Chapter Seven.

Chapter Seven.The New Captain enters on his Duties.The morning that witnessed the collapse of the famous Monitors’ Petition had not been idly spent by the new captain. He had made the worst possible preparation for his new duties by lying awake half the night, brooding over his difficulties and working himself into a state of nervous misery very unlike what one would expect of the captain of a great public school.What worried him was not so much that he felt himself unpopular, or that he knew all Willoughby was in arms against him. That wasn’t cheerful, certainly, or precisely solacing to a fellow’s self-esteem; but it was not nearly so disheartening as the feeling that he himself was unequal to cope with the difficulties he would have to face. How could he cope with them? He had never succeeded yet in keeping Telson, his own fag, in order. How was he to expect to administer discipline to all the scapegraces of Willoughby? It would be bad enough, even if the monitors as a body were working with him, but when he was left almost single-handed, as seemed probable, what chance was there? Whatever would he do supposing a boy was reported to him for some offence, such as going out of bounds or—By the way! And here a horrible thought flashed across his mind. He had been so flurried last night with one thing and another that he had hardly noticed a message sent him after call-over by the Register Clerk. But it occurred to him now that it was about some boys who had not answered to their names.He got out of bed with a groan and searched the mantelpiece for the note. Ah! here it was:“Co. Fr. p.m., Telson (S.H.), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (P), Abs. Go Capt. 8½ Sa. (Telson 2, Bosher 1, Parson 2.)”After a great deal of puzzling and cogitation Riddell managed to translate this lucid document into ordinary English as follows:“Call-Over, Friday evening, Telson (schoolhouse), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (Parrett’s), absent. To go to the captain at half-past eight on Saturday. (Telson has already been absent twice this week, Bosher once, Parson twice.)” And with the discovery the unhappy captain found his worst fears realised.Whatever would he do? It was now half-past five. In three hours they would be here. What would Wyndham have done? Caned them, no doubt. Riddell had no cane. Ruler? He might break one of their ringers, or they might resist; or worse still baffle him with some ingenious excuse which he would not know how to deal with.He sat by his bed staring hopelessly at the paper and wishing himself anywhere but head of the school—and then as no new light appeared to dawn on the question, and as going back to bed would be a farce, he proceeded to dress.He had just completed his toilet when he heard some one moving in the next study.“There’s Fairbairn getting up,” he said to himself. “I wonder if he could help me?”He thought he could. And yet, under the nervous exterior of this boy there lurked a certain pride which held him back from acting on the impulse. After all, if he was to do the work, why should he try to shunt part of his responsibility on to another?So, though he went to his friend’s study, he said nothing about the batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his friend cheerily.“Hullo, Riddell, here’s an early start for you!”“Yes,” said Riddell; “I couldn’t sleep very well, so I thought I might as well get up.”“Best thing for you. But why haven’t you your flannels on?”“I’m not going out,” said Riddell. “Besides, I don’t believe I have flannels,” added he.“What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels! You’ll have to get a suit at once, do you hear? But, I say, why don’t you come down to the river with Porter and me? We’re going to have a little practice spin, and you could steer us. It would do you more good than sticking indoors. Come along.”Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn’t steer; but Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the Craydle.Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.As he stood during the service in his captain’s place he could not prevent his eye wandering hurriedly down the ranks of boys opposite and wondering how many of them he would be called upon to interview in his study before the term was over. As he reached the end of the array his eye rested on Telson close to the door, talking and laughing behind his hand with Parson, who listened in an unconcerned way, and looked about him as if he felt himself to be the monarch of all he surveyed. These were two of the boys who would wait upon him in his study immediately after prayers! Riddell turned quite miserable at the idea.Prayers ended at last, and while the other monitors repaired to the Sixth Form room to discuss the presentation of the petition as narrated in our last chapter, Riddell walked dejectedly to his study and prepared to receive company.No one came for a long time, and Riddell was beginning to hope that, after all, the dreaded interview was not to come off, or that there was a mistake somewhere, and some one else was to deal with the culprits instead of himself, when a scuttling of footsteps down the passage made his blood run cold and his heart sink into his boots.“Imustbe cool,” he said to himself, fiercely, as a knock sounded at the door, “or I shall make a fool of myself. Come in.”In response to this somewhat tremulous invitation, Telson, Parson, Bosher, Lawkins, King, trooped into his study, the picture of satisfaction and assurance, and stood lounging about the room with their hands in their pockets as though curiosity was the sole motive of their visit.Riddell, while waiting for them, had hastily considered what he ought to say or do. But now, any ideas he ever had darted from his mind, and he gazed nervously at the small company.“Oh!” said he at length, breaking silence by a tremendous effort, and conscious that he was looking as confused as he felt, “I suppose you are the boy—”“Yes,” said Bosher, leaning complacently against the table and staring at a picture over the mantelpiece.“The boys who were late,” said Riddell, stammering. “Let me see.” Here he took up the paper and began to read it over: “‘Co. Pri. Telson (S.H.).’ Ah, yes! Telson. You were late, weren’t you? Why were you late?”A question like this was decidedly a novelty; Wyndham’s formula had invariably been, “Telson, hold out your hand,” and then if Telson had anything to remark he was at liberty to do so. But to be thus invited to make excuses was an unexpected treat which these cunning juniors were quite sharp enough to jump at.“Oh, you know,” began Telson, “it wasn’t our fault. We were up-stream in the Ark, and meant to be back all right, only the schoolhouse boat overhauled us, and we had to race them a bit—didn’t we, you fellows?”“Rather,” said Parson; “and a spanking race it was. We held up to them all down the Willow Reach, and were just collaring them for the finish up to Balsham Weir, when the beasts pulled in and funked it.”“And then, of course, we couldn’t get back in time,” said Lawkins. “We were jolly fagged—weren’t we, you fellows?—and it was all a plant of those schoolhouse cads.”“Fight you!” said Telson, menacingly.“Oh, beg pardon, old man, didn’t mean. They ran us up on purpose to make us late. You ask them. It was a beastly low trick!”“And then coming back,” continued Telson, “we ran down old Parrett in his skiff and spilt him, and we had to fish him out—didn’t we, you chaps?—and that made us late. You ask Parrett; he’s potted us for it, last night.”Riddell listened to all this in a bewildered way, not knowing what to make of it. If the boys’ story was correct, there certainly might be some force in their excuse. It would hardly be fair to punish them if they were decoyed out of their way by some seniors. And then, of course, this story about Mr Parrett; they would never make up a story like that. And if it was true—well, he did not see how they could have done otherwise than stay and help him out of the water after capsizing him into it. It really seemed to him as if these boys did not deserve to be punished. True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week, but that was not what they were reported for now. The question was, were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?“What did Mr Parrett do to you?” he asked presently. “Oh,” said Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, “he was down on us hot. He’s stopped our going on the river a week, and then we’ve got to get a permit till the end of the term. Jolly hard lines it is, especially race term. I shan’t be able to cox. Parrett’s boat at the regatta. No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat. You ask Parrett,” said he, in tones of manly appeal.“Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?” asked Riddell.“Rather,” said Telson. “I’d sooner have had a licking any day than get stopped river-play. Wouldn’t you, Parson?”“I should think I would,” said Parson.“Well,” said Riddell, dubiously, “of course if Mr Parrett has already punished you—”“You ask him!” again said Parson. “You ask him if he’s not stopped our river-play. Ah five of us! Mayn’t go on at all for a week, and then we’ve got to get your permit. Isn’t that what he said, you chaps?”“Yes,” chimed in the “chaps,” in injured voices.“Well, then,” said Riddell, “as that is so, I think you can—that is, I wish just to tell you—you—it mustn’t occur again.”“Oh, all right,” said Parson, making for the door.“And I hope,” began Riddell—But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear. They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning’s adventures.A moment’s reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been “done” by these unscrupulous youngsters. He had let them off on their own representations, and without taking due care to verify their story. And now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool, and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported. A nice beginning this to his new reign! Riddell saw it all clearly now, when it was too late. Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?Was it too late? Riddell went to the door again and looked down the passage. The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps and voices were still audible. Hadn’t he better summon them back? Had not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?He took a few hurried steps in the direction of the voices, and was even making up his mind to run, when it suddenly occurred to him, “What if, after all, their storyhadbeen true, and the calling of them back should be a greater mistake even than the letting of them off?”This awkward doubt drove him back once more to his study, where, shutting the door, he flung himself into his chair in a state of abject despondency and shame.Twenty times he determined to go to the doctor at once, and refuse for an hour longer to play the farce of being captain of Willoughby. And as often another spirit kept him back, and whispered to him that it was only the cowards who gave in at a single failure.From these unpleasant reflections the summons to first school was a welcome diversion, and he gladly shook off the captain for an hour, and figured in his more congenial part of a scholar. But even here he was not allowed wholly to forget his new responsibilities. Nearly all those around him were fellow-monitors, who had just come smarting from the doctor’s summary rejection of their petition; and Riddell could tell by their angry looks and ill-tempered words that he, however innocent, was the object of their irritation. He had never been a favourite before, but it certainly was not pleasant to have to learn now by the most unmistakable signs that he was downrightly unpopular and disliked by those from whom he should have had his warmest backing up.And yet, strange to say, it was this sense of his own unpopularity which more than anything nerved him to a resolution to stick to his post, and, come what would of it, do his best to discharge his new unwelcome tasks. If only he could feel a little more sure of himself! But how was it likely he could feel sure of himself after his lamentable failure of the morning?But the lamentable failure of the morning, as it happened, was nothing to other failures speedily to follow on this same unlucky day.Scarcely was Riddell back in his study after first school, hoping for a little breathing space in which to recover his fluttered spirits, when Gilks entered and said, “I say, there’s a row going on in the Fourth. You’d better stop it, or the doctor will be down on us.”And so saying he vanished, leaving the captain about as comfortable with this piece of intelligence as he would have been with a bombshell suddenly pitched into his study.A row in the Fourth! the headquarters of the Limpets, each one of whom was a stronger man than he, and whom Wyndham himself had often been put to it to keep within bounds!With an ominous shiver Riddell put on his cap and sallied out in the direction of the Fourth. A man about to throw himself over a precipice could hardly have looked less cheerful!Gilks’s report had certainly been well founded, for long before the captain reached his destination the roar of battle sounded up the passage. It may have been an ordinary Limpet row, or it may have been a special diversion got up (with the connivance of one or two unfriendly monitors) for the special benefit of the new captain. Be that as it may, it was a disturbance calling for instant suppression, and the idea of Riddell going to suppress it was ridiculous even to himself.He opened the door, unnoticed by the combatants within both on account of the noise and the dust. It was impossible to tell what the fight was about; the blood on both sides was evidently up, and the battle, it was clear, was anything but a mock one. Riddell stood there for some time a bewildered and unrecognised spectator. It would be useless for him to attempt to make himself heard above all the din, and worse than useless to attempt single-handed to interpose between the combatants. The only thing to do seemed to be to wait till the battle was over. But then, thought Riddell, what would be the use of interfering when it was all over? His duty was to stop it, and stop it he must!With which resolve, and taking advantage of a momentary lull in the conflict, he advanced with a desperate effort towards a boy who appeared to be the leader of one of the two parties, and who was gesticulating and shouting at the top of his voice to encourage his followers. This champion did not notice the captain as he approached, and when he did, he mistook him for one of the enemy, and sprang at him like a young tiger, knocking him over just as the ranks once more closed, and the battle began again.What might have been Riddell’s fate it would be hard to say had not a loud shout of, “Man down there! Hold hard!” suddenly suspended hostilities.Such a cry was never disregarded at Willoughby, even by the most desperate of combatants, and every one stood now impatiently where he was, waiting for the obstruction to regain his feet.The spectacle which the new captain of Willoughby presented, as with scared face and dust-covered garment he rose slowly from the floor, was strange indeed. It was a second or two before any one recognised him, and then the boys seemed not to be sure whether it was not his ghost, so mysteriously had he appeared in their midst, coming from no one knew where.As, however, the true state of affairs gradually dawned on them, a loud shout of laughter rose on every hand, and the quarrel was at once forgotten in the merriment occasioned by this wonderful apparition.Riddell, pale and agitated, stood where he was as one in a dream, from which he was only aroused by voices shouting out amid the laughter, “Hullo! where did you come from? What’s the row? Look at him!”At the same time fellows crowded round him and offered to brush him down, accompanying their violent services with bursts of equally violent merriment.With a hard effort Riddell shook himself free and stepped out of the crowd.“Please let me go,” he said. “I just came to say there was too much noise, and—”But the laughter of the Limpets drowned the rest, in the midst of which he retired miserably to the door and escaped.In the passage outside he met Bloomfield, with Wibberly and Game, hurrying to the scene of the riot. They scarcely deigned to recognise him with anything more than a half-curious, half-contemptuous glance.“Some one must stop this row!” said Bloomfield to his companions as they passed. “The doctor will be down on us.”“You stop it, Bloomfield!” said Wibberly; “they’ll shut up foryou.”This was all the unfortunate Riddell heard, except that in a few moments the uproar from the Fourth Form room suddenly ceased, and was not renewed.“What did Bloomfield do this morning when he came into your room?” asked Riddell that evening of Wyndham junior, a Limpet in whom, for his brother’s sake, the new captain felt a special interest, and whom he invited as often as he liked to come and prepare his lessons with him.“Oh!” said Wyndham, who had been one of the combatants, “he gave Watkins and Cattermole a hiding, and swore he’d allow no removes from the Limpets’ eleven to the school second this term if there was any more row.”This reply by no means added to Riddell’s comfort.“Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding.” Fancyhisattempting to give Cattermole and Watkins a hiding! And not only that, he had held out some awful threat about Limpets’ cricket, which appeared to have a magical effect.Fancy the effect ofhisthreatening to exclude a Limpet from the second-eleven—when it was all he knew that the school had a second-eleven!The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the morning were closing around him now in grim earnest! The worst he had feared had happened, and more than the worst. It was now proved beyond all doubt that he was utterly incompetent. Would it not be sheer madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago. Ofcourseit’s madness of him to attempt it. A muff like Riddell nevercouldbe captain of a school, and it’s all bosh to suppose he could be. But, my dear reader, a muff like Riddellwasthe captain of a school; and what’s more he didn’t give it up even after the day’s adventures just described.Riddell was not perfect. I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one. Riddell was not perfect. He had a fault. Can you believe it—he had many faults? He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride. Not the sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your neighbours. Riddell really couldn’t think that even had he wished it. But his pride was of that kind which won’t admit of anybody to help it, which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own it can’t get through it, and which can never bring itself to say “I am beaten,” even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever to remain its captain.Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have convinced him he was attempting an impossibility. But these must be reserved for the next chapter.

