Chapter Ten.

Chapter Ten.Wyndham Junior and his Friends.Wyndham, the old captain, just before leaving Willoughby, had done his best to interest Riddell in the welfare of his young brother, a Limpet in the Fourth.“I wish you’d look after him now and then, Riddell,” he said; “he’s not a bad fellow, I fancy, but he’s not got quite enough ballast on board, and unless there’s some one to look after him he’s very likely to get into bad hands.”Riddell promised he would do his best, and the elder brother was most grateful.“I shall be ever so much easiernow,” he said, “and it’s awfully good of you, Riddell. I wouldn’t care for the young ’un to go wrong, you know. Thanks very much, old man.”And so it came to pass that among the legacies which the old captain left behind him at Willoughby, the one which fell to Riddell was a young brother, slightly rickety in character and short of ballast.A parting request like Wyndham’s would have been very hard for any friend to refuse; but to Riddell the promise “to look after young Wyndham” meant a great deal more than it would have done to many other fellows. It was not enough for him to make occasional inquiries as to his youngprotégé, or even to try to shield him when he fell into scrapes. Riddell’s idea of looking after a rickety youngster included a good deal more than this, and from the moment the old captain had left, amid all hisowntribulations and adversities, the thought of young Wyndham had saddled itself on Riddell’s conscience with an uncomfortable weight.This was the reason why he made the boy free of his study, and gave up a good deal of his own time in helping him with his work. And it was the same reason which prompted him on the afternoon spoken of in the last chapter, much against his inclination, to accost the three truants in Shellport, and request Wyndham to come to his study.“You’re in for a nice sermon, my boy,” said Gilks, as the three walked home.“I wish he hadn’t seen us,” said Wyndham, feeling uncomfortable.“Why, you don’t suppose he’ll lick you?” said Silk, laughing.“No, but he’ll be awfully vexed.”“Vexed!” cried Gilks. “Poor fellow! How I’d like to comfort him! Take my advice and forget all about going to his study. He’ll not be sorry, I can tell you.”“Oh, I must go,” said Wyndham. “I don’t want to offend him.”“Kind of you,” said Silk, laughing. “Funny thing how considerate a fellow can be to another fellow who does his lessons for him.”Wyndham blushed, but said nothing. He knew these two companions were not the sort of boys his brother would have cared to have him associate with, nor did he particularly like them himself. But when two senior boys take the trouble to patronise a junior and make fun of his “peculiarities,” as they called his scruples, it is hardly surprising that the youngster comes out a good way to meet his patrons.Wyndham, by the way, was rather more than a youngster. He was a Limpet, and looked back on the days of fagging as a long-closed chapter of his history. Had he been a junior like Telson or Pilbury, it would have been less likely either that Game and Silk would take such trouble to cultivate his acquaintance, or that he would submit himself so easily to their patronage. As it was, he was his own master. Nobody had a right to demand his services, neither had he yet attained to the responsibilities of a monitor. He could please himself, and therefore yielded himself unquestioningly to the somewhat flattering attentions of the two seniors.No, not quite unquestioningly. Short as was the time since his brother had left, it had been long enough for Riddell to let the boy see that he wished to be his friend. He had never told him so in words, but Wyndham could guess what all the kind interest which the new captain evinced in him meant. And it was the thought of this that kept alive the one or two scruples he still retained in joining himself to the society of Gilks and Silk.And so he declined the invitation of these two friends to defy the captain’s summons.“Well,” said Gilks, “if you must put your head into the lion’s mouth, you must, mustn’t he, Silk? But I say, as youareto get pulled up, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have all the fun you can for your money. What do you say to a game of skittles at Beamish’s?”“Whata nice boy you are!” said Silk, laughing; “the young ’un doesn’t know Beamish’s.”“Not know Beamish’s!—at the Aquarium!” said Gilks.“No. What is he?” inquired Wyndham.“He’s the Aquarium!” said Gilks, laughing.“And do they play skittles in the Aquarium?” asked the boy.“Rather!” said Silk; “it amuses the fishes, you know.” Beamish’s was, as Gilks had said, another name for the Shellport Aquarium—a disreputable place of resort, whose only title to the name of Aquarium was that it had in it, in an obscure corner which nobody ever explored, a small tank, which might have contained fishes if there had been any put into it. As it was, the last thing any one went to Beamish’s for was to study fishes, the other attractions of the place—the skittles, bowls, and refreshment bars—being far more popular. These things in themselves, of course, were not enough to make Beamish’s a bad place. That character was supplied by the company that were mostly in the habit of frequenting it, of which it is enough to say it was the very reverse of select.At this time of day, however, the place was almost empty, and when, after a good deal of chaff and persuasion, Wyndham was induced to take a little turn round the place, he was surprised to find it so quiet and unobjectionable. The boys had a short game at skittles and a short game at bowls, and bought a few buns and an ice at the refreshment stall, and then departed schoolwards.They reached Willoughby in good time for call-over, no one except Riddell being aware of their pleasant expedition. Still Wyndham, when it was allover, did not feel altogether comfortable. Not that he thought what he had done was very bad, or that he had sinned in deceiving the masters and breaking the rules of the school. What troubled him was that he knew Riddell would be vexed.He repaired to the captain’s study with his books as usual after evening chapel and found him busy over his work.But as soon as the boy entered, Riddell pushed the papers away rather nervously.“Well, Wyndham,” said he, “I’m glad you’ve come.”Wyndham deposited his books and looked rather uncomfortable.Riddell had rather hoped the boy would refer to the subject first, but he did not. Riddell therefore said, “I was sorry to see you down in Shellport this afternoon, Wyndham. You hadn’t a permit, had you?”“No,” said Wyndham.“It’s hardly the thing, is it?” said the captain, quietly, after a pause.His voice, devoid of all anger or self-importance, made Wyndham still more uncomfortable.“I’m awfully sorry,” said he. “I suppose I oughtn’t to have gone. I beg your pardon, Riddell.”“Oh!” said Riddell, “don’t do that, please.”“You know,” said Wyndham, “as those two took me, it didn’t seem to be much harm. We only went to see the steamer come in.”“The thing is,” said Riddell, “it was against the rules.”“But Gilks and Silk are both monitors, aren’t they?”“They are,” said the captain, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.There was another pause, this time a long one. Neither boy seemed inclined to return to the subject. Wyndham opened his books and made a pretence of beginning his work, and Riddell fidgeted with the papers before him. In the mind of the latter a hurried debate was going on.“What had I better do? I might send him up to the doctor and perhaps get him expelled. It might be the best thing for him too, for if those two have got hold of him he’s sure to go wrong. I can’t do anything to keep him from them. And yet, I promised old Wynd—I must try; I might help to keep him straight. God help me!”Is the reader astonished that the captain of a great public school should so far forget himself as to utter a secret prayer in his own study about such a matter as the correction of a young scapegrace? Itwasan unusual thing to do, certainly; and probably if Wyndham had known what was passing in the captain’s mind he would have thought more poorly of his brother’s friend than he did. But I am not quite sure, reader, whether Riddell was committing such an absurdity as some persons might think; or whether you or I, or any other fellow in a similar position, would be any the worse for forgetting ourselves in the same way. What do you think? It is worth thinking over, when you have time.“God help me,” said Riddell to himself, and he felt his mind wonderfully cleared already as he said it.Clearer, that is, as to what he ought to do, but still rather embarrassed as to how to do it. But he meant to try.“I say, Wyndham,” he said, in his quiet way. “I want to ask your advice.”“What about?” asked Wyndham, looking up in surprise. “About those fellows?”“Not exactly. It’s more about myself,” said the captain.“What about you?” asked Wyndham.“Why, there’s a fellow in the school I’m awfully anxious to do some good to,” began Riddell.“Rather a common failing of yours,” said Wyndham.“Wanting to do it is more common than doing it,” said Riddell; “but I don’t know how to tackle this fellow, Wyndham.”“Who is he? Do I know him?” asked the boy.“I’m not sure that you know him particularly well,” said the captain. “He’s not a bad fellow; in fact he has a lot of good in him.”“Is he a Limpet?” asked Wyndham.“But,” continued Riddell, not noticing the question, “he’s got a horrid fault. He won’t stand up for himself, Wyndham.”“Oh,” observed Wyndham, “there’s a lot of them like that—regular cowards they are.”“Exactly, this fellow’s one of them. He’s always funking it.”Wyndham laughed.“I know who you mean—Tedbury, isn’t it?”“No, that’s not his name,” said Riddell. “He’s a nicer sort of fellow than Tedbury. There are one or two fellows that are always down on him, too. They see he’s no pluck, and so they think they can do what they like with him.”“Meekins gets a good deal mauled about by some of the others,” said Wyndham.“This fellow gets a good deal more damaged than Meekins,” said the captain. “In fact he gets so mauled his friends will soon hardly be able to recognise him.”Wyndham looked sharply at the speaker. Riddell was quite grave and serious, and proceeded quietly, “The worst of it is, this fellow’s quite well able to stick up for himself if he likes, and could easily hold his own. Only he’s lazy, or else he likes getting damaged.”“Are you making all this up?” demanded Wyndham colouring.Riddell took no notice of the inquiry, but continued rather more earnestly, “Now I’d like your advice, Wyndham, old fellow. I want to do this fellow a good turn. Which do you suppose would be the best turn to do him; to pitch into the fellows that are always doing him harm? or to try to persuade him to stick up for himself and not let them do just what they like with him, eh?”Wyndham had seen it all before the question was ended, and hung down his head in silence.Riddell did not disturb him, but waited quietly, and, if truth be told, anxiously, till he should reply.Presently the boy looked up with a troubled face, and said, “I know I’m an awful fool, Riddell.”“But you’re not obliged to be,” said the captain, cheerily.“I’ll try not to be, I really will,” said Wyndham. “Only—”“Only what?” asked Riddell, after a pause.“Only somehow I never think of it at the time.”“I know,” said Riddell, kindly.“Why only this afternoon,” said Wyndham, drawn out by the sympathy of his companion, “I tried to object to going down to the town, and they made up some excuse, so that I would have seemed like a regular prig to hold out, and so I went. I’m awfully sorry now. I know I’m a coward, Riddell; I ought to have stuck out.”“I think you ought,” said Riddell; “they would probably have laughed at you, and possibly tried to bully you a bit. But you can take care of yourself, I fancy, when it comes to that, eh?”“I can about the bullying,” said Wyndham.“And so,” said Riddell, “you really advise me to say to this fellow I was telling you about, to stand up for himself and not let himself be led about by any one?”“Except you, Riddell,” said the boy.“No,” said Riddell, “not even me.Ican’t profess to tell you all you ought to do.”“I should like to know who can, if you can’t?” said Wyndham.“I think we both know,” said Riddell, gravely.The conversation ended here. For an hour and a half after that each boy was busy over his work, and neither spoke a word. Their thoughts may not all have been in the books before them; in fact it may safely be said they were not. But they were thoughts that did not require words. Only when Wyndham rose to go, and wished his friend good-night, Riddell indirectly referred to the subject of their talk.“By the way, Wyndham, Isaacs has given up the school librarianship; I suppose you know. How would you like to take it?”“What has a fellow got to do?” asked Wyndham.“You have to issue the new books every Monday and collect the old ones every Saturday. There are about one hundred boys subscribe, and they order the new book when they give up the old, so it’s simple enough.”“Takes a lot of time, doesn’t it?” said Wyndham.“No, not very much, I believe. Isaacs shirked it a good deal, and you’d have to keep the lists rather better than he did. But I fancy you’d enjoy it rather; and,” he added, “it will be an excuse for seeing less of some not very nice friends.”Wyndham said he would take the post, and went off happier in his own mind than he had been for a long time, and leaving Riddell happier too, despite all his failures and vexations elsewhere, than he had been since he became captain of Willoughby.But, though happy, he could hardly be elated. His effort that evening had certainly been a success, but how long would its effects last?Riddell was not fool enough to imagine that his promise to old Wyndham was now discharged by that one evening’s talk. He knew the boy well enough to be sure that the task was only just begun. And his thankfulness at having made a beginning was tempered with many anxieties for the future. And he might well be anxious!For a day or two Wyndham was an altered boy. He surprised his masters by his attention in class, and his schoolfellows—all except Riddell—by the steadiness of his behaviour. He avoided his former companions, and devoted himself with enthusiasm to his new duties as librarian, to which the doctor, at Riddell’s suggestion, had appointed him.This alteration, approved of as it was in many quarters, was by no means appreciated by two boys at Willoughby. It was not that they cared twopence about the society of their young Limpet, or that they had any moral objection to good behaviour and steady work. What irritated Gilks and Silk over the business was that they saw in it the hand of an enemy, and felt that the present change in theirprotégéwas due to Riddell’s influence in opposition to their own. The two monitors felt hurt at this; it was like a direct snub aimed at them, and, considering the quarter from which it came, they did not like it at all.“This sort of thing won’t do,” said Gilks to his friend one day, shortly after Riddell’s talk with Wyndham. “The young ’un’s cut our acquaintance.”“Hope we shall recover in time,” said Silk, sneering. “Yes; he’s gone decidedly ‘pi.’ the last week.”“It’s all that reverend prig’s doing!” growled Gilks. “I mean to spoil his little game for him, though,” added he. “How’ll you do it?” asked Silk. “That’s just it! I wish I knew,” said Gilks.“Oh! leave it to me, I’ll get at him somehow. I don’t suppose he’s too far gone yet.”Accordingly Silk took an early opportunity of meeting his young friend.“Ah! Wyndham,” said he, casually; “don’t see much of you now.”“No,” said Wyndham, shortly; “I’m busy with the library.”“Oh! I’m afraid, though, you’re rather glad of an excuse to cut Silks and me after the row we got you into last week.”“You didn’t get me into any row,” said Wyndham. “What! didn’t he lick you for it? Ah! I see how it is. He’s afraid you’d let out on him for being down too. Rather a good dodge too. Gilks and I half thought of reporting him, but we didn’t.”“He had a permit, hadn’t he?”“Oh, yes—rather! I don’t doubt that. Just like Brown’s, the town boy’s excuses. Writes them himself.”“I’m certain Riddell wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Wyndham, warming.“I never said he would,” replied Silk, seeing he was going a little too far. “You see, captains don’t want permits. There’s no one to pull them up. But I say, I’m awfully sorry about last week.”“Oh! it doesn’t matter,” said Wyndham, who could not help being rather gratified to hear a monitor making apologies to him; “only I don’t mean to go down again.”“No, of course not; and if Gilks suggests it I’ll back you up. By the way,” he added, in tones of feigned alarm, “I suppose you didn’t tell him about going to Beamish’s, did you?”“No,” said Wyndham, whose conscience had already reproached him several times for not having confessed the fact.“I’m awfully glad of that,” said Silk, apparently much relieved. “Whatever you do, keep that quiet.”“Why?” said Wyndham, rather concerned.“My dear fellow, if that got out—well, I don’t know what would happen.”“Why, is it a bad place, then?”“Oh, no, not at all,” laughed Silk with a mysterious wink. “All serene for follows like Gilks; but if it was known we’d takenyouthere, we’d be done for.”Wyndham began to feel he had had a narrow escape of “doing” for his two patrons without knowing it.“Promise you won’t tell anybody,” said Silk.“Of course I won’t,” said Wyndham, rather scornful at the idea of telling tales of a schoolfellow.“Thanks; and I’ll take care and say nothing about you, and Gilks won’t either, I know. So it’ll be all right. I don’t know what possessed the fellow to suggest going in there.”All this was somewhat perplexing to Wyndham. He had never imagined Beamish’s was such a terrible place, or that the penalty of being found there was so severe. He felt that he had had a fortunate escape, and was glad Silk had put him up to it before he had let it out.He became more friendly with his ally after this. There is always a bond of attraction where a common danger threatens, and Wyndham felt that, however determined he was not to be led away any more by these friends of his, it was just as well to be civil to them.So he even accepted an invitation to come and have tea in Silk’s room that evening, to look at a volume of “Punch” the latter had got from home, and to talk over the coming boat-race.Had he overheard a hurried conversation which took place between Silk and Gilks shortly afterwards in the Sixth Form room he would have looked forward to that evening with anything but eagerness.“Well?” asked Gilks.“Hooked him, I fancy,” said Silk. “He’s coming to tea this evening.”“Good man. How did you manage it?”“Oh, and by the way,” said Silk, “that going to Beamish’s last week was no end of a crime. If it’s found out it’s expulsion, remember. He believes it all. I’ve told him we won’t let out on him, and he’s promised not to say a word about it. Fancy we’ve rather a pull on him there.”“You’re a jolly clever fellow, Silk,” said Gilks, admiringly.“May be, but I’m not such a nice boy as you are, Gilks.”

