me what it is all about,” said he, sternly, “in time to prevent my reading either the petition or the names attached. It does not do you credit as monitors, and I hope you will soon see the matter in the same light. I did not expect it of you, but I regret it less on your account than on account of the school, to whom you have set a bad example. You may go.”
The doctor spoke in tones of unwonted anger, not unmixed with scorn. He rarely “flared up,” but when he did it was always uncomfortable for those against whom his wrath was roused.
The deputation slunk off sheepishly, carrying their petition with them, and too glad to get out of the angry presence of the head master to think of anything else.
The doctor may have been right, and probably was right in thus summarily extinguishing the petition and the petitioners. But he had done it in a manner which was hardly calculated to smooth matters.
Indeed, when the deputation reported their bad success to the monitors who awaited them, the general feeling was far more one of anger at being snubbed than of repentance for having done a foolish thing.
“If Paddy had only taken the trouble to read the thing through,” said Ashley, “and honour us with one or two reasons for not doing what we asked, it wouldn’t have been so bad.”
“As it is he’s as good as told us to mind our own business and he’ll mind his,” said Tipper, little thinking how exactly he had described the case.
“If we’re not to be allowed to say a word about the management of the school,” said Game, “I don’t see what right he has to expect us to do his work for him, and keep order.”
“Oh, it won’t do to resign or anything of that sort,” said Ashley. “That would be like funking it altogether.”
“He’ll soon find his mistake out, never fear,” said another. “He won’t listen to us, but he can’t help believing his own eyes.”
“Yes, it can’t go on for long,” said Tipper. “Riddell’s bound to show that he’s not up to his work sooner or later, and I won’t interfere to prevent it.”
“Meanwhile,” said Game, who of all the malcontents was the most honest, “what’s to become of Willoughby? We must keep some sort of order, whoever is captain.”
“Why, whatever authority can we have when the most we can do is to report fellows to that milksop?” said Tipper.
“I’ll tell you what,” said Ashley, “if we’re compelled tocallRiddell captain, there’s nothing to prevent us considering another fellow so.”
“What do you mean?” asked some one.
“He means,” said Game, “and it’s not half a bad idea, that if Bloomfield will help us to keep order, we can consider him captain whether he’s called so or not. If once the fellows know they’ll get reported to him, we shall have some sort of authority.”
“Of course,” said Bloomfield, who had not yet spoken, “I’ll do my best to keep order and all that; but as I’m not captain, it’s no use to pretend being it.”
“Oh, we’ll see about that,” said Ashley. “If you choose to work for the school after what has happened, all I can say is you deserve to be backed up, and I’ll back you up for one.”
“So will I,” said Wibberly.
Bloomfield could not resist flattery. As soon as it was represented to him that the hope of Willoughby centred in him, and that he was acting a beautiful and Christian part in still taking an interest in its welfare after the way he had been treated, he felt as if he really ought to meet his admirers half-way.
“Already a lot of the kids consider you as captain,” said Game. “Didn’t you hear a boatful of them cheering you yesterday?”
“Yes,” said Bloomfield, “I heard that.”
“Very well, they’re much more likely to keep order for you than for that other fellow. We’ll try it anyhow.”
“I know a lot of the schoolhouse monitors think just the same as we do,” said Tipper, “but they’re so precious jealous for their house. They’d sooner stick to Riddell than allow a Parrett’s fellow to be cock of the school.”
“A Parrett’s fellow is cock of the school all the same,” said Wibberly. “I wish the regatta was over. That will put things right.”
“Yes; when once Parrett’s boat is at the head of the river the schoolhouse won’t have much to crow for,” said Ashley.
“For all that,” replied Bloomfield, “they seem to be grinding a bit with the crew they have got.”
“Let them grind,” said Game, laughing. “I’d as soon back Welch’s boat as theirs. Fairbairn’s the only man that does any work, and he’s no form at all. Why don’t they put the new captain in the boat, I wonder?”
The bare idea was sufficient to set the company laughing, in the midst of which the assembly-dispersed.
“By the way,” said Game to Ashley, as they went into the “Big,” “to-night is the opening meeting of the School Parliament. I mean to propose Bloomfield for president; will you second it?”
“Rather,” said Ashley.