The morning that witnessed the collapse of the famous Monitors’ Petition had not been idly spent by the new captain. He had made the worst possible preparation for his new duties by lying awake half the night, brooding over his difficulties and working himself into a state of nervous misery very unlike what one would expect of the captain of a great public school.

What worried him was not so much that he felt himself unpopular, or that he knew all Willoughby was in arms against him. That wasn’t cheerful, certainly, or precisely solacing to a fellow’s self-esteem; but it was not nearly so disheartening as the feeling that he himself was unequal to cope with the difficulties he would have to face. How could he cope with them? He had never succeeded yet in keeping Telson, his own fag, in order. How was he to expect to administer discipline to all the scapegraces of Willoughby? It would be bad enough, even if the monitors as a body were working with him, but when he was left almost single-handed, as seemed probable, what chance was there? Whatever would he do supposing a boy was reported to him for some offence, such as going out of bounds or—

By the way! And here a horrible thought flashed across his mind. He had been so flurried last night with one thing and another that he had hardly noticed a message sent him after call-over by the Register Clerk. But it occurred to him now that it was about some boys who had not answered to their names.

He got out of bed with a groan and searched the mantelpiece for the note. Ah! here it was:

“Co. Fr. p.m., Telson (S.H.), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (P), Abs. Go Capt. 8½ Sa. (Telson 2, Bosher 1, Parson 2.)”

After a great deal of puzzling and cogitation Riddell managed to translate this lucid document into ordinary English as follows:

“Call-Over, Friday evening, Telson (schoolhouse), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (Parrett’s), absent. To go to the captain at half-past eight on Saturday. (Telson has already been absent twice this week, Bosher once, Parson twice.)” And with the discovery the unhappy captain found his worst fears realised.

Whatever would he do? It was now half-past five. In three hours they would be here. What would Wyndham have done? Caned them, no doubt. Riddell had no cane. Ruler? He might break one of their ringers, or they might resist; or worse still baffle him with some ingenious excuse which he would not know how to deal with.

He sat by his bed staring hopelessly at the paper and wishing himself anywhere but head of the school—and then as no new light appeared to dawn on the question, and as going back to bed would be a farce, he proceeded to dress.

He had just completed his toilet when he heard some one moving in the next study.

“There’s Fairbairn getting up,” he said to himself. “I wonder if he could help me?”

He thought he could. And yet, under the nervous exterior of this boy there lurked a certain pride which held him back from acting on the impulse. After all, if he was to do the work, why should he try to shunt part of his responsibility on to another?

So, though he went to his friend’s study, he said nothing about the batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.

Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his friend cheerily.

“Hullo, Riddell, here’s an early start for you!”

“Yes,” said Riddell; “I couldn’t sleep very well, so I thought I might as well get up.”

“Best thing for you. But why haven’t you your flannels on?”

“I’m not going out,” said Riddell. “Besides, I don’t believe I have flannels,” added he.

“What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels! You’ll have to get a suit at once, do you hear? But, I say, why don’t you come down to the river with Porter and me? We’re going to have a little practice spin, and you could steer us. It would do you more good than sticking indoors. Come along.”

Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn’t steer; but Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the Craydle.

Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.

But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.

As he stood during the service in his captain’s place he could not prevent his eye wandering hurriedly down the ranks of boys opposite and wondering how many of them he would be called upon to interview in his study before the term was over. As he reached the end of the array his eye rested on Telson close to the door, talking and laughing behind his hand with Parson, who listened in an unconcerned way, and looked about him as if he felt himself to be the monarch of all he surveyed. These were two of the boys who would wait upon him in his study immediately after prayers! Riddell turned quite miserable at the idea.

Prayers ended at last, and while the other monitors repaired to the Sixth Form room to discuss the presentation of the petition as narrated in our last chapter, Riddell walked dejectedly to his study and prepared to receive company.

No one came for a long time, and Riddell was beginning to hope that, after all, the dreaded interview was not to come off, or that there was a mistake somewhere, and some one else was to deal with the culprits instead of himself, when a scuttling of footsteps down the passage made his blood run cold and his heart sink into his boots.

“Imustbe cool,” he said to himself, fiercely, as a knock sounded at the door, “or I shall make a fool of myself. Come in.”

In response to this somewhat tremulous invitation, Telson, Parson, Bosher, Lawkins, King, trooped into his study, the picture of satisfaction and assurance, and stood lounging about the room with their hands in their pockets as though curiosity was the sole motive of their visit.

Riddell, while waiting for them, had hastily considered what he ought to say or do. But now, any ideas he ever had darted from his mind, and he gazed nervously at the small company.

“Oh!” said he at length, breaking silence by a tremendous effort, and conscious that he was looking as confused as he felt, “I suppose you are the boy—”

“Yes,” said Bosher, leaning complacently against the table and staring at a picture over the mantelpiece.

“The boys who were late,” said Riddell, stammering. “Let me see.” Here he took up the paper and began to read it over: “‘Co. Pri. Telson (S.H.).’ Ah, yes! Telson. You were late, weren’t you? Why were you late?”

A question like this was decidedly a novelty; Wyndham’s formula had invariably been, “Telson, hold out your hand,” and then if Telson had anything to remark he was at liberty to do so. But to be thus invited to make excuses was an unexpected treat which these cunning juniors were quite sharp enough to jump at.

“Oh, you know,” began Telson, “it wasn’t our fault. We were up-stream in the Ark, and meant to be back all right, only the schoolhouse boat overhauled us, and we had to race them a bit—didn’t we, you fellows?”

“Rather,” said Parson; “and a spanking race it was. We held up to them all down the Willow Reach, and were just collaring them for the finish up to Balsham Weir, when the beasts pulled in and funked it.”