Wyndham, the old captain, just before leaving Willoughby, had done his best to interest Riddell in the welfare of his young brother, a Limpet in the Fourth.

“I wish you’d look after him now and then, Riddell,” he said; “he’s not a bad fellow, I fancy, but he’s not got quite enough ballast on board, and unless there’s some one to look after him he’s very likely to get into bad hands.”

Riddell promised he would do his best, and the elder brother was most grateful.

“I shall be ever so much easiernow,” he said, “and it’s awfully good of you, Riddell. I wouldn’t care for the young ’un to go wrong, you know. Thanks very much, old man.”

And so it came to pass that among the legacies which the old captain left behind him at Willoughby, the one which fell to Riddell was a young brother, slightly rickety in character and short of ballast.

A parting request like Wyndham’s would have been very hard for any friend to refuse; but to Riddell the promise “to look after young Wyndham” meant a great deal more than it would have done to many other fellows. It was not enough for him to make occasional inquiries as to his youngprotégé, or even to try to shield him when he fell into scrapes. Riddell’s idea of looking after a rickety youngster included a good deal more than this, and from the moment the old captain had left, amid all hisowntribulations and adversities, the thought of young Wyndham had saddled itself on Riddell’s conscience with an uncomfortable weight.

This was the reason why he made the boy free of his study, and gave up a good deal of his own time in helping him with his work. And it was the same reason which prompted him on the afternoon spoken of in the last chapter, much against his inclination, to accost the three truants in Shellport, and request Wyndham to come to his study.

“You’re in for a nice sermon, my boy,” said Gilks, as the three walked home.

“I wish he hadn’t seen us,” said Wyndham, feeling uncomfortable.

“Why, you don’t suppose he’ll lick you?” said Silk, laughing.

“No, but he’ll be awfully vexed.”

“Vexed!” cried Gilks. “Poor fellow! How I’d like to comfort him! Take my advice and forget all about going to his study. He’ll not be sorry, I can tell you.”

“Oh, I must go,” said Wyndham. “I don’t want to offend him.”

“Kind of you,” said Silk, laughing. “Funny thing how considerate a fellow can be to another fellow who does his lessons for him.”

Wyndham blushed, but said nothing. He knew these two companions were not the sort of boys his brother would have cared to have him associate with, nor did he particularly like them himself. But when two senior boys take the trouble to patronise a junior and make fun of his “peculiarities,” as they called his scruples, it is hardly surprising that the youngster comes out a good way to meet his patrons.

Wyndham, by the way, was rather more than a youngster. He was a Limpet, and looked back on the days of fagging as a long-closed chapter of his history. Had he been a junior like Telson or Pilbury, it would have been less likely either that Game and Silk would take such trouble to cultivate his acquaintance, or that he would submit himself so easily to their patronage. As it was, he was his own master. Nobody had a right to demand his services, neither had he yet attained to the responsibilities of a monitor. He could please himself, and therefore yielded himself unquestioningly to the somewhat flattering attentions of the two seniors.

No, not quite unquestioningly. Short as was the time since his brother had left, it had been long enough for Riddell to let the boy see that he wished to be his friend. He had never told him so in words, but Wyndham could guess what all the kind interest which the new captain evinced in him meant. And it was the thought of this that kept alive the one or two scruples he still retained in joining himself to the society of Gilks and Silk.

And so he declined the invitation of these two friends to defy the captain’s summons.

“Well,” said Gilks, “if you must put your head into the lion’s mouth, you must, mustn’t he, Silk? But I say, as youareto get pulled up, I don’t see why you shouldn’t have all the fun you can for your money. What do you say to a game of skittles at Beamish’s?”

“Whata nice boy you are!” said Silk, laughing; “the young ’un doesn’t know Beamish’s.”

“Not know Beamish’s!—at the Aquarium!” said Gilks.

“No. What is he?” inquired Wyndham.

“He’s the Aquarium!” said Gilks, laughing.

“And do they play skittles in the Aquarium?” asked the boy.

“Rather!” said Silk; “it amuses the fishes, you know.” Beamish’s was, as Gilks had said, another name for the Shellport Aquarium—a disreputable place of resort, whose only title to the name of Aquarium was that it had in it, in an obscure corner which nobody ever explored, a small tank, which might have contained fishes if there had been any put into it. As it was, the last thing any one went to Beamish’s for was to study fishes, the other attractions of the place—the skittles, bowls, and refreshment bars—being far more popular. These things in themselves, of course, were not enough to make Beamish’s a bad place. That character was supplied by the company that were mostly in the habit of frequenting it, of which it is enough to say it was the very reverse of select.

At this time of day, however, the place was almost empty, and when, after a good deal of chaff and persuasion, Wyndham was induced to take a little turn round the place, he was surprised to find it so quiet and unobjectionable. The boys had a short game at skittles and a short game at bowls, and bought a few buns and an ice at the refreshment stall, and then departed schoolwards.

They reached Willoughby in good time for call-over, no one except Riddell being aware of their pleasant expedition. Still Wyndham, when it was allover, did not feel altogether comfortable. Not that he thought what he had done was very bad, or that he had sinned in deceiving the masters and breaking the rules of the school. What troubled him was that he knew Riddell would be vexed.

He repaired to the captain’s study with his books as usual after evening chapel and found him busy over his work.

But as soon as the boy entered, Riddell pushed the papers away rather nervously.

“Well, Wyndham,” said he, “I’m glad you’ve come.”

Wyndham deposited his books and looked rather uncomfortable.

Riddell had rather hoped the boy would refer to the subject first, but he did not. Riddell therefore said, “I was sorry to see you down in Shellport this afternoon, Wyndham. You hadn’t a permit, had you?”

“No,” said Wyndham.

“It’s hardly the thing, is it?” said the captain, quietly, after a pause.

His voice, devoid of all anger or self-importance, made Wyndham still more uncomfortable.

“I’m awfully sorry,” said he. “I suppose I oughtn’t to have gone. I beg your pardon, Riddell.”

“Oh!” said Riddell, “don’t do that, please.”

“You know,” said Wyndham, “as those two took me, it didn’t seem to be much harm. We only went to see the steamer come in.”

“The thing is,” said Riddell, “it was against the rules.”

“But Gilks and Silk are both monitors, aren’t they?”

“They are,” said the captain, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.

There was another pause, this time a long one. Neither boy seemed inclined to return to the subject. Wyndham opened his books and made a pretence of beginning his work, and Riddell fidgeted with the papers before him. In the mind of the latter a hurried debate was going on.

“What had I better do? I might send him up to the doctor and perhaps get him expelled. It might be the best thing for him too, for if those two have got hold of him he’s sure to go wrong. I can’t do anything to keep him from them. And yet, I promised old Wynd—I must try; I might help to keep him straight. God help me!”

Is the reader astonished that the captain of a great public school should so far forget himself as to utter a secret prayer in his own study about such a matter as the correction of a young scapegrace? Itwasan unusual thing to do, certainly; and probably if Wyndham had known what was passing in the captain’s mind he would have thought more poorly of his brother’s friend than he did. But I am not quite sure, reader, whether Riddell was committing such an absurdity as some persons might think; or whether you or I, or any other fellow in a similar position, would be any the worse for forgetting ourselves in the same way. What do you think? It is worth thinking over, when you have time.