“And then, of course, we couldn’t get back in time,” said Lawkins. “We were jolly fagged—weren’t we, you fellows?—and it was all a plant of those schoolhouse cads.”

“Fight you!” said Telson, menacingly.

“Oh, beg pardon, old man, didn’t mean. They ran us up on purpose to make us late. You ask them. It was a beastly low trick!”

“And then coming back,” continued Telson, “we ran down old Parrett in his skiff and spilt him, and we had to fish him out—didn’t we, you chaps?—and that made us late. You ask Parrett; he’s potted us for it, last night.”

Riddell listened to all this in a bewildered way, not knowing what to make of it. If the boys’ story was correct, there certainly might be some force in their excuse. It would hardly be fair to punish them if they were decoyed out of their way by some seniors. And then, of course, this story about Mr Parrett; they would never make up a story like that. And if it was true—well, he did not see how they could have done otherwise than stay and help him out of the water after capsizing him into it. It really seemed to him as if these boys did not deserve to be punished. True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week, but that was not what they were reported for now. The question was, were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?

“What did Mr Parrett do to you?” he asked presently. “Oh,” said Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, “he was down on us hot. He’s stopped our going on the river a week, and then we’ve got to get a permit till the end of the term. Jolly hard lines it is, especially race term. I shan’t be able to cox. Parrett’s boat at the regatta. No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat. You ask Parrett,” said he, in tones of manly appeal.

“Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?” asked Riddell.

“Rather,” said Telson. “I’d sooner have had a licking any day than get stopped river-play. Wouldn’t you, Parson?”

“I should think I would,” said Parson.

“Well,” said Riddell, dubiously, “of course if Mr Parrett has already punished you—”

“You ask him!” again said Parson. “You ask him if he’s not stopped our river-play. Ah five of us! Mayn’t go on at all for a week, and then we’ve got to get your permit. Isn’t that what he said, you chaps?”

“Yes,” chimed in the “chaps,” in injured voices.

“Well, then,” said Riddell, “as that is so, I think you can—that is, I wish just to tell you—you—it mustn’t occur again.”

“Oh, all right,” said Parson, making for the door.

“And I hope,” began Riddell—

But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear. They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning’s adventures.

A moment’s reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been “done” by these unscrupulous youngsters. He had let them off on their own representations, and without taking due care to verify their story. And now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool, and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported. A nice beginning this to his new reign! Riddell saw it all clearly now, when it was too late. Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?

Was it too late? Riddell went to the door again and looked down the passage. The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps and voices were still audible. Hadn’t he better summon them back? Had not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?

He took a few hurried steps in the direction of the voices, and was even making up his mind to run, when it suddenly occurred to him, “What if, after all, their storyhadbeen true, and the calling of them back should be a greater mistake even than the letting of them off?”

This awkward doubt drove him back once more to his study, where, shutting the door, he flung himself into his chair in a state of abject despondency and shame.

Twenty times he determined to go to the doctor at once, and refuse for an hour longer to play the farce of being captain of Willoughby. And as often another spirit kept him back, and whispered to him that it was only the cowards who gave in at a single failure.

From these unpleasant reflections the summons to first school was a welcome diversion, and he gladly shook off the captain for an hour, and figured in his more congenial part of a scholar. But even here he was not allowed wholly to forget his new responsibilities. Nearly all those around him were fellow-monitors, who had just come smarting from the doctor’s summary rejection of their petition; and Riddell could tell by their angry looks and ill-tempered words that he, however innocent, was the object of their irritation. He had never been a favourite before, but it certainly was not pleasant to have to learn now by the most unmistakable signs that he was downrightly unpopular and disliked by those from whom he should have had his warmest backing up.

And yet, strange to say, it was this sense of his own unpopularity which more than anything nerved him to a resolution to stick to his post, and, come what would of it, do his best to discharge his new unwelcome tasks. If only he could feel a little more sure of himself! But how was it likely he could feel sure of himself after his lamentable failure of the morning?

But the lamentable failure of the morning, as it happened, was nothing to other failures speedily to follow on this same unlucky day.

Scarcely was Riddell back in his study after first school, hoping for a little breathing space in which to recover his fluttered spirits, when Gilks entered and said, “I say, there’s a row going on in the Fourth. You’d better stop it, or the doctor will be down on us.”

And so saying he vanished, leaving the captain about as comfortable with this piece of intelligence as he would have been with a bombshell suddenly pitched into his study.

A row in the Fourth! the headquarters of the Limpets, each one of whom was a stronger man than he, and whom Wyndham himself had often been put to it to keep within bounds!

With an ominous shiver Riddell put on his cap and sallied out in the direction of the Fourth. A man about to throw himself over a precipice could hardly have looked less cheerful!

Gilks’s report had certainly been well founded, for long before the captain reached his destination the roar of battle sounded up the passage. It may have been an ordinary Limpet row, or it may have been a special diversion got up (with the connivance of one or two unfriendly monitors) for the special benefit of the new captain. Be that as it may, it was a disturbance calling for instant suppression, and the idea of Riddell going to suppress it was ridiculous even to himself.

He opened the door, unnoticed by the combatants within both on account of the noise and the dust. It was impossible to tell what the fight was about; the blood on both sides was evidently up, and the battle, it was clear, was anything but a mock one. Riddell stood there for some time a bewildered and unrecognised spectator. It would be useless for him to attempt to make himself heard above all the din, and worse than useless to attempt single-handed to interpose between the combatants. The only thing to do seemed to be to wait till the battle was over. But then, thought Riddell, what would be the use of interfering when it was all over? His duty was to stop it, and stop it he must!

With which resolve, and taking advantage of a momentary lull in the conflict, he advanced with a desperate effort towards a boy who appeared to be the leader of one of the two parties, and who was gesticulating and shouting at the top of his voice to encourage his followers. This champion did not notice the captain as he approached, and when he did, he mistook him for one of the enemy, and sprang at him like a young tiger, knocking him over just as the ranks once more closed, and the battle began again.

What might have been Riddell’s fate it would be hard to say had not a loud shout of, “Man down there! Hold hard!” suddenly suspended hostilities.

Such a cry was never disregarded at Willoughby, even by the most desperate of combatants, and every one stood now impatiently where he was, waiting for the obstruction to regain his feet.

The spectacle which the new captain of Willoughby presented, as with scared face and dust-covered garment he rose slowly from the floor, was strange indeed. It was a second or two before any one recognised him, and then the boys seemed not to be sure whether it was not his ghost, so mysteriously had he appeared in their midst, coming from no one knew where.

As, however, the true state of affairs gradually dawned on them, a loud shout of laughter rose on every hand, and the quarrel was at once forgotten in the merriment occasioned by this wonderful apparition.

Riddell, pale and agitated, stood where he was as one in a dream, from which he was only aroused by voices shouting out amid the laughter, “Hullo! where did you come from? What’s the row? Look at him!”

At the same time fellows crowded round him and offered to brush him down, accompanying their violent services with bursts of equally violent merriment.

With a hard effort Riddell shook himself free and stepped out of the crowd.

“Please let me go,” he said. “I just came to say there was too much noise, and—”

But the laughter of the Limpets drowned the rest, in the midst of which he retired miserably to the door and escaped.

In the passage outside he met Bloomfield, with Wibberly and Game, hurrying to the scene of the riot. They scarcely deigned to recognise him with anything more than a half-curious, half-contemptuous glance.

“Some one must stop this row!” said Bloomfield to his companions as they passed. “The doctor will be down on us.”

“You stop it, Bloomfield!” said Wibberly; “they’ll shut up foryou.”

This was all the unfortunate Riddell heard, except that in a few moments the uproar from the Fourth Form room suddenly ceased, and was not renewed.

“What did Bloomfield do this morning when he came into your room?” asked Riddell that evening of Wyndham junior, a Limpet in whom, for his brother’s sake, the new captain felt a special interest, and whom he invited as often as he liked to come and prepare his lessons with him.

“Oh!” said Wyndham, who had been one of the combatants, “he gave Watkins and Cattermole a hiding, and swore he’d allow no removes from the Limpets’ eleven to the school second this term if there was any more row.”

This reply by no means added to Riddell’s comfort.

“Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding.” Fancyhisattempting to give Cattermole and Watkins a hiding! And not only that, he had held out some awful threat about Limpets’ cricket, which appeared to have a magical effect.

Fancy the effect ofhisthreatening to exclude a Limpet from the second-eleven—when it was all he knew that the school had a second-eleven!

The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the morning were closing around him now in grim earnest! The worst he had feared had happened, and more than the worst. It was now proved beyond all doubt that he was utterly incompetent. Would it not be sheer madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?

The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago. Ofcourseit’s madness of him to attempt it. A muff like Riddell nevercouldbe captain of a school, and it’s all bosh to suppose he could be. But, my dear reader, a muff like Riddellwasthe captain of a school; and what’s more he didn’t give it up even after the day’s adventures just described.

Riddell was not perfect. I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one. Riddell was not perfect. He had a fault. Can you believe it—he had many faults? He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride. Not the sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your neighbours. Riddell really couldn’t think that even had he wished it. But his pride was of that kind which won’t admit of anybody to help it, which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own it can’t get through it, and which can never bring itself to say “I am beaten,” even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.

Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever to remain its captain.

Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have convinced him he was attempting an impossibility. But these must be reserved for the next chapter.

Chapter Eight.The Willoughby Parliament in Session.The “Parliament” at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of the school. Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits “on the floor of the house,” when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head master to put more treacle into the suet puddings! They were exciting days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its proceedings. There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the school were not infringed. The management was entirely in the hands of the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself. Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover constituencies for the young members. There was a Government and an Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the “Ministers” were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of each session. They were designated by the titles of their office. There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill or a resolution. Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked) usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good chance of getting a date for his discussion. Later on, when more subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the business for the next evening.Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions. Any one was entitled to question the “Government” on matters affecting the school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the most entertaining part of an evening’s business. Naturally enough, it was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent. The Home Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first asked of the Premier, who, if he didn’t find it convenient to answer them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the Government.It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a certain sense of order and respect for the “authority of the House” which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from degenerating into riots. Another reason for the same result existed in the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of the school. And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally obnoxious.The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the election of a Speaker and a Government.The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall, arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited assembly of members.Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the “order paper,” which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door. It was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of the prospect of a lively evening.1. “That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by T. Fairbairn; seconded by E. Coates.2. “That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by G. Game; seconded by R. Ashley.3. “That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed, A. Pilbury, Esquire; seconded, L. Philpot, Esq.The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the other two. It had always been taken for granted that the captain of Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election for that office was without precedent. Now, however, the old rule was to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.The clock sounded at last; every one was in his place. The seniors sat ranged on the front benches on either side of the table, and the others crowded the benches behind them, impatiently waiting for the proceedings to commence.According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and briefly proposed, “That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to preside until after the election of a Speaker.”The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been the signal for a loud ovation from the House. But this year the cheers were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere. Riddell’s motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a hammer once or twice, demanded silence. This being secured, he called out, “Mr Fairbairn!” and sat down.Fairbairn’s speech was brief and to the point.“I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House. I don’t know that I need say anything in support of this.” (“Oh, oh!” from a voice opposite.) “The captain always has been Speaker, and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the house and knows what the Speaker’s duties are. We all miss old Wyndham,”—(loud cheers)—“but I’m sure Riddell will be a worthy successor to him in the chair of this House.”Coates having said, “I beg to second the motion,” Mr Isaacs put it to the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment. Whereupon Game rose, amid loud cheers from all quarters.Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow. He meant what he said, and generally said what he meant. He was fully convinced in his own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have protested against him all the same.“I beg to move an amendment,” he said, “and it is this: That Mr Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell.” (It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament everybody was “Mr”) “And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell. (Loud Parrett cheers.) I’ve nothing to say against Mr Riddell—(cheers from the schoolhouse)—except that I don’t consider he’s the right man in the right place. (Great applause.) He’s been made captain against our wishes,”—(“Hear, hear,” and “Oh, oh!”)—“and we can’t help it. But we’re not obliged to have him captain here, and what’s more, we don’t mean to! (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.) Mr Bloomfield’s our man. Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two minutes which Mr Riddell couldn’t have stopped if he’d stayed till now.” (Laughter, and cries of “Give him a clothes-brush!”) “The fellows all look up to Mr Bloomfield. He ran grandly for the school at the sports the other day, and licked the London fellow. (Here the enthusiasm became positively deafening.) What’s Mr Riddell done for the school? I should like to know. We want a fellow who has done something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield’s our man, and I hope you’ll elect him Speaker.”Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of pleasure even to his serious face.Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this uncomplimentary oration upon him.At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered to Fairbairn, who sat next him, “Don’t you think I’d better go?”“For goodness’ sake, no!” exclaimed Fairbairn. “Don’t be a fool, Riddell.”The caution had its weight. Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly perplexed his adversaries.Ashley, who seconded Game’s motion, was hardly so fortunate in his remarks as his predecessor.“I second the motion, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time we made a stand against this sort of thing.” (“What sort of thing?” from voices on the schoolhouse side.) “Why, schoolhouse tyranny. (Frantic Parrett cheers.) Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of your precious schoolhouse?” (“Question!” “Order!” drowned by renewed cheers.) “Why, just because he’s a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be stuck over us? and just because he’s a Parrett’s fellow, is a splendid fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole school? (Loud cheers.) It’s time Willoughby found out that Parrett is the cock house of the school.” (“Oh! oh!” from the Welchers.) “It’s got the best men in it. (Parrett cheers.) It’s head of the river.” (“Oh no, not yet,” from Fairbairn.) “Well, it will be very soon. It’s ahead in everything.” (“Except intelligence,” from Crossfield.) “No, I don’t even except intelligence. (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.) And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion.”This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley’s spirited address did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the schoolhouse boys.The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet. This was the signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening to.“Mr Limpet, sir,”—(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself thus appealed to)—“I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable member who has just sat down for the ‘sign of intelligence’ he has just favoured us with. (Laughter.) We’ve been looking for it for a long time—(laughter)—and it’s come at last! (Cheers and laughter.) Sir, it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice. I’m not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday. A sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman! And what is the sign, sir? (Laughter.) The hon. member seconds the motion.” (“Hear, hear!” from Parrett’s.) “Gentlemen of the same party say ‘Hear, hear!’ as much as to say, ‘We, too, show signs of intelligence!’ Do you really, gentlemen? I could not have believed it. (Loud laughter.) Why does he second the motion? Because he’s a Parrett’s boy, and Mr Bloomfield is a Parrett’s boy, and all Parrett’s boys say a Parrett’s boy ought to be the head of the school! Gentlemen, parrots aren’t always to be trusted, even when they show signs of intelligence! (Cheers and laughter.) Don’t you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots. (Laughter.) I prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment. He says he doesn’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. (Cheers.) I agree with him—(tremendous Parrett’s cheers, and consternation of schoolhouse)—I don’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. He doesn’t think so himself.” (“Hear, hear!” from Riddell, and laughter.) “But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man. (Loud cheers.) I don’t agree with that at all. Mr Riddell knows very little about sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this morning. (Derisive cheers.) Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little about classics! (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.) Why, gentlemen, do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn’t translate ‘Balbus hopped over a wall’ without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit to be a Willoughby captain?” (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of “Time!” from Parretts.) “I say not. Even though he’s a Parrett’s boy, and therefore can show a sign of intelligence! (Laughter.) No; what I say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and until you can show me a less bad one, I’ll vote for him.”This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except the Parrett’s fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill voice was heard from the other end of the hall, “Sir! It is time the Welchers had a word!”This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!He stood surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared defiantly out on the assembly generally, and “backed up their man” till he could hardly breathe.“It’s all very well,” screamed Pilbury. (Loud cheers from Cusack and Philpot.) But here the chairman’s hammer sounded and cries of “Order” checked the orator’s progress.“The hon. member,” said Isaacs, “cannot propose his motion till the motion before the House is disposed of.”Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.“Ishallpropose it,” he cried, “and you’d better shut up, old Ikey!”Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions were parliamentary?Isaacs said, “Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them.”Mr Pilbury said “he’d withdraw his grandmother,” and attempted to continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon. member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to hear him. After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game’s amendment continued.It was hot and exciting. The arguments were mostly on the side of the schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett’s. Once or twice a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett’s boy spoke in favour of Riddell. At last, after about an hour’s angry debate, the House divided. That is, all those in favour of Game’s amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in the middle.There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they stood. Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of the room along which Game and his followers took their stand. The triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late appointment.Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own accord rather than remain to be beaten. But his friends had all opposed the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them. He now took his defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr Isaac’s call.“Now, Mr Pilbury!”Mr Pilbury was “off his speech.” If he had been allowed to proceed when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him. However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, “Sir, it is time the Welchers had a word.”He didn’t mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.“Why shouldn’t old Cusack here—” (“Order, order”)—“What’s the row?”Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were always called “Mr”“Mr Cusack, then,” said Pilbury, “it’s just a dodge of Ikey to floor me in my speech. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack— Eh, what say?”This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his ally.“Go it, let out at them,” he whispered.“Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack go it and let out—that is—all right, Philpot, you pig, I’ll pay you out, see if I don’t. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack, gentlemen—er—”“Do,” suggested Cusack himself.“Do,” shouted Pilbury, “do, gentlemen—do? Why shouldn’t—(all right, Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts)—why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack—”“Does any gentleman second the amendment?” asked Mr Isaacs, evidently getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.“Yes,” shouted Philpot, “Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do—and—”“Wait a bit, you howling cad,” exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement. “I’ve not done yet!”“Mr Philpot!” said Mr Isaacs.“Philpot be blowed,” cried the irate Pilbury, “wait till I’m done.”“Order, order,” shouted members on all sides.“Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot,” began Isaacs.“Easy all,” cried Philpot, “I’ve not spoken yet.”“Order, order,” cried Isaacs.“Order yourself,” retorted Philpot, “I’ve got a right to speak.”“So have I,” said Pilbury, “and I was up first.”“Forge away,” said Philpot, “you’ll be all right.”“Nothing to do with you if Iamall right,” snarled Pilbury.“You seem to think you’re the only fellow can talk.”“Ays to the right, noes to the left,” said Isaacs, in a loud voice.The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost by a majority of three hundred odd to one.In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as much noise as they possibly could in doing so.As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and as soon as silence could be restored, said, “I’m much obliged to you all for your vote. I hope Willoughby won’t go down. I’ll try to prevent it for one. (Loud cheers.) I’m very proud to be elected your Speaker, and feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school.” (Loud cries of “So you are!”—from Parrett’s.) “In reference to what one gentleman said about me, I hope you won’t believe it. I’m twelfth in classics. (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from Parrett’s.) That’s all I have to say.”The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had gone before. The elections for the various posts in the Government did not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who deserted the meeting soon after they began. After what had occurred it is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to their own advantage. When the list was finally declared, it was found that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the “Cabinet.” He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. Game was First Lord of the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier. All these, as well as the other officers appointed, were Parrett’s fellows, who may have flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most distinguished boys of Willoughby.Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was particularly sorry when it did.

The “Parliament” at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of the school. Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits “on the floor of the house,” when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head master to put more treacle into the suet puddings! They were exciting days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.

The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its proceedings. There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the school were not infringed. The management was entirely in the hands of the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.

The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself. Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover constituencies for the young members. There was a Government and an Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the “Ministers” were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of each session. They were designated by the titles of their office. There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!

Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill or a resolution. Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked) usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good chance of getting a date for his discussion. Later on, when more subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the business for the next evening.

Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions. Any one was entitled to question the “Government” on matters affecting the school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the most entertaining part of an evening’s business. Naturally enough, it was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent. The Home Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first asked of the Premier, who, if he didn’t find it convenient to answer them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the Government.

It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a certain sense of order and respect for the “authority of the House” which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from degenerating into riots. Another reason for the same result existed in the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of the school. And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally obnoxious.

The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the election of a Speaker and a Government.

The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall, arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited assembly of members.

Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the “order paper,” which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door. It was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of the prospect of a lively evening.

1. “That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by T. Fairbairn; seconded by E. Coates.

2. “That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by G. Game; seconded by R. Ashley.

3. “That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed, A. Pilbury, Esquire; seconded, L. Philpot, Esq.

The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the other two. It had always been taken for granted that the captain of Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election for that office was without precedent. Now, however, the old rule was to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.