“God help me,” said Riddell to himself, and he felt his mind wonderfully cleared already as he said it.

Clearer, that is, as to what he ought to do, but still rather embarrassed as to how to do it. But he meant to try.

“I say, Wyndham,” he said, in his quiet way. “I want to ask your advice.”

“What about?” asked Wyndham, looking up in surprise. “About those fellows?”

“Not exactly. It’s more about myself,” said the captain.

“What about you?” asked Wyndham.

“Why, there’s a fellow in the school I’m awfully anxious to do some good to,” began Riddell.

“Rather a common failing of yours,” said Wyndham.

“Wanting to do it is more common than doing it,” said Riddell; “but I don’t know how to tackle this fellow, Wyndham.”

“Who is he? Do I know him?” asked the boy.

“I’m not sure that you know him particularly well,” said the captain. “He’s not a bad fellow; in fact he has a lot of good in him.”

“Is he a Limpet?” asked Wyndham.

“But,” continued Riddell, not noticing the question, “he’s got a horrid fault. He won’t stand up for himself, Wyndham.”

“Oh,” observed Wyndham, “there’s a lot of them like that—regular cowards they are.”

“Exactly, this fellow’s one of them. He’s always funking it.”

Wyndham laughed.

“I know who you mean—Tedbury, isn’t it?”

“No, that’s not his name,” said Riddell. “He’s a nicer sort of fellow than Tedbury. There are one or two fellows that are always down on him, too. They see he’s no pluck, and so they think they can do what they like with him.”

“Meekins gets a good deal mauled about by some of the others,” said Wyndham.

“This fellow gets a good deal more damaged than Meekins,” said the captain. “In fact he gets so mauled his friends will soon hardly be able to recognise him.”

Wyndham looked sharply at the speaker. Riddell was quite grave and serious, and proceeded quietly, “The worst of it is, this fellow’s quite well able to stick up for himself if he likes, and could easily hold his own. Only he’s lazy, or else he likes getting damaged.”

“Are you making all this up?” demanded Wyndham colouring.

Riddell took no notice of the inquiry, but continued rather more earnestly, “Now I’d like your advice, Wyndham, old fellow. I want to do this fellow a good turn. Which do you suppose would be the best turn to do him; to pitch into the fellows that are always doing him harm? or to try to persuade him to stick up for himself and not let them do just what they like with him, eh?”

Wyndham had seen it all before the question was ended, and hung down his head in silence.

Riddell did not disturb him, but waited quietly, and, if truth be told, anxiously, till he should reply.

Presently the boy looked up with a troubled face, and said, “I know I’m an awful fool, Riddell.”

“But you’re not obliged to be,” said the captain, cheerily.

“I’ll try not to be, I really will,” said Wyndham. “Only—”

“Only what?” asked Riddell, after a pause.

“Only somehow I never think of it at the time.”

“I know,” said Riddell, kindly.

“Why only this afternoon,” said Wyndham, drawn out by the sympathy of his companion, “I tried to object to going down to the town, and they made up some excuse, so that I would have seemed like a regular prig to hold out, and so I went. I’m awfully sorry now. I know I’m a coward, Riddell; I ought to have stuck out.”

“I think you ought,” said Riddell; “they would probably have laughed at you, and possibly tried to bully you a bit. But you can take care of yourself, I fancy, when it comes to that, eh?”

“I can about the bullying,” said Wyndham.

“And so,” said Riddell, “you really advise me to say to this fellow I was telling you about, to stand up for himself and not let himself be led about by any one?”

“Except you, Riddell,” said the boy.

“No,” said Riddell, “not even me.Ican’t profess to tell you all you ought to do.”

“I should like to know who can, if you can’t?” said Wyndham.

“I think we both know,” said Riddell, gravely.

The conversation ended here. For an hour and a half after that each boy was busy over his work, and neither spoke a word. Their thoughts may not all have been in the books before them; in fact it may safely be said they were not. But they were thoughts that did not require words. Only when Wyndham rose to go, and wished his friend good-night, Riddell indirectly referred to the subject of their talk.

“By the way, Wyndham, Isaacs has given up the school librarianship; I suppose you know. How would you like to take it?”

“What has a fellow got to do?” asked Wyndham.

“You have to issue the new books every Monday and collect the old ones every Saturday. There are about one hundred boys subscribe, and they order the new book when they give up the old, so it’s simple enough.”

“Takes a lot of time, doesn’t it?” said Wyndham.

“No, not very much, I believe. Isaacs shirked it a good deal, and you’d have to keep the lists rather better than he did. But I fancy you’d enjoy it rather; and,” he added, “it will be an excuse for seeing less of some not very nice friends.”

Wyndham said he would take the post, and went off happier in his own mind than he had been for a long time, and leaving Riddell happier too, despite all his failures and vexations elsewhere, than he had been since he became captain of Willoughby.

But, though happy, he could hardly be elated. His effort that evening had certainly been a success, but how long would its effects last?

Riddell was not fool enough to imagine that his promise to old Wyndham was now discharged by that one evening’s talk. He knew the boy well enough to be sure that the task was only just begun. And his thankfulness at having made a beginning was tempered with many anxieties for the future. And he might well be anxious!

For a day or two Wyndham was an altered boy. He surprised his masters by his attention in class, and his schoolfellows—all except Riddell—by the steadiness of his behaviour. He avoided his former companions, and devoted himself with enthusiasm to his new duties as librarian, to which the doctor, at Riddell’s suggestion, had appointed him.

This alteration, approved of as it was in many quarters, was by no means appreciated by two boys at Willoughby. It was not that they cared twopence about the society of their young Limpet, or that they had any moral objection to good behaviour and steady work. What irritated Gilks and Silk over the business was that they saw in it the hand of an enemy, and felt that the present change in theirprotégéwas due to Riddell’s influence in opposition to their own. The two monitors felt hurt at this; it was like a direct snub aimed at them, and, considering the quarter from which it came, they did not like it at all.

“This sort of thing won’t do,” said Gilks to his friend one day, shortly after Riddell’s talk with Wyndham. “The young ’un’s cut our acquaintance.”

“Hope we shall recover in time,” said Silk, sneering. “Yes; he’s gone decidedly ‘pi.’ the last week.”

“It’s all that reverend prig’s doing!” growled Gilks. “I mean to spoil his little game for him, though,” added he. “How’ll you do it?” asked Silk. “That’s just it! I wish I knew,” said Gilks.

“Oh! leave it to me, I’ll get at him somehow. I don’t suppose he’s too far gone yet.”

Accordingly Silk took an early opportunity of meeting his young friend.

“Ah! Wyndham,” said he, casually; “don’t see much of you now.”

“No,” said Wyndham, shortly; “I’m busy with the library.”

“Oh! I’m afraid, though, you’re rather glad of an excuse to cut Silks and me after the row we got you into last week.”

“You didn’t get me into any row,” said Wyndham. “What! didn’t he lick you for it? Ah! I see how it is. He’s afraid you’d let out on him for being down too. Rather a good dodge too. Gilks and I half thought of reporting him, but we didn’t.”

“He had a permit, hadn’t he?”

“Oh, yes—rather! I don’t doubt that. Just like Brown’s, the town boy’s excuses. Writes them himself.”

“I’m certain Riddell wouldn’t do such a thing,” said Wyndham, warming.

“I never said he would,” replied Silk, seeing he was going a little too far. “You see, captains don’t want permits. There’s no one to pull them up. But I say, I’m awfully sorry about last week.”

“Oh! it doesn’t matter,” said Wyndham, who could not help being rather gratified to hear a monitor making apologies to him; “only I don’t mean to go down again.”

“No, of course not; and if Gilks suggests it I’ll back you up. By the way,” he added, in tones of feigned alarm, “I suppose you didn’t tell him about going to Beamish’s, did you?”

“No,” said Wyndham, whose conscience had already reproached him several times for not having confessed the fact.

“I’m awfully glad of that,” said Silk, apparently much relieved. “Whatever you do, keep that quiet.”

“Why?” said Wyndham, rather concerned.

“My dear fellow, if that got out—well, I don’t know what would happen.”

“Why, is it a bad place, then?”

“Oh, no, not at all,” laughed Silk with a mysterious wink. “All serene for follows like Gilks; but if it was known we’d takenyouthere, we’d be done for.”

Wyndham began to feel he had had a narrow escape of “doing” for his two patrons without knowing it.

“Promise you won’t tell anybody,” said Silk.

“Of course I won’t,” said Wyndham, rather scornful at the idea of telling tales of a schoolfellow.

“Thanks; and I’ll take care and say nothing about you, and Gilks won’t either, I know. So it’ll be all right. I don’t know what possessed the fellow to suggest going in there.”

All this was somewhat perplexing to Wyndham. He had never imagined Beamish’s was such a terrible place, or that the penalty of being found there was so severe. He felt that he had had a fortunate escape, and was glad Silk had put him up to it before he had let it out.

He became more friendly with his ally after this. There is always a bond of attraction where a common danger threatens, and Wyndham felt that, however determined he was not to be led away any more by these friends of his, it was just as well to be civil to them.

So he even accepted an invitation to come and have tea in Silk’s room that evening, to look at a volume of “Punch” the latter had got from home, and to talk over the coming boat-race.

Had he overheard a hurried conversation which took place between Silk and Gilks shortly afterwards in the Sixth Form room he would have looked forward to that evening with anything but eagerness.

“Well?” asked Gilks.

“Hooked him, I fancy,” said Silk. “He’s coming to tea this evening.”

“Good man. How did you manage it?”

“Oh, and by the way,” said Silk, “that going to Beamish’s last week was no end of a crime. If it’s found out it’s expulsion, remember. He believes it all. I’ve told him we won’t let out on him, and he’s promised not to say a word about it. Fancy we’ve rather a pull on him there.”

“You’re a jolly clever fellow, Silk,” said Gilks, admiringly.

“May be, but I’m not such a nice boy as you are, Gilks.”