The clock sounded at last; every one was in his place. The seniors sat ranged on the front benches on either side of the table, and the others crowded the benches behind them, impatiently waiting for the proceedings to commence.

According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and briefly proposed, “That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to preside until after the election of a Speaker.”

The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been the signal for a loud ovation from the House. But this year the cheers were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere. Riddell’s motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a hammer once or twice, demanded silence. This being secured, he called out, “Mr Fairbairn!” and sat down.

Fairbairn’s speech was brief and to the point.

“I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House. I don’t know that I need say anything in support of this.” (“Oh, oh!” from a voice opposite.) “The captain always has been Speaker, and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the house and knows what the Speaker’s duties are. We all miss old Wyndham,”—(loud cheers)—“but I’m sure Riddell will be a worthy successor to him in the chair of this House.”

Coates having said, “I beg to second the motion,” Mr Isaacs put it to the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment. Whereupon Game rose, amid loud cheers from all quarters.

Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow. He meant what he said, and generally said what he meant. He was fully convinced in his own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have protested against him all the same.

“I beg to move an amendment,” he said, “and it is this: That Mr Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell.” (It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament everybody was “Mr”) “And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell. (Loud Parrett cheers.) I’ve nothing to say against Mr Riddell—(cheers from the schoolhouse)—except that I don’t consider he’s the right man in the right place. (Great applause.) He’s been made captain against our wishes,”—(“Hear, hear,” and “Oh, oh!”)—“and we can’t help it. But we’re not obliged to have him captain here, and what’s more, we don’t mean to! (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.) Mr Bloomfield’s our man. Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two minutes which Mr Riddell couldn’t have stopped if he’d stayed till now.” (Laughter, and cries of “Give him a clothes-brush!”) “The fellows all look up to Mr Bloomfield. He ran grandly for the school at the sports the other day, and licked the London fellow. (Here the enthusiasm became positively deafening.) What’s Mr Riddell done for the school? I should like to know. We want a fellow who has done something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield’s our man, and I hope you’ll elect him Speaker.”

Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of pleasure even to his serious face.

Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this uncomplimentary oration upon him.

At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered to Fairbairn, who sat next him, “Don’t you think I’d better go?”

“For goodness’ sake, no!” exclaimed Fairbairn. “Don’t be a fool, Riddell.”

The caution had its weight. Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly perplexed his adversaries.

Ashley, who seconded Game’s motion, was hardly so fortunate in his remarks as his predecessor.

“I second the motion, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time we made a stand against this sort of thing.” (“What sort of thing?” from voices on the schoolhouse side.) “Why, schoolhouse tyranny. (Frantic Parrett cheers.) Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of your precious schoolhouse?” (“Question!” “Order!” drowned by renewed cheers.) “Why, just because he’s a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be stuck over us? and just because he’s a Parrett’s fellow, is a splendid fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole school? (Loud cheers.) It’s time Willoughby found out that Parrett is the cock house of the school.” (“Oh! oh!” from the Welchers.) “It’s got the best men in it. (Parrett cheers.) It’s head of the river.” (“Oh no, not yet,” from Fairbairn.) “Well, it will be very soon. It’s ahead in everything.” (“Except intelligence,” from Crossfield.) “No, I don’t even except intelligence. (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.) And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion.”

This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley’s spirited address did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the schoolhouse boys.

The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet. This was the signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening to.

“Mr Limpet, sir,”—(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself thus appealed to)—“I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable member who has just sat down for the ‘sign of intelligence’ he has just favoured us with. (Laughter.) We’ve been looking for it for a long time—(laughter)—and it’s come at last! (Cheers and laughter.) Sir, it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice. I’m not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday. A sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman! And what is the sign, sir? (Laughter.) The hon. member seconds the motion.” (“Hear, hear!” from Parrett’s.) “Gentlemen of the same party say ‘Hear, hear!’ as much as to say, ‘We, too, show signs of intelligence!’ Do you really, gentlemen? I could not have believed it. (Loud laughter.) Why does he second the motion? Because he’s a Parrett’s boy, and Mr Bloomfield is a Parrett’s boy, and all Parrett’s boys say a Parrett’s boy ought to be the head of the school! Gentlemen, parrots aren’t always to be trusted, even when they show signs of intelligence! (Cheers and laughter.) Don’t you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots. (Laughter.) I prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment. He says he doesn’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. (Cheers.) I agree with him—(tremendous Parrett’s cheers, and consternation of schoolhouse)—I don’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. He doesn’t think so himself.” (“Hear, hear!” from Riddell, and laughter.) “But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man. (Loud cheers.) I don’t agree with that at all. Mr Riddell knows very little about sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this morning. (Derisive cheers.) Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little about classics! (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.) Why, gentlemen, do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn’t translate ‘Balbus hopped over a wall’ without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit to be a Willoughby captain?” (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of “Time!” from Parretts.) “I say not. Even though he’s a Parrett’s boy, and therefore can show a sign of intelligence! (Laughter.) No; what I say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and until you can show me a less bad one, I’ll vote for him.”

This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except the Parrett’s fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.

However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill voice was heard from the other end of the hall, “Sir! It is time the Welchers had a word!”

This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!

He stood surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared defiantly out on the assembly generally, and “backed up their man” till he could hardly breathe.

“It’s all very well,” screamed Pilbury. (Loud cheers from Cusack and Philpot.) But here the chairman’s hammer sounded and cries of “Order” checked the orator’s progress.

“The hon. member,” said Isaacs, “cannot propose his motion till the motion before the House is disposed of.”

Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.

“Ishallpropose it,” he cried, “and you’d better shut up, old Ikey!”

Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions were parliamentary?

Isaacs said, “Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them.”

Mr Pilbury said “he’d withdraw his grandmother,” and attempted to continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon. member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to hear him. After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game’s amendment continued.

It was hot and exciting. The arguments were mostly on the side of the schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett’s. Once or twice a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett’s boy spoke in favour of Riddell. At last, after about an hour’s angry debate, the House divided. That is, all those in favour of Game’s amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in the middle.

There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they stood. Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of the room along which Game and his followers took their stand. The triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late appointment.

Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own accord rather than remain to be beaten. But his friends had all opposed the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them. He now took his defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr Isaac’s call.

“Now, Mr Pilbury!”

Mr Pilbury was “off his speech.” If he had been allowed to proceed when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him. However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, “Sir, it is time the Welchers had a word.”

He didn’t mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.

“Why shouldn’t old Cusack here—” (“Order, order”)—“What’s the row?”

Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were always called “Mr”

“Mr Cusack, then,” said Pilbury, “it’s just a dodge of Ikey to floor me in my speech. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack— Eh, what say?”

This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his ally.

“Go it, let out at them,” he whispered.

“Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack go it and let out—that is—all right, Philpot, you pig, I’ll pay you out, see if I don’t. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack, gentlemen—er—”

“Do,” suggested Cusack himself.

“Do,” shouted Pilbury, “do, gentlemen—do? Why shouldn’t—(all right, Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts)—why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack—”

“Does any gentleman second the amendment?” asked Mr Isaacs, evidently getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.

“Yes,” shouted Philpot, “Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do—and—”

“Wait a bit, you howling cad,” exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement. “I’ve not done yet!”

“Mr Philpot!” said Mr Isaacs.

“Philpot be blowed,” cried the irate Pilbury, “wait till I’m done.”

“Order, order,” shouted members on all sides.

“Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot,” began Isaacs.

“Easy all,” cried Philpot, “I’ve not spoken yet.”

“Order, order,” cried Isaacs.

“Order yourself,” retorted Philpot, “I’ve got a right to speak.”

“So have I,” said Pilbury, “and I was up first.”

“Forge away,” said Philpot, “you’ll be all right.”

“Nothing to do with you if Iamall right,” snarled Pilbury.

“You seem to think you’re the only fellow can talk.”

“Ays to the right, noes to the left,” said Isaacs, in a loud voice.

The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost by a majority of three hundred odd to one.

In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as much noise as they possibly could in doing so.

As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.

Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and as soon as silence could be restored, said, “I’m much obliged to you all for your vote. I hope Willoughby won’t go down. I’ll try to prevent it for one. (Loud cheers.) I’m very proud to be elected your Speaker, and feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school.” (Loud cries of “So you are!”—from Parrett’s.) “In reference to what one gentleman said about me, I hope you won’t believe it. I’m twelfth in classics. (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from Parrett’s.) That’s all I have to say.”

The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had gone before. The elections for the various posts in the Government did not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who deserted the meeting soon after they began. After what had occurred it is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to their own advantage. When the list was finally declared, it was found that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the “Cabinet.” He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. Game was First Lord of the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier. All these, as well as the other officers appointed, were Parrett’s fellows, who may have flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most distinguished boys of Willoughby.

Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was particularly sorry when it did.