Chapter Eleven.The Schoolhouse Boat at Work.Giles and his ally knew their business well enough to see that they must go to work “gingerly” to recover their lost Limpet. Consequently when Wyndham, according to promise, turned up to tea in Silk’s study, nothing was said or done in any way likely to offend his lately awakened scruples.The tea was a good one, the volume of “Punch” was amusing, and the talk confined itself almost altogether to school affairs, and chiefly to the coming boat-race.This last subject was one of intense interest to young Wyndham. As brother to the old captain, he was naturally eager to see his brother’s boat retain its old position on the river; and as an ardent schoolhouse boy himself, he had a further reason for wishing the same result.“You know,” said he, “I think our fellows are looking up, don’t you, Gilks?”“So fellows say,” replied Gilks; “of course, being in the boat myself, it’s hard to tell.”“But doesn’t the boat seem to be going better?” asked Wyndham. “It looks to be going a lot better from the bank.”“But you don’t mean to say, young un,” said Silk, “you ever expect the schoolhouse will beat Parrett’s?”“I’m afraid they are rather strong,” said Wyndham, regretfully.“Strong!” said Silk; “they’re the finest crew Willoughby’s turned out for years. Better even than the one your brother stroked last races.”“And they mean winning, too,” said Gilks, “from all I hear. They’re specially set on it because they think they’ve been snubbed over the captaincy, and mean to show theyarethe cock house, though the doctor won’t own it.”“Well,” said Silk, “as I’ve not much faith in the Welchers’ boat—in fact, I’m not sure if they’ll be able to get up a crew at all—I feel delightfully impartial.”“I hope you’ll back us,” said Wyndham, earnestly.“Of course, old Gilks is one of your crew,” said Silk.“You know,” said the boy, “I’d give anything for our boat to win. It would be such a score for us, after all that has been said, wouldn’t it, Gilks?”“Well, fellows haven’t been very complimentary about the schoolhouse lately, certainly,” said Gilks.“No, they certainly haven’t,” replied Wyndham. “By the way, Gilks, what sort of cox does Riddell make?”“Rather an amusing one, from all I can hear,” said Gilks. “He’s not steered the four yet; but he’s had some tub practice, and is beginning to find out that the natural place for a boat is between the banks instead of on them.”“Oh,” said Wyndham, “I heard Fairbairn say he promised very well. He’s a light-weight, you know, and as the juniors are all stopped river-play, we shall have to get a cox. And if Riddell will do, it won’t be a bad thing any way.”“I’m rather surprised they didn’t try you for it,” said Gilks. “You’re well-known, you know, and used to the river.”“Oh, I’d rather Riddell did it if he can,” said Wyndham. “I know he’s awfully anxious to get it up.”The talk went on like this, and trenched on no uncomfortable topic. The only reference to anything of the sort was when Silk said, just as Wyndham was going, “Oh, Wyndham, I’ve told Gilks here that you’ve promised not to let out about Beamish’s—”“Yes,” said Gilks, “I wouldn’t care for that to get about, young un.”“Oh, of course I won’t say anything,” said Wyndham.“Thanks, no more will we; will we, Silk?” replied Gilks.Silk assented and their visitor departed.“Young fool!” said Gilks, when he and his friend were left alone. “He’s not worth bothering about.”“If it weren’t for the other prig I’d agree with you,” said Silk. “But don’t you think we can hit at his reverence occasionally through his disciple?”“I dare say,” said Gilks. “The young prig had an innocent enough time of it to-night to suit even him. How he does talk!”“Yes, and isn’t he hot about the race? I say, Gilks, I hope there’ll be no mistake about Parrett’s winning. I’ve a lot of money on them.”“Never fear,” said Gilks. “It’ll be rather a rum thing if I, rowing in the schoolhouse boat, can’t put the drag on them somehow. I don’t expect for a moment it will be wanted; but if it is, Gilks will be under the painful necessity of catching a crab!”“I don’t mind how you do it as long as there’s no mistake about it,” said Silk. With which ungenerous admission Gilks produced a couple of cigar-ends from his pocket, and these two nice boys proceeded to spend a dissipated evening.The reader will have guessed from what has already been said that the coming boat-race was every day becoming a more and more exciting topic in Willoughby. Under any circumstances the race was, along with the May sports and the cricket-match against Rockshire, one of the events of the year. But this year, ever since it had come somehow to be mixed up with the squabble about the captaincy, and the jealousy between Parrett’s and the schoolhouse, it had become more important than ever.Old Wyndham had, of course, left the schoolhouse boat at the head of the river, but there was scarcely a boy (even in the schoolhouse itself) who seriously expected it would remain there over the coming regatta.The Parrett’s fellows were already crowing in anticipation, and the victory of Bloomfield’s boat was only waited for as a final ground for resisting the authority of any captain but their own. Their boat was certainly one of the best which the school had turned out, and compared with their competitors’ it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could prevent its triumph.But the schoolhouse fellows, little as they expected to win, were meaning to make a hot fight of it. They were on their mettle quite as much as their rivals. Ever since Wyndham had left, the schoolhouse had been sneered at as having no pretensions left to any athletic distinction. They meant to put themselves right in this particular—if not in victory, at any rate in a gallant attempt.And so the schoolhouse boat might be seen out early and late, doing honest hard work, and doing it well too. Strict training was the order of the day, and scarcely a day passed without some one of the crew adding to his usual labours a cross-country run, or a hard grind in the big tub, to better his form. These extraordinary exertions were a source of amusement to their opponents, who felt their own superiority all the more by witnessing the efforts put forth to cope with it; and even in the schoolhouse there were not a few who regarded all the work as labour thrown away, and as only adding in prospect to the glorification of the enemy.However, Fairbairn was not the man to be moved by small considerations such as these. He did not care what fellows said, or how much they laughed, as long as Porter swung out well at the reach forward, and Coates straightened his back, and Gilks pulled his oar better through from beginning to end. To secure these ends he himself was game for any amount of work and trouble, and no cold water could damp either his ardour or his hopefulness.But the chief sensation with regard to the training of the schoolhouse boat was the sudden appearance of Riddell as its coxswain. As the reader has heard, the new captain had already been out once or twice “on the quiet” in the pair-oar, and during these expeditions he had learned all he knew of the art of navigation. The idea of his steering the schoolhouse boat had never occurred either to himself or Fairbairn when he first undertook these practices at the solicitation of his friend. But after a lesson or two he showed such promise that the idea did strike Fairbairn, who mentioned it to one or two of his set and asked their advice.These judges were horrified naturally at the idea. Riddell was too heavy, too clumsy, too nervous. But Fairbairn was loth to give up his idea; so he went to Mr Parrett, and asked him if he would mind running with the schoolhouse pair-oar during the next morning’s spin, and watching the steering of the new captain. Mr Parrett did so; and was not a little pleased with the performance, but advised Fairbairn to try him in the four-oar before deciding.Fairbairn, delighted, immediately broached the subject to his friend. Poor Riddell was astounded at such a notion.Hecox the schoolhouse boat in the regatta!“My dear fellow,” said he to Fairbairn. “I’m not a very exalted personage in Willoughby as it is—but this would be the finishing stroke!”“What do you mean—that it’sinfra dig.to cox the boat?”“Oh no!” said Riddell, “anything but that. But it might beinfra dig.for the boat to be steered into the bank in the middle of the race.”“Humbug, if that’s your only reason. Anyhow, old man, come down and try your hand in the four to-morrow morning.”Riddell protested that the idea was absurd, and that he wouldn’t hear of it. But Fairbairn reasoned him down. He hadn’t steered them into the bank since the second morning—he hadn’t tried steering the four-oar, how did he know he couldn’t do it? Mr Parrett had advised the trial strongly, and so on.“No,” said he, “the only question is your weight. You’d have to run off a bit of that, you know.”“Oh,” said Riddell, “as to that, you can take as many pounds off me as you like; but—”“None of your buts, old man,” said Fairbairn. “I say, if we only were to win, with you as cox, what a score it would be!”“None of your ‘ifs,’ old man,” said Riddell, laughing. “But I’ll come to-morrow, if you are determined to have your way.”“Of course I am,” said Fairbairn.This conversation took place the evening that young Wyndham was taking tea with Silk and Gilks in the study of the former.The intelligence that the new captain was to be taken out to steer the schoolhouse boat mysteriously got wind before the evening was over, and spread over the school like wildfire. Consequently, when Riddell arrived at the boat-house in the morning, he was surprised and horrified to find that nearly all Willoughby was awake and down at the river banks to see him.It was embarrassing certainly, and when presently the crew got into their seats and a start was made, it became evident the new coxswain was anything but at home in his new position. The boat was a long time getting clear of the landing stage owing to his persistently mistaking in his flurry his right hand for his left, and then when it did get out into mid-stream the same reason prevented him from discovering that the reason why the boat would turn round instead of going straight was because he had his right cord pulled hard the whole time.This spectacle, as may be imagined, afforded intense gratification to the curious onlookers, and many and hilarious were the shouts which fell on the ears of the unlucky captain.“Oh, well coxed there!” one voice cried.“Well steered in a circle!” shouted another.“Mind you don’t knock the bank down,” yelled a third.“Pull your right there!”“Try him without the rudder. See if he don’t steer better that way.”In the midst of these uncomplimentary shouts the boat slowly wended its erratic course up the river, amidst crowds of boys on either bank.“Riddell, old man,” said Fairbairn, leaning forward from his place at stroke, “what’s the row?”It only needed a friendly voice to recall the captain to himself. By an effort he forgot about the crowds and turned a deaf ear to the shouts, and straightening himself, and taking the lines steadily in his hands, looked up quietly at his friend. Richard was himself again.“Now then!” cried Fairbairn to his men behind, “row all!” and he led them off with a long steady stroke.For a little distance the boat travelled well. Riddell kept a good course, and the whole crew worked steadily. The scoffers on the bank were perplexed, and their jeers died away feebly. This was not a crew of muffs assuredly. Those first twenty or thirty yards were rowed in a style not very far short of the Parrett’s standard, and Parson himself, the best cox of Parrett’s house, could hardly have taken the boat down that reach in a better course.There was something ominous in this. But, to the great relief of the unfriendly critics, this showy lead was not maintained. Before a hundred yards were completed something seemed to go wrong in the boat. It rolled heavily and wavered in its course. What was wrong?The fault was certainly not in Fairbairn, who kept doggedly to work in perfectly even style. Nor, to all appearance, was it in Riddell. He was evidently puzzled by the sudden unsteadiness of the boat, but no one could lay it to his charge.“Who’s that digging behind?” cried Fairbairn over his shoulder.None of the other three owned the soft impeachment, and the boat seemed to right itself of its own accord.Fairbairn, whose temper was never improved by perplexities, quickened his stroke, and gave his men a spell of hard work for a bit to punish them.This seemed to have a good effect, and once again the onlookers were startled to see how steadily and fast the boat was travelling. But once again the mysterious disturbance interrupted their progress.This time Fairbairn stopped short, and turning round demanded angrily who it was who was playing the fool, for an effect like this could only be put down to such a course. Porter, Coates, and Gilks all repudiated the suggestion, and once more, amid the ironical cheers of the onlookers, Fairbairn resumed his work and lashed viciously out with his oar.This last protest of his seemed to have had the desired effect, for during the rest of the journey up to the Willows the boat travelled fairly well, though it was evident plenty of work was needed before the crew could be considered in proper racing trim. But no sooner had they turned and started for the home journey than once again the rolling suddenly became manifest. Fairbairn rowed on a stroke or two without apparently noticing it, then turning sharply round in the middle of a stroke he discovered the reason.The blade of Gilks’s oar was about a foot under the surface, and he himself was lurching over his seat, with the handle of the oar up to about his chin.“What on earth do you mean by it?” demanded Fairbairn, angrily.“Mean by what?” asked Gilks.“By playing the fool like that; that’s what I mean,” retorted Fairbairn.“Who was playing the fool?” snarled Gilks. “How can I help catching a crab when he’s constantly turning the boat’s head in the middle of a stroke?”“All rot!” said Fairbairn.“All very well for you at stroke,” said Gilks, viciously. “You come and row bow and see if you don’t feel it. I’d like to know who could keep his oar straight with such steering.”“If you’d row half as well as he steers,” said Fairbairn, “you’d row a precious sight better than you do! You’d better take care, Gilks.”“Take care of what, you fool?” demanded Gilks, whose temper was now fairly gone.“Ready all, you fellows!” cried Fairbairn, stretching forward.This brief conversation had been heard only by those in the boat, but its purport had been gathered by those on the bank who had watched the angry looks and heard the angry voices of the speakers.“Bravo! fight it out!” cried some one, and the news that there was a quarrel in the schoolhouse boat added greatly to the zest of the critics’ enjoyment.Fairbairn’s caution—whether purposely, or because he could not help it—was lost upon the offending bow oar. The boat had scarcely started again when Gilks caught another crab, which for the moment nearly upset the crew. Fairbairn rowed on, with thunder in his face, regardless of the incident, and Riddell kept as straight a course as he could, despite the unsteadiness. In due time the unsatisfactory practice came to an end, and the crew stood together again on the steps of the boat-house.Gilks seemed to expect, and every one else expected, that Fairbairn would once more take the defaulter to task for his performance that morning, and Fairbairn did not disappoint him; though he dealt with the matter in a rather unexpected manner.“I shall want the tub-pair after third school,” said he to the boatman. “Riddell, will you come and cox. Crossfield and me?”“Who—Crossfield?” asked Coates.“Yes; I shall try him for bow.”“You mean to say,” exclaimed Gilks, taking the matter in, “you’re going to turn me out of the boat?”“Certainly,” said Fairbairn, coolly.“What for?” demanded Gilks, threateningly.“Because,” replied Fairbairn, taking Riddell’s arm and walking slowly off—“because we can do better without you.”Gilks stared at him a moment as though he meditated flying at him. If he did, he thought better of it, and turned away, muttering to himself that he would pay them all out, let them see if he did not.Threats of this sort were not unheard-of things from Gilks, and no one was greatly disturbed by them. On the whole, Fairbairn’s decision was approved of by most of the schoolhouse partisans, particularly those who had watched the proceedings of the morning. A few thought Gilks might have been accorded a second chance, but the majority argued that if a fellow caught crabs like that in a practice he would probably do it in the race, and they did not want the risk of that.As to his excuse about the steering, every one who knew anything about that knew it meant nothing, and Gilks did not repeat it.As he reached the school Silk met him with angry looks.“Is it true what I hear,” said he, “that you’re out of the boat?”“Yes, it is,” growled Gilks.“Why, you idiot! whatever have you done this for?”“I did nothing. They wanted to get rid of me, and they did.”“Yes, because you hadn’t the ordinary sense to keep up appearances till the race, and must begin to practise your tricks a month beforehand!” said Silk, greatly enraged, for him.“All very well,” said Gilks, sullenly. “I should have liked to see you rowing your best with that puppy steering; thinking he’s doing it so wonderfully, the prig!”“And just because you hadn’t the patience to hold out a week or two you go and spoil everything. I didn’t think you were such a fool, upon my word.”Gilks was cowed by the wrath of his friend.“I couldn’t help it,” he said. “I’m awfully sorry.”“It’s done us completely now,” said Silk. “For all we know they may win. Who’s to take your place?”“Crossfield.”“Just the man I was afraid. He’s the best man they could have picked out. I tell you what, Gilks, you’d better go and apologise and see if you can’t get back into the boat. Who could have believed you’d be such a fool! Go at once, for goodness’ sake.”Gilks, who saw his own mistake fully as well as his friend, obeyed. He found Fairbairn in his study with Riddell. The former seemed not at all surprised to see him.“Fairbairn,” said Gilks, “I hope you’ll let me stay in the boat. I’m sorry I played the fool this morning.”“Then youwereplaying the fool?” demanded Fairbairn, to whom Riddell had just been confiding that perhaps, after all, there had been some fault in the steering to account for it.“Yes,” said Gilks, sullenly.“Then,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “you may be a fool, but I won’t be such a big one as to let you stay in the boat another day!”Gilks glared a moment at the speaker. Evidently it would be no use to argue or plead further; and, smarting with rage and humiliation, none the less keen that Riddell had been present and heard all, he turned away.“You’ll be sorry for this, you two,” he growled. “Humbugs!”“Well rid of him,” said Fairbairn, as soon as he had gone.“Yes. I don’t think much of him,” said Riddell, thinking as much of young Wyndham and his temptations as of the schoolhouse boat.“Well, old man,” said Fairbairn, after a pause, “you steered awfully well when you once began. Whatever made you so shaky at first?”“My usual complaint,” said Riddell, smiling. “I was thinking what other people were thinking.”“Oh,” said Fairbairn, “unless you can give that up you may as well shut up shop altogether.”“Well, if I must do one or the other, I think I’ll keep the shop open,” said Riddell, cheerily. “By the way,” added he, looking at his watch and sighing, “I have to see some juniors in my study in two minutes. Good-bye.”“Be sure you’re down for the tub practice this afternoon.”“I’ll be there,” said Riddell.

Giles and his ally knew their business well enough to see that they must go to work “gingerly” to recover their lost Limpet. Consequently when Wyndham, according to promise, turned up to tea in Silk’s study, nothing was said or done in any way likely to offend his lately awakened scruples.

The tea was a good one, the volume of “Punch” was amusing, and the talk confined itself almost altogether to school affairs, and chiefly to the coming boat-race.

This last subject was one of intense interest to young Wyndham. As brother to the old captain, he was naturally eager to see his brother’s boat retain its old position on the river; and as an ardent schoolhouse boy himself, he had a further reason for wishing the same result.

“You know,” said he, “I think our fellows are looking up, don’t you, Gilks?”

“So fellows say,” replied Gilks; “of course, being in the boat myself, it’s hard to tell.”

“But doesn’t the boat seem to be going better?” asked Wyndham. “It looks to be going a lot better from the bank.”

“But you don’t mean to say, young un,” said Silk, “you ever expect the schoolhouse will beat Parrett’s?”

“I’m afraid they are rather strong,” said Wyndham, regretfully.

“Strong!” said Silk; “they’re the finest crew Willoughby’s turned out for years. Better even than the one your brother stroked last races.”

“And they mean winning, too,” said Gilks, “from all I hear. They’re specially set on it because they think they’ve been snubbed over the captaincy, and mean to show theyarethe cock house, though the doctor won’t own it.”

“Well,” said Silk, “as I’ve not much faith in the Welchers’ boat—in fact, I’m not sure if they’ll be able to get up a crew at all—I feel delightfully impartial.”

“I hope you’ll back us,” said Wyndham, earnestly.

“Of course, old Gilks is one of your crew,” said Silk.

“You know,” said the boy, “I’d give anything for our boat to win. It would be such a score for us, after all that has been said, wouldn’t it, Gilks?”

“Well, fellows haven’t been very complimentary about the schoolhouse lately, certainly,” said Gilks.

“No, they certainly haven’t,” replied Wyndham. “By the way, Gilks, what sort of cox does Riddell make?”

“Rather an amusing one, from all I can hear,” said Gilks. “He’s not steered the four yet; but he’s had some tub practice, and is beginning to find out that the natural place for a boat is between the banks instead of on them.”

“Oh,” said Wyndham, “I heard Fairbairn say he promised very well. He’s a light-weight, you know, and as the juniors are all stopped river-play, we shall have to get a cox. And if Riddell will do, it won’t be a bad thing any way.”

“I’m rather surprised they didn’t try you for it,” said Gilks. “You’re well-known, you know, and used to the river.”

“Oh, I’d rather Riddell did it if he can,” said Wyndham. “I know he’s awfully anxious to get it up.”

The talk went on like this, and trenched on no uncomfortable topic. The only reference to anything of the sort was when Silk said, just as Wyndham was going, “Oh, Wyndham, I’ve told Gilks here that you’ve promised not to let out about Beamish’s—”

“Yes,” said Gilks, “I wouldn’t care for that to get about, young un.”

“Oh, of course I won’t say anything,” said Wyndham.

“Thanks, no more will we; will we, Silk?” replied Gilks.

Silk assented and their visitor departed.

“Young fool!” said Gilks, when he and his friend were left alone. “He’s not worth bothering about.”

“If it weren’t for the other prig I’d agree with you,” said Silk. “But don’t you think we can hit at his reverence occasionally through his disciple?”

“I dare say,” said Gilks. “The young prig had an innocent enough time of it to-night to suit even him. How he does talk!”

“Yes, and isn’t he hot about the race? I say, Gilks, I hope there’ll be no mistake about Parrett’s winning. I’ve a lot of money on them.”

“Never fear,” said Gilks. “It’ll be rather a rum thing if I, rowing in the schoolhouse boat, can’t put the drag on them somehow. I don’t expect for a moment it will be wanted; but if it is, Gilks will be under the painful necessity of catching a crab!”

“I don’t mind how you do it as long as there’s no mistake about it,” said Silk. With which ungenerous admission Gilks produced a couple of cigar-ends from his pocket, and these two nice boys proceeded to spend a dissipated evening.

The reader will have guessed from what has already been said that the coming boat-race was every day becoming a more and more exciting topic in Willoughby. Under any circumstances the race was, along with the May sports and the cricket-match against Rockshire, one of the events of the year. But this year, ever since it had come somehow to be mixed up with the squabble about the captaincy, and the jealousy between Parrett’s and the schoolhouse, it had become more important than ever.

Old Wyndham had, of course, left the schoolhouse boat at the head of the river, but there was scarcely a boy (even in the schoolhouse itself) who seriously expected it would remain there over the coming regatta.

The Parrett’s fellows were already crowing in anticipation, and the victory of Bloomfield’s boat was only waited for as a final ground for resisting the authority of any captain but their own. Their boat was certainly one of the best which the school had turned out, and compared with their competitors’ it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could prevent its triumph.

But the schoolhouse fellows, little as they expected to win, were meaning to make a hot fight of it. They were on their mettle quite as much as their rivals. Ever since Wyndham had left, the schoolhouse had been sneered at as having no pretensions left to any athletic distinction. They meant to put themselves right in this particular—if not in victory, at any rate in a gallant attempt.

And so the schoolhouse boat might be seen out early and late, doing honest hard work, and doing it well too. Strict training was the order of the day, and scarcely a day passed without some one of the crew adding to his usual labours a cross-country run, or a hard grind in the big tub, to better his form. These extraordinary exertions were a source of amusement to their opponents, who felt their own superiority all the more by witnessing the efforts put forth to cope with it; and even in the schoolhouse there were not a few who regarded all the work as labour thrown away, and as only adding in prospect to the glorification of the enemy.

However, Fairbairn was not the man to be moved by small considerations such as these. He did not care what fellows said, or how much they laughed, as long as Porter swung out well at the reach forward, and Coates straightened his back, and Gilks pulled his oar better through from beginning to end. To secure these ends he himself was game for any amount of work and trouble, and no cold water could damp either his ardour or his hopefulness.

But the chief sensation with regard to the training of the schoolhouse boat was the sudden appearance of Riddell as its coxswain. As the reader has heard, the new captain had already been out once or twice “on the quiet” in the pair-oar, and during these expeditions he had learned all he knew of the art of navigation. The idea of his steering the schoolhouse boat had never occurred either to himself or Fairbairn when he first undertook these practices at the solicitation of his friend. But after a lesson or two he showed such promise that the idea did strike Fairbairn, who mentioned it to one or two of his set and asked their advice.

These judges were horrified naturally at the idea. Riddell was too heavy, too clumsy, too nervous. But Fairbairn was loth to give up his idea; so he went to Mr Parrett, and asked him if he would mind running with the schoolhouse pair-oar during the next morning’s spin, and watching the steering of the new captain. Mr Parrett did so; and was not a little pleased with the performance, but advised Fairbairn to try him in the four-oar before deciding.

Fairbairn, delighted, immediately broached the subject to his friend. Poor Riddell was astounded at such a notion.

Hecox the schoolhouse boat in the regatta!

“My dear fellow,” said he to Fairbairn. “I’m not a very exalted personage in Willoughby as it is—but this would be the finishing stroke!”

“What do you mean—that it’sinfra dig.to cox the boat?”

“Oh no!” said Riddell, “anything but that. But it might beinfra dig.for the boat to be steered into the bank in the middle of the race.”

“Humbug, if that’s your only reason. Anyhow, old man, come down and try your hand in the four to-morrow morning.”

Riddell protested that the idea was absurd, and that he wouldn’t hear of it. But Fairbairn reasoned him down. He hadn’t steered them into the bank since the second morning—he hadn’t tried steering the four-oar, how did he know he couldn’t do it? Mr Parrett had advised the trial strongly, and so on.

“No,” said he, “the only question is your weight. You’d have to run off a bit of that, you know.”

“Oh,” said Riddell, “as to that, you can take as many pounds off me as you like; but—”

“None of your buts, old man,” said Fairbairn. “I say, if we only were to win, with you as cox, what a score it would be!”

“None of your ‘ifs,’ old man,” said Riddell, laughing. “But I’ll come to-morrow, if you are determined to have your way.”

“Of course I am,” said Fairbairn.

This conversation took place the evening that young Wyndham was taking tea with Silk and Gilks in the study of the former.

The intelligence that the new captain was to be taken out to steer the schoolhouse boat mysteriously got wind before the evening was over, and spread over the school like wildfire. Consequently, when Riddell arrived at the boat-house in the morning, he was surprised and horrified to find that nearly all Willoughby was awake and down at the river banks to see him.

It was embarrassing certainly, and when presently the crew got into their seats and a start was made, it became evident the new coxswain was anything but at home in his new position. The boat was a long time getting clear of the landing stage owing to his persistently mistaking in his flurry his right hand for his left, and then when it did get out into mid-stream the same reason prevented him from discovering that the reason why the boat would turn round instead of going straight was because he had his right cord pulled hard the whole time.