Chapter Nine.A Scientific Afternoon in Welch’s.“Pil,” said Cusack, a few days after the unfortunate end to that gentleman’s “motion” in Parliament—“Pil, it strikes me we can do pretty much as we like these times. What do you think?”“Well, I don’t know,” said Pil, meditatively; “I got a pot from Coates to-day for playing fives against the schoolhouse door.”“Oh yes; of course, if you fool about out of doors you’ll get potted. What I mean is, indoors here there’s no one to pull us up that I can see.”“Oh! I see what you mean,” said Pil. “Yes, you’re about right there.”“Gully, you know,” continued Cusack—“Gully’s no good as master of a house; he’s always grubbing over his books. Bless his heart! it doesn’t matter to him whether we cut one another’s throats!”“Not it! I dare say he’d be rather glad if we did,” replied Pilbury.“Then there’s Tucker. No fear of his reporting us, eh!”“Rather not! when he’s always breaking rules himself, and slinking down to Shellport, and kicking up rows with the other chaps. What do you think I found in his brush-and-comb bag the other day? Thirteen cigar-ends! He goes about collecting them in Shellport, I suppose, and finishes them up on the quiet.”“Oh, he’s a beast!” said Cusack. “And old Silk’s about as bad. He doesn’t care a bit what we do as long as he enjoys himself. Don’t suppose he’d be down on us, do you?”“No fear! He might pot us now and then for appearances’ sake, but he wouldn’t report us, I guess.”“And suppose he did,” said Cusack; “the new captain’s as big a muff as all the lot of them put together. He’s afraid to look at a chap. Didn’t you hear what he did to the Parrett’s kids the other day?”“Yes; didn’t I!” exclaimed Pilbury. “He let them all off, and begged their pardons or something. But I’m jolly glad Parrett was down on them. He’s stopped their river-play, and they won’t be able to show up at the regatta.”“I’m jolly glad!” said Cusack; “chaps like them deserve to catch it, don’t they, Pil?”“Rather!” replied Pilbury.A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, “Beastly slow, isn’t it, Cusack?”“What’s beastly slow?”“Oh, everything! No fun kicking up a row if there’s no one to pull you up. I’m getting sick of rows.”Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks. He could not be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.“Fact is,” continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one foot on the corner of the fender, “I’ve half a notion to go in for being steady this term, old man, just for a change.”As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, “Rather a rum start, isn’t it?”“Well,” said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by the treacherous fender, “I don’t see what else there is to do. Any chap can fool about. I’m fagged of fooling about; ain’t you?”“I don’t know,” said Cusack, doubtfully. “It’s not such a lark as it used to be, certainly.”“What do you say to going it steady this term?” asked Pilbury.“Depends on what you mean by ‘steady.’ If you mean never going out of bounds or using cribs, I’m not game.”“Oh, I don’t mean that, you know,” said Pilbury. “What I mean is, shutting up rows, and that sort of thing.”“What can a fellow do?” asked Cusack, dubiously.“Oh, lots to do, you know,” said Pilbury—“dominoes, you know, or spellicans. I’ve got a box at home.”“Jolly slow always playing dominoes,” said Cusack, “or spellicans.”“Well, then, there’s—”“Hold hard!” broke in Cusack, struck with a sudden idea. “What’s the name of the thing old Philpot’s always at?”“What, chemistry? Jolly good idea, old man! Let’s go in for that.”“Not a bad lark,” said Cusack—“lots of explosions and things. Philpot told me he could make Pharaoh’s serpents, and smells like rotten eggs. We’ll get him to coach us, eh, Pil?”“I’m game,” said Pil, no less delighted than his friend at this happy thought.And, full of their new idea of “going it steady,” the two worthies forthwith sallied out and made hue and cry for Philpot.Unless Philpot in his leisure moments was engaged in some predatory expedition, or happened to be serving a term of imprisonment in the detention room, it was a pretty safe guess to look for him in the laboratory, where as an ardent student of science he was permitted to resort, and within certain limits practise for himself. Philpot himself bore the office of “second under bottle-washer” in Willoughby; that is, he assisted the boy who assisted the chemistry fag who assisted the assistant master to the science master; andonthe strength of this distinction he was allowed some special privileges in the way of improving himself in his favourite branch of study. He was on the whole rather a promising pupil, and had a very fair idea of the properties of the several substances he was allowed to experiment with. Indeed he had had to pass an examination and perform some experiments in the presence of the master before he was allowed to enter the laboratory as a private student at all. No one knew exactly how he distinguished himself on that occasion, or how he succeeded with his experiments, but it was well-known that, if he had succeeded then, he had never done so since; that is, according to anybody’s idea but his own.Cusack and Pilbury found him busy blowing through a tube into a bottle of water, looking very like a purple cherub bursting at the cheeks. He was so engrossed with his task that he did not even notice their entry, indeed it was not till Pilbury had stepped behind him and clapped him suddenly on either side of the face, making his cheeks explode like a small balloon, and spilling the contents of his bottle all over the table, that he became aware that he had visitors. “What a frightful idiot you are, Pilbury!” he exclaimed; “you’ve spoilt that whole experiment. I wish you’d shut up fooling and get out.”“Awfully sorry, old man,” said Pilbury, “but you did look so jolly puffed out, you know; didn’t he, Cusack?”“Now you’ve done, you’d better hook it,” said Philpot, “you’ve not got leave to come here.”“Oh, don’t be riled,” said Cusack; “the fact is, Pil and I came to see if you’d put us up to a thing or two in this sort of business.”“We’ve gone on the steady, Phil, you know,” explained Pilbury, in conciliatory tones, “and thought it would be rather jolly if we three worked up a little chemistry together.”“We’d watch you do the things at first, of course,” said Cusack, “till we twigged all the dodges.”“And it would be jolly good practice for you, you know, in case ever old Mix-’em-up is laid up, and you have to lecture instead.”Philpot regarded his two would-be pupils doubtfully, but softened considerably as they went on.“You’ll have to promise not to fool,” said he, presently, “or there’ll be a row.”“Oh, rather; we won’t touch anything without asking, will we, Pil?” replied Cusack. “Awfully brickish of you, Philpot.”Philpot took the compliment very complacently, and the two students settled themselves one on either side of the table and waited for operations to begin.“Wire in, old man,” said Pilbury, encouragingly; “cut all the jaw, you know, and start with the experiments. Can’t you give us a jolly flare-up to begin with?”“All serene,” said Philpot, who had now quite recovered his humour, and was pleased to find himself in the position of an instructor of youth, “wait a bit, then.”He reached down from a shelf a large saucer containing water, in which lay a round substance rather like the end of a stick of peppermint-rock. On this Philpot began to operate with a pair of scissors, greatly to the amusement of his spectators, for try all he would he couldn’t get hold of it.“What are you trying to do?” said Cusack.“Cut a bit off,” said Philpot, trying to stick the substance with a long bodkin, in order to hold it steady.“Why, that’s not the way to cut it, you old dolt,” said Pilbury. “Here, I’ll do it,” and he advanced to the saucer.“What’ll you do?”“Why, fish it out, of course, and cut it then.”“You’d better not try. It’s phosphorus.”“Is it, though—and what does it do?”“Burn you, rather, unless you keep it in water. Ah, got him at last.”So saying Philpot triumphantly spiked the obstinate piece of phosphorus, and succeeded in cutting off a small piece.“Is that what makes the flare-up?” asked Cusack.“Yes, wait a bit, till I get the jar.”“What jar?” asked Pilbury. “Here’s one; will this do?”“Look out, I say!” exclaimed Philpot, in great excitement; “let it go, will you?”“What’s the row?” asked Pilbury and Cusack, both in alarm.“Why, that’s got my oxygen in it,” cried Philpot, securing the bottle and gently lifting it on to the table, taking care to hold the glass plate that covered the mouth in its place.“Got his what in it?” asked Cusack.“Oxygen. It took me an hour to get.”“There’s nothing in that empty jar,” said Pilbury, laughing. “Isn’t there, though?” said Philpot; “it’s full.”“You mean to say that jar’s full of something,” said Cusack. “Look here, don’t you try to stuff us up. What’s the use of saying it’s full when it’s empty?”“It’s full of gas, I tell you,” said Philpot. “Don’t you talk till you know.”This rebuke somewhat silenced the two devotees of science, who, however, continued to regard the jar sceptically and rather contemptuously.Philpot next dived into a drawer and drew from it a large cork, through which passed a long wire having a small cup at the lower end.“Now look out,” he said.He proceeded to shovel the small piece of phosphorus into the little cup under the cork, and drawing it out of the water, applied a light. The phosphorus lit up immediately, and at the same instant he slipped the glass plate off the mouth of the oxygen jar, and clapped the cork, with the wire and cup hanging down from it, in its place. The effect was magical. The moment the phosphorus was introduced into the oxygen it flared up with a brilliancy that perfectly dazzled the spectators, and made the entire jar look like one mass of light.The two pupils were delighted; Philpot was complacently triumphant; when all of a sudden there was a loud report, the illumination suddenly ceased, and the jar, broken to pieces, collapsed.Pilbury and Cusack, who at the first alarm had retreated somewhat suddenly to the door, returned as soon as they perceived there was no danger, and were profuse in their praises of the experiment and the experimenter.“Awfully prime, that was!” cried Cusack; “wasn’t it, Pil?”“Stunning!” said Pilbury.“Jolly grind that jar bursting up, though,” said Philpot, with a troubled countenance.“Why, wasn’t that part of the show-off?” asked Pilbury. “Part of the show-off! No!” exclaimed Philpot. “I thought it was the best part of it all,” said Cusack. “So did I. No end of a bust up it was.”“You see,” said Philpot, solemnly, “what I ought to have done was to dilute the oxygen with a little air first, but you fellows flurried me so I forgot all about it.”“Jolly glad you did, or we’d have missed the bust up,” said Cusack. “I say, can’t we try now? I know the way to do it quite well.”But this proposal Philpot flatly declined to accede to, and could only appease their disappointment by promising to perform one other experiment for their benefit.This was of rather an elaborate nature. The operator first placed in a saucer some stuff which he explained was iodine. On to this he poured from a small bottle which smelt uncommonly like smelling-salts a small quantity of liquid, and then proceeded to stir the concoction up.The two students were not to be restrained from offering their services at this point, and Philpot yielded. After they had stirred to their hearts’ content, Philpot ordered them to desist and let it stand a bit.This they consented to do, and occupied the interval in taking down and smelling all the bottles within reach, with a hardihood that frightened the wits out of poor Philpot.“Look here,” he said, when presently Pilbury suddenly dropped one bottle with a crash to the floor, and began violently spitting and choking, “you promised you wouldn’t touch anything, and I’ll shut up if you go on fooling any more. Serves you right, Pil, so it does.”It was some time before the unfortunate Pil recovered from the results of his unlucky experiment, and even when he did, the odours from the broken bottle were so offensive that the windows had to be opened wide before the atmosphere of the room became tolerable. It wouldn’t have taken so long, only it was deemed advisable to shut the door at the same time to prevent the smell getting outside and telling tales to the school at large.By the time this pleasant diversion was disposed of the concoction in the saucer had recovered from its stirring, and Philpot declared it was ready to go ahead with.He therefore placed another saucer upside down upon this one, and carefully strained off between the two all the liquid, leaving only a black powder in the saucer, which he announced was iodide of nitrogen.“Jolly rum name,” said Cusack, “what does it do?”“You wait a bit,” said Philpot, scooping the wet powder up with the end of a knife and spreading it out on small separate pieces of paper.“Fellow’s born a chemist,” said Pilbury, watching him admiringly; “that’s just what old Joram does at the dispensary. What’s all the spread out for?”“To dry it,” said Philpot.“Why don’t you stick it on the shovel and hold it over the gas?” suggested Cusack. “Jolly fag waiting till it dries itself.”“Oh, it won’t be long,” said Philpot.“And what’s it going to do when it’s done?” asked Cusack.“Hope it’ll flare-up like the other,” said Pilbury.“It ought to,” said Philpot.“Ought it? Hurrah! I say, Cusack, what a jolly clever beggar old Phil is, isn’t he?”“Rather,” said the admiring Cusack, perching himself on the side of the table and swinging his legs to pass the time.“Oh,” said Philpot, condescendingly, “it only wants a little practice.”“Rather; I mean to practise hard, don’t you, Cusack?”Cusack said, Yes he did, and proceeded to prowl round the laboratory in a manner that made Philpot very uncomfortable.It was a relief to all parties when the powders were at last pronounced to be dry.“Now,” said Philpot, taking up one of the small papers gently on the flat of his hand, “we shall have to be careful.”“That little lot won’t make half a flare,” suggested Pilbury; “let’s have two or three at once.”So saying he lifted up one of the other papers and emptied its contents into the paper on Philpot’s hand.“Look out,” said Philpot, “it’ll blow up.”“Eh, what?” cried Cusack, jumping off the table in his excitement at the glorious news.As he did so Philpot uttered a cry, which was accompanied by a loud crackling explosion, and a dense volume of blue smoke, which made the boys turn pale with terror. For a moment neither of them could move or utter a sound except Philpot, who danced round and round the room in the smoke howling and wringing his hand.When at last they did recover presence of mind enough to inquire of their preceptor if he was injured, it was in tones of terrible alarm.“Oh, Phil, old man, are you hurt? What was it? We’re so awfully sorry. Is your hand blown off?”“No,” said Philpot, continuing to wring his injured hand, but otherwise considerably recovered, “it was your fault jumping off the table. The beastly stuff goes off almost if you look at it. It’s lucky it wasn’t all dry, or I might have had my eyes out!”It was a great relief to find matters were no worse, and that in a very few minutes Philpot’s hand had recovered from the smart of the explosion. This accident, however, decided the young enthusiasts that for the present they had perhaps had enough chemistry for one lesson.In a few days, however, they had all sufficiently got over the shock of the last afternoon’s experiments to decide on a fresh venture, and these lessons continued, on and off, during the rest of the term. It can hardly be said that by the end of the term Pilbury or Cusack knew any more about chemistry than they had known this first day. They persistently refused to listen to any of Philpot’s “jaw,” as they rudely termed his attempts at explanation, and confined themselves to the experiments. However, though in many respects they wasted their time over their new pursuit, these volatile youths might have been a good deal worse employed.In fact, if every Welcher had been no worse employed that house would not have brought all the discredit on Willoughby which it did. As it was, everybody there seemed to follow his own sweet will without a single thought for the good of the school or the welfare of his fellows. The heads of the house, Tucker and Silk, did not even attempt to set a good example, and that being so, it was hardly to be expected those below them would be much interested to supply the deficiencies.On the very afternoon when Pilbury and Cusack had been sitting at the feet of the learned Philpot in the laboratory, Silk, a monitor, had, along with Gilks, of the schoolhouse, a monitor too, gone down to Shellport, against all rules, taking Wyndham junior, one of their specialprotégés, with them.They appeared to be pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the big town, and though on this occasion they occupied their time in no more disgraceful a way than waiting on the harbour pier to see the mail steamer come in, they yet felt, all three of them, as if they would by no means like to be seen by any one who knew them.And it appeared as if they were going to be spared this embarrassment, for they encountered no one they knew till they were actually on their way home.Then, just as they were passing the station door, they met, to their horror, a boy in a college cap just coming out with a parcel under his arm. To their astonishment, it proved to be no other than Riddell himself.Riddell, who had come down by a special “permit” from the doctor to get a parcel—containing, by the way, his new boating flannels—at first looked as astonished and uncomfortable as the three truants themselves. He would sooner have had anything happen to him than such a meeting. However, as usual, his sense of duty came to his rescue.He advanced to the group in a nervous manner, and, addressing Wyndham, said, hurriedly, “Please come to my room this evening, Wyndham,” and then, without waiting for a reply, or staying to notice the ominous looks of the two monitors, he departed, and proceeded as fast as he could back to Willoughby.