This spectacle, as may be imagined, afforded intense gratification to the curious onlookers, and many and hilarious were the shouts which fell on the ears of the unlucky captain.

“Oh, well coxed there!” one voice cried.

“Well steered in a circle!” shouted another.

“Mind you don’t knock the bank down,” yelled a third.

“Pull your right there!”

“Try him without the rudder. See if he don’t steer better that way.”

In the midst of these uncomplimentary shouts the boat slowly wended its erratic course up the river, amidst crowds of boys on either bank.

“Riddell, old man,” said Fairbairn, leaning forward from his place at stroke, “what’s the row?”

It only needed a friendly voice to recall the captain to himself. By an effort he forgot about the crowds and turned a deaf ear to the shouts, and straightening himself, and taking the lines steadily in his hands, looked up quietly at his friend. Richard was himself again.

“Now then!” cried Fairbairn to his men behind, “row all!” and he led them off with a long steady stroke.

For a little distance the boat travelled well. Riddell kept a good course, and the whole crew worked steadily. The scoffers on the bank were perplexed, and their jeers died away feebly. This was not a crew of muffs assuredly. Those first twenty or thirty yards were rowed in a style not very far short of the Parrett’s standard, and Parson himself, the best cox of Parrett’s house, could hardly have taken the boat down that reach in a better course.

There was something ominous in this. But, to the great relief of the unfriendly critics, this showy lead was not maintained. Before a hundred yards were completed something seemed to go wrong in the boat. It rolled heavily and wavered in its course. What was wrong?

The fault was certainly not in Fairbairn, who kept doggedly to work in perfectly even style. Nor, to all appearance, was it in Riddell. He was evidently puzzled by the sudden unsteadiness of the boat, but no one could lay it to his charge.

“Who’s that digging behind?” cried Fairbairn over his shoulder.

None of the other three owned the soft impeachment, and the boat seemed to right itself of its own accord.

Fairbairn, whose temper was never improved by perplexities, quickened his stroke, and gave his men a spell of hard work for a bit to punish them.

This seemed to have a good effect, and once again the onlookers were startled to see how steadily and fast the boat was travelling. But once again the mysterious disturbance interrupted their progress.

This time Fairbairn stopped short, and turning round demanded angrily who it was who was playing the fool, for an effect like this could only be put down to such a course. Porter, Coates, and Gilks all repudiated the suggestion, and once more, amid the ironical cheers of the onlookers, Fairbairn resumed his work and lashed viciously out with his oar.

This last protest of his seemed to have had the desired effect, for during the rest of the journey up to the Willows the boat travelled fairly well, though it was evident plenty of work was needed before the crew could be considered in proper racing trim. But no sooner had they turned and started for the home journey than once again the rolling suddenly became manifest. Fairbairn rowed on a stroke or two without apparently noticing it, then turning sharply round in the middle of a stroke he discovered the reason.

The blade of Gilks’s oar was about a foot under the surface, and he himself was lurching over his seat, with the handle of the oar up to about his chin.

“What on earth do you mean by it?” demanded Fairbairn, angrily.

“Mean by what?” asked Gilks.

“By playing the fool like that; that’s what I mean,” retorted Fairbairn.

“Who was playing the fool?” snarled Gilks. “How can I help catching a crab when he’s constantly turning the boat’s head in the middle of a stroke?”

“All rot!” said Fairbairn.

“All very well for you at stroke,” said Gilks, viciously. “You come and row bow and see if you don’t feel it. I’d like to know who could keep his oar straight with such steering.”

“If you’d row half as well as he steers,” said Fairbairn, “you’d row a precious sight better than you do! You’d better take care, Gilks.”

“Take care of what, you fool?” demanded Gilks, whose temper was now fairly gone.

“Ready all, you fellows!” cried Fairbairn, stretching forward.

This brief conversation had been heard only by those in the boat, but its purport had been gathered by those on the bank who had watched the angry looks and heard the angry voices of the speakers.

“Bravo! fight it out!” cried some one, and the news that there was a quarrel in the schoolhouse boat added greatly to the zest of the critics’ enjoyment.

Fairbairn’s caution—whether purposely, or because he could not help it—was lost upon the offending bow oar. The boat had scarcely started again when Gilks caught another crab, which for the moment nearly upset the crew. Fairbairn rowed on, with thunder in his face, regardless of the incident, and Riddell kept as straight a course as he could, despite the unsteadiness. In due time the unsatisfactory practice came to an end, and the crew stood together again on the steps of the boat-house.

Gilks seemed to expect, and every one else expected, that Fairbairn would once more take the defaulter to task for his performance that morning, and Fairbairn did not disappoint him; though he dealt with the matter in a rather unexpected manner.

“I shall want the tub-pair after third school,” said he to the boatman. “Riddell, will you come and cox. Crossfield and me?”

“Who—Crossfield?” asked Coates.

“Yes; I shall try him for bow.”

“You mean to say,” exclaimed Gilks, taking the matter in, “you’re going to turn me out of the boat?”

“Certainly,” said Fairbairn, coolly.

“What for?” demanded Gilks, threateningly.

“Because,” replied Fairbairn, taking Riddell’s arm and walking slowly off—“because we can do better without you.”

Gilks stared at him a moment as though he meditated flying at him. If he did, he thought better of it, and turned away, muttering to himself that he would pay them all out, let them see if he did not.

Threats of this sort were not unheard-of things from Gilks, and no one was greatly disturbed by them. On the whole, Fairbairn’s decision was approved of by most of the schoolhouse partisans, particularly those who had watched the proceedings of the morning. A few thought Gilks might have been accorded a second chance, but the majority argued that if a fellow caught crabs like that in a practice he would probably do it in the race, and they did not want the risk of that.

As to his excuse about the steering, every one who knew anything about that knew it meant nothing, and Gilks did not repeat it.

As he reached the school Silk met him with angry looks.

“Is it true what I hear,” said he, “that you’re out of the boat?”

“Yes, it is,” growled Gilks.

“Why, you idiot! whatever have you done this for?”

“I did nothing. They wanted to get rid of me, and they did.”

“Yes, because you hadn’t the ordinary sense to keep up appearances till the race, and must begin to practise your tricks a month beforehand!” said Silk, greatly enraged, for him.

“All very well,” said Gilks, sullenly. “I should have liked to see you rowing your best with that puppy steering; thinking he’s doing it so wonderfully, the prig!”

“And just because you hadn’t the patience to hold out a week or two you go and spoil everything. I didn’t think you were such a fool, upon my word.”

Gilks was cowed by the wrath of his friend.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said. “I’m awfully sorry.”

“It’s done us completely now,” said Silk. “For all we know they may win. Who’s to take your place?”

“Crossfield.”

“Just the man I was afraid. He’s the best man they could have picked out. I tell you what, Gilks, you’d better go and apologise and see if you can’t get back into the boat. Who could have believed you’d be such a fool! Go at once, for goodness’ sake.”

Gilks, who saw his own mistake fully as well as his friend, obeyed. He found Fairbairn in his study with Riddell. The former seemed not at all surprised to see him.

“Fairbairn,” said Gilks, “I hope you’ll let me stay in the boat. I’m sorry I played the fool this morning.”

“Then youwereplaying the fool?” demanded Fairbairn, to whom Riddell had just been confiding that perhaps, after all, there had been some fault in the steering to account for it.

“Yes,” said Gilks, sullenly.

“Then,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “you may be a fool, but I won’t be such a big one as to let you stay in the boat another day!”

Gilks glared a moment at the speaker. Evidently it would be no use to argue or plead further; and, smarting with rage and humiliation, none the less keen that Riddell had been present and heard all, he turned away.

“You’ll be sorry for this, you two,” he growled. “Humbugs!”

“Well rid of him,” said Fairbairn, as soon as he had gone.

“Yes. I don’t think much of him,” said Riddell, thinking as much of young Wyndham and his temptations as of the schoolhouse boat.

“Well, old man,” said Fairbairn, after a pause, “you steered awfully well when you once began. Whatever made you so shaky at first?”

“My usual complaint,” said Riddell, smiling. “I was thinking what other people were thinking.”

“Oh,” said Fairbairn, “unless you can give that up you may as well shut up shop altogether.”

“Well, if I must do one or the other, I think I’ll keep the shop open,” said Riddell, cheerily. “By the way,” added he, looking at his watch and sighing, “I have to see some juniors in my study in two minutes. Good-bye.”

“Be sure you’re down for the tub practice this afternoon.”

“I’ll be there,” said Riddell.

Chapter Twelve.Bloomfield In Tribulation.Bloomfield was beginning to discover already that the new dignity to which he had been raised by his own partisans at Willoughby was anything but a bed of roses. Vain and easily led as he was, he was not a bad fellow by any means; and when the mutiny against the new captain first began, he flattered himself that by allowing himself to be set up in opposition he was really doing a service to Willoughby, and securing the school against a great many disasters which were certain to ensue if Riddell was left supreme.But in these lofty hopes he was getting to be a trifle disappointed. In his own house, of course, especially among those over whom he was wont to rule in athletic sports, his authority was paramount. But these, after all, constituted only a small section of Willoughby. Over the rest of the school his influence was strangely overlooked, and even the terrors of his arm failed to bring his subjects to obedience.It was all very well at first, when the one idea was indignation against the doctor’s new appointment. But as soon as the malcontents discovered that they had raised one more tyrant over their own heads, they began to find out their mistake, and did their best to correct it. They argued that as they had elected Bloomfield themselves they weren’t bound to obey him unless they chose; and when it came to the point of having to give up their own will in obedience to his, they remembered he was not the real captain of Willoughby and had no right to order them!So poor Bloomfield did not find things quite as comfortable as he had expected.One of the first rebuffs he got was administered by no less stately a hand than that of Master Telson of the schoolhouse.This young gentleman ever since his last unfortunate expedition in “Noah’s Ark” had been somewhat under a cloud. His forced absence from the river for a whole week had preyed upon his spirits. And when at the end of that period he did revisit his old haunts, armed with a captain’s permit, it was only to discover that whatever small chance he ever had of coxing his house’s boat at the coming regatta, had vanished under the new arrangement which had brought Riddell into the boat.It is only fair to say that this disappointment, keen as it was, had no effect on his loyalty. He was as ready as ever to fight any one who spoke ill of the schoolhouse. But it certainly had given him a jar, which resulted in rather strained relations with some of his old allies in Parrett’s.Of course nothing could shake his devotion to Parson. That was secure whatever happened, but towards the other heroes of Parrett’s, particularly the seniors, he felt unfriendly. He conceived he must have been the victim of a plot to prevent his steering the schoolhouse boat. It was the only reason he could think of for his ill-luck; and though he never tried to argue it out, it was pretty clear to his own mind some one was at the bottom of it. And if that was so, who more likely than Bloomfield and Game and that lot, who had everything to gain by his being turned out of the rival boat?This was the state of mind of our aggrieved junior one afternoon not long before the regatta, as he strolled dismally across the “Big” on his way to the river. Parson was not with him. He was down coxing his boat, and the thought of this only reminded Telson of his own bad luck, and added to his ill-temper.He was roused from his moody reflections by the approach of two boys, who hailed him cheerily.“What cheer, Telson, old man?” cried King. “How jolly blue you look! What’s the row?”“Nothing,” replied Telson.“We’ve just been down to see the boats. Awful spree to see old Riddell steering! isn’t it, Bosher?”“Yes,” said Bosher; “but he’s better than he was.”“Never mind, they won’t lick us,” said King. “You should have seen our boat! Bless you, those schoolhouse louts—”“King, I’ll fight you!” said Telson, suddenly.“Oh! beg pardon, old man, I didn’t—eh—what?”This last remark was caused by the fact that Telson was taking off his coat. King, utterly taken aback by these ominous preparations, protested his sorrow, apologised, and generally humiliated himself before the offended schoolhouse junior.But Telson had been looking out for a cause of quarrel, and now one had come, he was just in the humour for going through with the business. “Do you funk it?” he asked.“Oh, no; not that, old man,” said King, still friendly, and very slowly unbuttoning his jacket; “but I’ll apologise, Telson, you know.”“Don’t want any apologising; I want to fight,” said Telson. “I’ll take young Bosher too.”“Oh!” said Bosher, rather alarmed, “I don’t want to fight.”“I knew you were a beastly funk!” said Telson, scornfully.“No, I’m not,” said Bosher, meekly.“Get out of the way!” cried the majestic Telson, brushing past him towards King, who now stood with his coat off and a very apologetic face, ready for the young bantam’s disposal.Telson and King fought there and then. It was not a very sanguinary contest, nor was it particularly scientific. It did Telson good, and it did not do King much harm. The only awkward thing about it was that neither side knew exactly when to stop. Telson claimed the victory after every round, and King respectfully disputed the statement. Telson thereupon taunted his adversary with “funking it,” and went at him again, very showy in action, but decidedly feeble in execution. King, by keeping one arm over his face and working the other gently up and down in front of his body, was able to ward off most of the blows aimed, and neither aspired nor aimed to hit out himself.The “fight” might have lasted a week had not Game, coming up that way from the boats, caught sight of it. As it was neither an exciting combat nor a profitable one, the Parrett’s monitor considered it a good case for interfering, as well as for calling in the authority of the popular captain.“King and Telson,” he said, stepping between the combatants, “stop it, and come to Bloomfield’s study after chapel. You know fighting in the ‘Big’ is against rules.”“What are we to go to Bloomfield for?” demanded Telson, whose temper was still disturbed.“For breaking rules,” said Game, as he walked on.“Shall you go?” said Telson to King as the two slowly put on their coats.“Yes, I suppose so, or he’ll give us a licking.”“I shan’t go; he’s not the captain,” said Telson.“I say, you’ll catch it if you don’t,” said King, with apprehension in his looks. “They’re always down on you if you don’t go to the captain when you’re told.”“I tell you he’s not the captain,” replied Telson, testily, “and I shan’t go. If they want to report me they’ll have to do it to Riddell.”With which virtuous decision he went his way, slightly solaced in his mind by the fight, and still more consoled by the prospects of a row ahead.Telson was quite cute enough to see he had a strong position to start with, and if only he played his cards well he might score off the enemy with credit.He therefore declined an invitation to Parson’s to partake of shrimps and jam at tea, and kept himself in his own house till the time appointed for reporting himself to the captain. Then, instead of going to Bloomfield, he presented himself before Riddell.“Well?” said the captain, in his usual half-apologetic tone.“Oh!” said Telson, “I’m reported, please, Riddell.”“What for? Who reported you?” asked Riddell.“Game—for fighting,” replied Telson.“He hasn’t told me of it. You’d better come in the morning.”“Oh! it’s all right,” said Telson. “I was fighting King in the ‘Big’ this afternoon.”Riddell looked perplexed. This was the first case of a boy voluntarily delivering himself up to justice, and he hardly knew what to do.However, he had found out thus much by this time—that it didn’t so much matter what he did as long as he did something.“You know it’s against rules,” said he, as severely as he could, “and it’s not the first time you’ve done it. You must do fifty lines of Virgil, and stop in the house on Monday and Tuesday.”“All right! Thanks,” said Telson, rapidly departing, and leaving Riddell quite bewildered by the apparent gratitude of his fag.Telson betook himself quietly to his study and began to write his lines. It was evident from the restless way in which he looked up at every footstep outside he did not expect to remain long undisturbed at this harmless occupation. Nor was he disappointed.In about ten minutes King entered and said, “I say, Telson, you’re in for it! You’re to go to Bloomfield directly.”“What’s he given you?”“A licking!” said King; “and stopped my play half a week. But I say, you’d better go—sharp!”“I’m not going,” said Telson.“What!” exclaimed King, in amazement.“Cut it,” said Telson; “I’m busy.”“He sent me to fetch you,” said King.“Don’t I tell you I’m not coming? I’ll lick you, King, if you don’t cut it!”King did “cut it” in a considerable state of alarm at the foolhardiness of his youthful comrade.But Telson knew his business. No sooner had King gone than he took up his Virgil and paper, and repaired once more to Riddell’s study.“Please, Riddell,” said he, meekly, “do you mind me writing my lines here?”“Not a bit,” said Riddell, whose study was always open house to his youthful fag.Telson said “Thank you,” and immediately deposited himself at the table, and quietly continued his work, awaiting the result of King’s message.The result was not long in coming.“Telson!” shouted a voice down the passage in less than five minutes.Telson went to the door and shouted back, “What’s the row?”“Where are you?” said the voice.“Here,” replied Telson, shutting the door and resuming his work.“Who’s that?” asked Riddell of his fag.“I don’t know, unless it’s Game,” said Telson.“Now then, Telson,” cried the voice again, “come here.”“I can’t—I’m busy!” shouted Telson back from where he sat. At the same moment the door opened, and Game entered in a great state of wrath.The appearance of a Parrett monitor “on duty” in the schoolhouse was always a strange spectacle; and Game, when he discovered into whose study he had marched, was a trifle embarrassed.“What is it, Game?” asked Riddell, civilly.“I want Telson,” said Game, who, by the way, had scarcely spoken to the new captain since his appointment.“What do you want?” said Telson, boldly.“Why didn’t you come when you were sent for?” demanded Game.“Who sent for me?”“Bloomfield.”“I’m not Bloomfield’s fag,” retorted Telson. “I’m Riddell’s.”“What did I tell you this afternoon?” said Game, beginning to suspect that he had fallen into a trap.“Told me to go to the captain after chapel.”“And what do you mean by not going?”“I did go—I went to Riddell.”“I told you to go to Bloomfield,” said Game, growing hot.“Bloomfield’s not the captain,” retorted Telson, beginning to enjoy himself. “Riddell’s captain.”“You were fighting in the ‘Big,’” said Game, looking uneasily at Riddell while he spoke.“I know I was. Riddell’s potted me for it, haven’t you, Riddell?”“I’ve given Telson fifty lines, and stopped his play two days,” said Riddell, quietly.“Yes, and I’m writing the lines now,” said Telson, dipping his pen in the ink, and scarcely smothering a laugh.Game, now fully aware of his rebuff, was glad of an opportunity of covering his defeat by a diversion.“Look here,” said he, walking up to Telson, “I didn’t come here to be cheeked by you, I can tell you.”“Who’s cheeking you?” said Telson. “I’m not.”“Yes, you are,” said Game. “I’m not going to be humbugged about by you.”“I don’t want to humbug you about,” replied the junior, defiantly.“I think there’s a mistake, you know,” said Riddell, thinking it right to interpose. “I’ve given him lines for fighting in the ‘Big,’ and there’s really no reason for his going to Bloomfield.”“I told him to come to Bloomfield, and he ought to have come.”“I don’t think you had any right to tell him to go to Bloomfield,” replied Riddell, with a boldness which astonished himself. “I’m responsible for stopping fights.”“I don’t want you to tell me my business,” retorted Game, hotly; “who are you?”Game could have thrashed the captain as easily as he could Telson, and the thought flashed through Riddell’s mind as he paused to reply. He would much have preferred saying nothing, but somehow the present seemed to be a sort of crisis in his life. If he gave in now, the chance of asserting himself in Willoughby might never return.“I’m the captain,” he replied, steadily, “and as long as I am captain I’m responsible for the order of the school, and I prefer to do my own work!”There was something in his look and tone as he uttered these inoffensive words which took Game aback and even startled Telson. It was not at all like what fellows had been used to from Riddell, certainly very unlike the manner he was generally credited with. But neither Telson nor Game were half so amazed at this little outburst as was the speaker himself. He was half frightened the moment he had uttered it. Now he was in for it with a vengeance! It would go out to all Willoughby, he knew, that he meant to stand by his guns. What an awful failure, if, after all, he should not be able to keep his word!Game, with a forced smile which ill accorded with his inward astonishment, left the study without another word, heedless even of the laugh which Telson could no longer repress.Of course many perverted stories of their adventure immediately got abroad in Willoughby. Telson’s highly-coloured version made it appear that a pitched battle had been fought between Game and the new captain, resulting in the defeat of the former chiefly through Telson’s instrumentality and assistance. As, however, this narrative did not appear in the same dress two hours running, it was soon taken for what it was worth, and most fellows preferred to believe the Parretts’ version of the story, which stated that Riddell had announced his intention of keeping order in Willoughby without the help of the monitors, and had had the cheek to tell Bloomfield to mind his own business.The indignation of Parrett’s house on hearing such a story may be imagined. It was even past a joke. Bloomfield seriously offered to resign all pretensions to authority and let things take their course.“It makes me seem,” he said, “as if I wanted to stick myself up. If he’s so sure of keeping order by himself, I don’t see what use it is my pretending to do it too.”“It would serve him right if you did so,” said Game. “But it would be so awfully like giving in now, after you have once begun.”This view of the matter decided the question. But Bloomfield all the same was considerably impressed by what had happened.He knew in his heart that his only title to the position he assumed was the whim of his schoolfellows. He was a usurper, in fact, and however much he tried to persuade himself he was acting solely for the good of Willoughby, he knew those motives were only half sincere. And in spite of all his efforts, the school was as rowdy as ever. If he did thrash a batch of juniors one day, or stop some disorderly Limpets of their play, it never seemed to make much impression. Whereas the one or two rioters whom Riddell had ventured to tackle had somehow distinctly reformed their habits. How was it?Bloomfield, as he thought the thing over, was not quite happy. He had been happier far last term when, under old Wyndham, he had exerted himself loyally for the good of the school. Was he not exerting himself now? Why should he be unhappy? It was not because he felt himself beaten—he scorned the idea—or that he felt unequal to the task before him. That too was preposterous. And yet, he felt, he certainly needed something. If only now he were first classic as well as captain of the clubs, what a pull he would have!And as this thought occurred to him, he also recalled Crossfield’s famous speech at the last Parliament and the laughter which had greeted it. Could he translate “Balbus hopped over a wall” without the dictionary? Ah! He thought sometimes he would try, just to prove how slanderous Crossfield’s insinuation had been. The result of all these cogitations was that Bloomfield began to discover he was not quite such an “all-round” man as his friends had told him. And that being so, had not he better qualify himself like an honest man for his post?He did not like to confide the idea to his friends for fear of their laughter, but for a week or two at least he actually read rather hard on the sly. The worst of it was, that till the examinations next term there could be nothing to show for it. For the Sixth did not change their places every day as the lower forms did. There was no chance of leaping to the top at a bound by some lucky answer, or even of advancing a single desk. And therefore, however hard he worked this term, he would never rise above eighteenth classic in the eyes of the school, and that was not—well, he would have liked to be a little higher for the sake of Willoughby!The outlook was not encouraging. Even Wibberly, the toady, and Silk, the Welcher, were better men than he was at classics.Suppose, instead of spending his energy over classics, he were to get up one or two rousing speeches for the Parliament, which should take the shine out of every one else and carry the school by storm? It was not a bad idea. But the chance would not come. No one could get up a fine speech on such a hackneyed subject as “That Rowing is a finer Sport than Cricket,” or that “The Study of Science in Public Schools should be Abolished!” And when he did attempt to prepare an oration on the subject of Compulsory Football, the first friend he showed it to pointed out so many faults in the composition of the first sentence that prudence prompted him to put the effusion in the fire.Meanwhile his friends and admirers kept him busy. Their delight seemed to be to seize on all the youngsters they could by any pretext lay hands on and hale them to appear before him. By this means they imagined they were making his authority known and dealing a serious blow at the less obtrusive captain in the schoolhouse.Poor Bloomfield had to administer justice right and left for every imaginable offence, and was so watched and prompted by officious admirers that he was constantly losing his head and making himself ridiculous.He gave one boy a thrashing for being found with a paper dart in his hand, because Game had reported him; and to another, who had stolen a book, he gave only twenty lines, because he was in the second-eleven. Cusack and Welcher, who was caught climbing the schoolhouse elms one Monday, he sentenced to an hour’s detention; and Pilbury, whom he caught in the same act on Tuesday, he deprived of play for a week—that is, he said he was not to leave his house for a week. But Pilbury turned up the very next day in the “Big,” under the very nose of the Parrett captain, who did not even observe his presence.It was this sort of thing which, as the term dragged on, made Bloomfield more and more uncomfortable with his position. It was all very well for Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly to declare that but for him Willoughby would have gone to the dogs—it was all very well of them to make game of and caricature Riddell and his failures. Seeing is believing; and Bloomfield, whose heart was honest, and whose common sense, when left to itself, was not altogether feeble, could not help making the unpleasant discovery that he was not doing very much after all for Willoughby.But the boat-race was now coming on. There, at any rate, was a sphere in which he need fear no rival. With Parrett’s boat at the head of the river, and he its stroke, he would at any rate have one claim on the obedience of Willoughby which nobody could gainsay.