“Pil,” said Cusack, a few days after the unfortunate end to that gentleman’s “motion” in Parliament—“Pil, it strikes me we can do pretty much as we like these times. What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t know,” said Pil, meditatively; “I got a pot from Coates to-day for playing fives against the schoolhouse door.”

“Oh yes; of course, if you fool about out of doors you’ll get potted. What I mean is, indoors here there’s no one to pull us up that I can see.”

“Oh! I see what you mean,” said Pil. “Yes, you’re about right there.”

“Gully, you know,” continued Cusack—“Gully’s no good as master of a house; he’s always grubbing over his books. Bless his heart! it doesn’t matter to him whether we cut one another’s throats!”

“Not it! I dare say he’d be rather glad if we did,” replied Pilbury.

“Then there’s Tucker. No fear of his reporting us, eh!”

“Rather not! when he’s always breaking rules himself, and slinking down to Shellport, and kicking up rows with the other chaps. What do you think I found in his brush-and-comb bag the other day? Thirteen cigar-ends! He goes about collecting them in Shellport, I suppose, and finishes them up on the quiet.”

“Oh, he’s a beast!” said Cusack. “And old Silk’s about as bad. He doesn’t care a bit what we do as long as he enjoys himself. Don’t suppose he’d be down on us, do you?”

“No fear! He might pot us now and then for appearances’ sake, but he wouldn’t report us, I guess.”

“And suppose he did,” said Cusack; “the new captain’s as big a muff as all the lot of them put together. He’s afraid to look at a chap. Didn’t you hear what he did to the Parrett’s kids the other day?”

“Yes; didn’t I!” exclaimed Pilbury. “He let them all off, and begged their pardons or something. But I’m jolly glad Parrett was down on them. He’s stopped their river-play, and they won’t be able to show up at the regatta.”

“I’m jolly glad!” said Cusack; “chaps like them deserve to catch it, don’t they, Pil?”

“Rather!” replied Pilbury.

A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.

Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, “Beastly slow, isn’t it, Cusack?”

“What’s beastly slow?”

“Oh, everything! No fun kicking up a row if there’s no one to pull you up. I’m getting sick of rows.”

Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks. He could not be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.

“Fact is,” continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one foot on the corner of the fender, “I’ve half a notion to go in for being steady this term, old man, just for a change.”

As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.

Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, “Rather a rum start, isn’t it?”

“Well,” said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by the treacherous fender, “I don’t see what else there is to do. Any chap can fool about. I’m fagged of fooling about; ain’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Cusack, doubtfully. “It’s not such a lark as it used to be, certainly.”

“What do you say to going it steady this term?” asked Pilbury.

“Depends on what you mean by ‘steady.’ If you mean never going out of bounds or using cribs, I’m not game.”

“Oh, I don’t mean that, you know,” said Pilbury. “What I mean is, shutting up rows, and that sort of thing.”

“What can a fellow do?” asked Cusack, dubiously.

“Oh, lots to do, you know,” said Pilbury—“dominoes, you know, or spellicans. I’ve got a box at home.”

“Jolly slow always playing dominoes,” said Cusack, “or spellicans.”

“Well, then, there’s—”

“Hold hard!” broke in Cusack, struck with a sudden idea. “What’s the name of the thing old Philpot’s always at?”

“What, chemistry? Jolly good idea, old man! Let’s go in for that.”

“Not a bad lark,” said Cusack—“lots of explosions and things. Philpot told me he could make Pharaoh’s serpents, and smells like rotten eggs. We’ll get him to coach us, eh, Pil?”

“I’m game,” said Pil, no less delighted than his friend at this happy thought.

And, full of their new idea of “going it steady,” the two worthies forthwith sallied out and made hue and cry for Philpot.

Unless Philpot in his leisure moments was engaged in some predatory expedition, or happened to be serving a term of imprisonment in the detention room, it was a pretty safe guess to look for him in the laboratory, where as an ardent student of science he was permitted to resort, and within certain limits practise for himself. Philpot himself bore the office of “second under bottle-washer” in Willoughby; that is, he assisted the boy who assisted the chemistry fag who assisted the assistant master to the science master; andonthe strength of this distinction he was allowed some special privileges in the way of improving himself in his favourite branch of study. He was on the whole rather a promising pupil, and had a very fair idea of the properties of the several substances he was allowed to experiment with. Indeed he had had to pass an examination and perform some experiments in the presence of the master before he was allowed to enter the laboratory as a private student at all. No one knew exactly how he distinguished himself on that occasion, or how he succeeded with his experiments, but it was well-known that, if he had succeeded then, he had never done so since; that is, according to anybody’s idea but his own.

Cusack and Pilbury found him busy blowing through a tube into a bottle of water, looking very like a purple cherub bursting at the cheeks. He was so engrossed with his task that he did not even notice their entry, indeed it was not till Pilbury had stepped behind him and clapped him suddenly on either side of the face, making his cheeks explode like a small balloon, and spilling the contents of his bottle all over the table, that he became aware that he had visitors. “What a frightful idiot you are, Pilbury!” he exclaimed; “you’ve spoilt that whole experiment. I wish you’d shut up fooling and get out.”

“Awfully sorry, old man,” said Pilbury, “but you did look so jolly puffed out, you know; didn’t he, Cusack?”

“Now you’ve done, you’d better hook it,” said Philpot, “you’ve not got leave to come here.”

“Oh, don’t be riled,” said Cusack; “the fact is, Pil and I came to see if you’d put us up to a thing or two in this sort of business.”

“We’ve gone on the steady, Phil, you know,” explained Pilbury, in conciliatory tones, “and thought it would be rather jolly if we three worked up a little chemistry together.”

“We’d watch you do the things at first, of course,” said Cusack, “till we twigged all the dodges.”

“And it would be jolly good practice for you, you know, in case ever old Mix-’em-up is laid up, and you have to lecture instead.”

Philpot regarded his two would-be pupils doubtfully, but softened considerably as they went on.

“You’ll have to promise not to fool,” said he, presently, “or there’ll be a row.”

“Oh, rather; we won’t touch anything without asking, will we, Pil?” replied Cusack. “Awfully brickish of you, Philpot.”

Philpot took the compliment very complacently, and the two students settled themselves one on either side of the table and waited for operations to begin.

“Wire in, old man,” said Pilbury, encouragingly; “cut all the jaw, you know, and start with the experiments. Can’t you give us a jolly flare-up to begin with?”

“All serene,” said Philpot, who had now quite recovered his humour, and was pleased to find himself in the position of an instructor of youth, “wait a bit, then.”

He reached down from a shelf a large saucer containing water, in which lay a round substance rather like the end of a stick of peppermint-rock. On this Philpot began to operate with a pair of scissors, greatly to the amusement of his spectators, for try all he would he couldn’t get hold of it.

“What are you trying to do?” said Cusack.

“Cut a bit off,” said Philpot, trying to stick the substance with a long bodkin, in order to hold it steady.

“Why, that’s not the way to cut it, you old dolt,” said Pilbury. “Here, I’ll do it,” and he advanced to the saucer.

“What’ll you do?”

“Why, fish it out, of course, and cut it then.”

“You’d better not try. It’s phosphorus.”

“Is it, though—and what does it do?”

“Burn you, rather, unless you keep it in water. Ah, got him at last.”

So saying Philpot triumphantly spiked the obstinate piece of phosphorus, and succeeded in cutting off a small piece.

“Is that what makes the flare-up?” asked Cusack.

“Yes, wait a bit, till I get the jar.”

“What jar?” asked Pilbury. “Here’s one; will this do?”

“Look out, I say!” exclaimed Philpot, in great excitement; “let it go, will you?”

“What’s the row?” asked Pilbury and Cusack, both in alarm.

“Why, that’s got my oxygen in it,” cried Philpot, securing the bottle and gently lifting it on to the table, taking care to hold the glass plate that covered the mouth in its place.

“Got his what in it?” asked Cusack.

“Oxygen. It took me an hour to get.”

“There’s nothing in that empty jar,” said Pilbury, laughing. “Isn’t there, though?” said Philpot; “it’s full.”

“You mean to say that jar’s full of something,” said Cusack. “Look here, don’t you try to stuff us up. What’s the use of saying it’s full when it’s empty?”

“It’s full of gas, I tell you,” said Philpot. “Don’t you talk till you know.”

This rebuke somewhat silenced the two devotees of science, who, however, continued to regard the jar sceptically and rather contemptuously.

Philpot next dived into a drawer and drew from it a large cork, through which passed a long wire having a small cup at the lower end.

“Now look out,” he said.

He proceeded to shovel the small piece of phosphorus into the little cup under the cork, and drawing it out of the water, applied a light. The phosphorus lit up immediately, and at the same instant he slipped the glass plate off the mouth of the oxygen jar, and clapped the cork, with the wire and cup hanging down from it, in its place. The effect was magical. The moment the phosphorus was introduced into the oxygen it flared up with a brilliancy that perfectly dazzled the spectators, and made the entire jar look like one mass of light.

The two pupils were delighted; Philpot was complacently triumphant; when all of a sudden there was a loud report, the illumination suddenly ceased, and the jar, broken to pieces, collapsed.

Pilbury and Cusack, who at the first alarm had retreated somewhat suddenly to the door, returned as soon as they perceived there was no danger, and were profuse in their praises of the experiment and the experimenter.

“Awfully prime, that was!” cried Cusack; “wasn’t it, Pil?”

“Stunning!” said Pilbury.

“Jolly grind that jar bursting up, though,” said Philpot, with a troubled countenance.

“Why, wasn’t that part of the show-off?” asked Pilbury. “Part of the show-off! No!” exclaimed Philpot. “I thought it was the best part of it all,” said Cusack. “So did I. No end of a bust up it was.”

“You see,” said Philpot, solemnly, “what I ought to have done was to dilute the oxygen with a little air first, but you fellows flurried me so I forgot all about it.”

“Jolly glad you did, or we’d have missed the bust up,” said Cusack. “I say, can’t we try now? I know the way to do it quite well.”

But this proposal Philpot flatly declined to accede to, and could only appease their disappointment by promising to perform one other experiment for their benefit.

This was of rather an elaborate nature. The operator first placed in a saucer some stuff which he explained was iodine. On to this he poured from a small bottle which smelt uncommonly like smelling-salts a small quantity of liquid, and then proceeded to stir the concoction up.

The two students were not to be restrained from offering their services at this point, and Philpot yielded. After they had stirred to their hearts’ content, Philpot ordered them to desist and let it stand a bit.

This they consented to do, and occupied the interval in taking down and smelling all the bottles within reach, with a hardihood that frightened the wits out of poor Philpot.

“Look here,” he said, when presently Pilbury suddenly dropped one bottle with a crash to the floor, and began violently spitting and choking, “you promised you wouldn’t touch anything, and I’ll shut up if you go on fooling any more. Serves you right, Pil, so it does.”

It was some time before the unfortunate Pil recovered from the results of his unlucky experiment, and even when he did, the odours from the broken bottle were so offensive that the windows had to be opened wide before the atmosphere of the room became tolerable. It wouldn’t have taken so long, only it was deemed advisable to shut the door at the same time to prevent the smell getting outside and telling tales to the school at large.

By the time this pleasant diversion was disposed of the concoction in the saucer had recovered from its stirring, and Philpot declared it was ready to go ahead with.

He therefore placed another saucer upside down upon this one, and carefully strained off between the two all the liquid, leaving only a black powder in the saucer, which he announced was iodide of nitrogen.

“Jolly rum name,” said Cusack, “what does it do?”

“You wait a bit,” said Philpot, scooping the wet powder up with the end of a knife and spreading it out on small separate pieces of paper.

“Fellow’s born a chemist,” said Pilbury, watching him admiringly; “that’s just what old Joram does at the dispensary. What’s all the spread out for?”

“To dry it,” said Philpot.

“Why don’t you stick it on the shovel and hold it over the gas?” suggested Cusack. “Jolly fag waiting till it dries itself.”

“Oh, it won’t be long,” said Philpot.

“And what’s it going to do when it’s done?” asked Cusack.

“Hope it’ll flare-up like the other,” said Pilbury.

“It ought to,” said Philpot.

“Ought it? Hurrah! I say, Cusack, what a jolly clever beggar old Phil is, isn’t he?”

“Rather,” said the admiring Cusack, perching himself on the side of the table and swinging his legs to pass the time.

“Oh,” said Philpot, condescendingly, “it only wants a little practice.”

“Rather; I mean to practise hard, don’t you, Cusack?”

Cusack said, Yes he did, and proceeded to prowl round the laboratory in a manner that made Philpot very uncomfortable.

It was a relief to all parties when the powders were at last pronounced to be dry.

“Now,” said Philpot, taking up one of the small papers gently on the flat of his hand, “we shall have to be careful.”

“That little lot won’t make half a flare,” suggested Pilbury; “let’s have two or three at once.”

So saying he lifted up one of the other papers and emptied its contents into the paper on Philpot’s hand.

“Look out,” said Philpot, “it’ll blow up.”

“Eh, what?” cried Cusack, jumping off the table in his excitement at the glorious news.

As he did so Philpot uttered a cry, which was accompanied by a loud crackling explosion, and a dense volume of blue smoke, which made the boys turn pale with terror. For a moment neither of them could move or utter a sound except Philpot, who danced round and round the room in the smoke howling and wringing his hand.

When at last they did recover presence of mind enough to inquire of their preceptor if he was injured, it was in tones of terrible alarm.

“Oh, Phil, old man, are you hurt? What was it? We’re so awfully sorry. Is your hand blown off?”

“No,” said Philpot, continuing to wring his injured hand, but otherwise considerably recovered, “it was your fault jumping off the table. The beastly stuff goes off almost if you look at it. It’s lucky it wasn’t all dry, or I might have had my eyes out!”

It was a great relief to find matters were no worse, and that in a very few minutes Philpot’s hand had recovered from the smart of the explosion. This accident, however, decided the young enthusiasts that for the present they had perhaps had enough chemistry for one lesson.

In a few days, however, they had all sufficiently got over the shock of the last afternoon’s experiments to decide on a fresh venture, and these lessons continued, on and off, during the rest of the term. It can hardly be said that by the end of the term Pilbury or Cusack knew any more about chemistry than they had known this first day. They persistently refused to listen to any of Philpot’s “jaw,” as they rudely termed his attempts at explanation, and confined themselves to the experiments. However, though in many respects they wasted their time over their new pursuit, these volatile youths might have been a good deal worse employed.

In fact, if every Welcher had been no worse employed that house would not have brought all the discredit on Willoughby which it did. As it was, everybody there seemed to follow his own sweet will without a single thought for the good of the school or the welfare of his fellows. The heads of the house, Tucker and Silk, did not even attempt to set a good example, and that being so, it was hardly to be expected those below them would be much interested to supply the deficiencies.

On the very afternoon when Pilbury and Cusack had been sitting at the feet of the learned Philpot in the laboratory, Silk, a monitor, had, along with Gilks, of the schoolhouse, a monitor too, gone down to Shellport, against all rules, taking Wyndham junior, one of their specialprotégés, with them.

They appeared to be pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the big town, and though on this occasion they occupied their time in no more disgraceful a way than waiting on the harbour pier to see the mail steamer come in, they yet felt, all three of them, as if they would by no means like to be seen by any one who knew them.

And it appeared as if they were going to be spared this embarrassment, for they encountered no one they knew till they were actually on their way home.

Then, just as they were passing the station door, they met, to their horror, a boy in a college cap just coming out with a parcel under his arm. To their astonishment, it proved to be no other than Riddell himself.

Riddell, who had come down by a special “permit” from the doctor to get a parcel—containing, by the way, his new boating flannels—at first looked as astonished and uncomfortable as the three truants themselves. He would sooner have had anything happen to him than such a meeting. However, as usual, his sense of duty came to his rescue.

He advanced to the group in a nervous manner, and, addressing Wyndham, said, hurriedly, “Please come to my room this evening, Wyndham,” and then, without waiting for a reply, or staying to notice the ominous looks of the two monitors, he departed, and proceeded as fast as he could back to Willoughby.

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