Bloomfield was beginning to discover already that the new dignity to which he had been raised by his own partisans at Willoughby was anything but a bed of roses. Vain and easily led as he was, he was not a bad fellow by any means; and when the mutiny against the new captain first began, he flattered himself that by allowing himself to be set up in opposition he was really doing a service to Willoughby, and securing the school against a great many disasters which were certain to ensue if Riddell was left supreme.

But in these lofty hopes he was getting to be a trifle disappointed. In his own house, of course, especially among those over whom he was wont to rule in athletic sports, his authority was paramount. But these, after all, constituted only a small section of Willoughby. Over the rest of the school his influence was strangely overlooked, and even the terrors of his arm failed to bring his subjects to obedience.

It was all very well at first, when the one idea was indignation against the doctor’s new appointment. But as soon as the malcontents discovered that they had raised one more tyrant over their own heads, they began to find out their mistake, and did their best to correct it. They argued that as they had elected Bloomfield themselves they weren’t bound to obey him unless they chose; and when it came to the point of having to give up their own will in obedience to his, they remembered he was not the real captain of Willoughby and had no right to order them!

So poor Bloomfield did not find things quite as comfortable as he had expected.

One of the first rebuffs he got was administered by no less stately a hand than that of Master Telson of the schoolhouse.

This young gentleman ever since his last unfortunate expedition in “Noah’s Ark” had been somewhat under a cloud. His forced absence from the river for a whole week had preyed upon his spirits. And when at the end of that period he did revisit his old haunts, armed with a captain’s permit, it was only to discover that whatever small chance he ever had of coxing his house’s boat at the coming regatta, had vanished under the new arrangement which had brought Riddell into the boat.

It is only fair to say that this disappointment, keen as it was, had no effect on his loyalty. He was as ready as ever to fight any one who spoke ill of the schoolhouse. But it certainly had given him a jar, which resulted in rather strained relations with some of his old allies in Parrett’s.

Of course nothing could shake his devotion to Parson. That was secure whatever happened, but towards the other heroes of Parrett’s, particularly the seniors, he felt unfriendly. He conceived he must have been the victim of a plot to prevent his steering the schoolhouse boat. It was the only reason he could think of for his ill-luck; and though he never tried to argue it out, it was pretty clear to his own mind some one was at the bottom of it. And if that was so, who more likely than Bloomfield and Game and that lot, who had everything to gain by his being turned out of the rival boat?

This was the state of mind of our aggrieved junior one afternoon not long before the regatta, as he strolled dismally across the “Big” on his way to the river. Parson was not with him. He was down coxing his boat, and the thought of this only reminded Telson of his own bad luck, and added to his ill-temper.

He was roused from his moody reflections by the approach of two boys, who hailed him cheerily.

“What cheer, Telson, old man?” cried King. “How jolly blue you look! What’s the row?”

“Nothing,” replied Telson.

“We’ve just been down to see the boats. Awful spree to see old Riddell steering! isn’t it, Bosher?”

“Yes,” said Bosher; “but he’s better than he was.”

“Never mind, they won’t lick us,” said King. “You should have seen our boat! Bless you, those schoolhouse louts—”

“King, I’ll fight you!” said Telson, suddenly.

“Oh! beg pardon, old man, I didn’t—eh—what?”

This last remark was caused by the fact that Telson was taking off his coat. King, utterly taken aback by these ominous preparations, protested his sorrow, apologised, and generally humiliated himself before the offended schoolhouse junior.

But Telson had been looking out for a cause of quarrel, and now one had come, he was just in the humour for going through with the business. “Do you funk it?” he asked.

“Oh, no; not that, old man,” said King, still friendly, and very slowly unbuttoning his jacket; “but I’ll apologise, Telson, you know.”

“Don’t want any apologising; I want to fight,” said Telson. “I’ll take young Bosher too.”

“Oh!” said Bosher, rather alarmed, “I don’t want to fight.”

“I knew you were a beastly funk!” said Telson, scornfully.

“No, I’m not,” said Bosher, meekly.

“Get out of the way!” cried the majestic Telson, brushing past him towards King, who now stood with his coat off and a very apologetic face, ready for the young bantam’s disposal.

Telson and King fought there and then. It was not a very sanguinary contest, nor was it particularly scientific. It did Telson good, and it did not do King much harm. The only awkward thing about it was that neither side knew exactly when to stop. Telson claimed the victory after every round, and King respectfully disputed the statement. Telson thereupon taunted his adversary with “funking it,” and went at him again, very showy in action, but decidedly feeble in execution. King, by keeping one arm over his face and working the other gently up and down in front of his body, was able to ward off most of the blows aimed, and neither aspired nor aimed to hit out himself.

The “fight” might have lasted a week had not Game, coming up that way from the boats, caught sight of it. As it was neither an exciting combat nor a profitable one, the Parrett’s monitor considered it a good case for interfering, as well as for calling in the authority of the popular captain.

“King and Telson,” he said, stepping between the combatants, “stop it, and come to Bloomfield’s study after chapel. You know fighting in the ‘Big’ is against rules.”

“What are we to go to Bloomfield for?” demanded Telson, whose temper was still disturbed.

“For breaking rules,” said Game, as he walked on.

“Shall you go?” said Telson to King as the two slowly put on their coats.

“Yes, I suppose so, or he’ll give us a licking.”

“I shan’t go; he’s not the captain,” said Telson.

“I say, you’ll catch it if you don’t,” said King, with apprehension in his looks. “They’re always down on you if you don’t go to the captain when you’re told.”

“I tell you he’s not the captain,” replied Telson, testily, “and I shan’t go. If they want to report me they’ll have to do it to Riddell.”

With which virtuous decision he went his way, slightly solaced in his mind by the fight, and still more consoled by the prospects of a row ahead.

Telson was quite cute enough to see he had a strong position to start with, and if only he played his cards well he might score off the enemy with credit.

He therefore declined an invitation to Parson’s to partake of shrimps and jam at tea, and kept himself in his own house till the time appointed for reporting himself to the captain. Then, instead of going to Bloomfield, he presented himself before Riddell.

“Well?” said the captain, in his usual half-apologetic tone.

“Oh!” said Telson, “I’m reported, please, Riddell.”

“What for? Who reported you?” asked Riddell.

“Game—for fighting,” replied Telson.

“He hasn’t told me of it. You’d better come in the morning.”

“Oh! it’s all right,” said Telson. “I was fighting King in the ‘Big’ this afternoon.”

Riddell looked perplexed. This was the first case of a boy voluntarily delivering himself up to justice, and he hardly knew what to do.

However, he had found out thus much by this time—that it didn’t so much matter what he did as long as he did something.

“You know it’s against rules,” said he, as severely as he could, “and it’s not the first time you’ve done it. You must do fifty lines of Virgil, and stop in the house on Monday and Tuesday.”

“All right! Thanks,” said Telson, rapidly departing, and leaving Riddell quite bewildered by the apparent gratitude of his fag.

Telson betook himself quietly to his study and began to write his lines. It was evident from the restless way in which he looked up at every footstep outside he did not expect to remain long undisturbed at this harmless occupation. Nor was he disappointed.

In about ten minutes King entered and said, “I say, Telson, you’re in for it! You’re to go to Bloomfield directly.”

“What’s he given you?”

“A licking!” said King; “and stopped my play half a week. But I say, you’d better go—sharp!”

“I’m not going,” said Telson.

“What!” exclaimed King, in amazement.

“Cut it,” said Telson; “I’m busy.”

“He sent me to fetch you,” said King.

“Don’t I tell you I’m not coming? I’ll lick you, King, if you don’t cut it!”

King did “cut it” in a considerable state of alarm at the foolhardiness of his youthful comrade.

But Telson knew his business. No sooner had King gone than he took up his Virgil and paper, and repaired once more to Riddell’s study.

“Please, Riddell,” said he, meekly, “do you mind me writing my lines here?”

“Not a bit,” said Riddell, whose study was always open house to his youthful fag.

Telson said “Thank you,” and immediately deposited himself at the table, and quietly continued his work, awaiting the result of King’s message.

The result was not long in coming.

“Telson!” shouted a voice down the passage in less than five minutes.

Telson went to the door and shouted back, “What’s the row?”

“Where are you?” said the voice.

“Here,” replied Telson, shutting the door and resuming his work.

“Who’s that?” asked Riddell of his fag.

“I don’t know, unless it’s Game,” said Telson.

“Now then, Telson,” cried the voice again, “come here.”

“I can’t—I’m busy!” shouted Telson back from where he sat. At the same moment the door opened, and Game entered in a great state of wrath.

The appearance of a Parrett monitor “on duty” in the schoolhouse was always a strange spectacle; and Game, when he discovered into whose study he had marched, was a trifle embarrassed.

“What is it, Game?” asked Riddell, civilly.

“I want Telson,” said Game, who, by the way, had scarcely spoken to the new captain since his appointment.

“What do you want?” said Telson, boldly.

“Why didn’t you come when you were sent for?” demanded Game.

“Who sent for me?”

“Bloomfield.”

“I’m not Bloomfield’s fag,” retorted Telson. “I’m Riddell’s.”

“What did I tell you this afternoon?” said Game, beginning to suspect that he had fallen into a trap.

“Told me to go to the captain after chapel.”

“And what do you mean by not going?”

“I did go—I went to Riddell.”

“I told you to go to Bloomfield,” said Game, growing hot.

“Bloomfield’s not the captain,” retorted Telson, beginning to enjoy himself. “Riddell’s captain.”

“You were fighting in the ‘Big,’” said Game, looking uneasily at Riddell while he spoke.

“I know I was. Riddell’s potted me for it, haven’t you, Riddell?”

“I’ve given Telson fifty lines, and stopped his play two days,” said Riddell, quietly.

“Yes, and I’m writing the lines now,” said Telson, dipping his pen in the ink, and scarcely smothering a laugh.

Game, now fully aware of his rebuff, was glad of an opportunity of covering his defeat by a diversion.

“Look here,” said he, walking up to Telson, “I didn’t come here to be cheeked by you, I can tell you.”

“Who’s cheeking you?” said Telson. “I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” said Game. “I’m not going to be humbugged about by you.”

“I don’t want to humbug you about,” replied the junior, defiantly.

“I think there’s a mistake, you know,” said Riddell, thinking it right to interpose. “I’ve given him lines for fighting in the ‘Big,’ and there’s really no reason for his going to Bloomfield.”

“I told him to come to Bloomfield, and he ought to have come.”

“I don’t think you had any right to tell him to go to Bloomfield,” replied Riddell, with a boldness which astonished himself. “I’m responsible for stopping fights.”

“I don’t want you to tell me my business,” retorted Game, hotly; “who are you?”

Game could have thrashed the captain as easily as he could Telson, and the thought flashed through Riddell’s mind as he paused to reply. He would much have preferred saying nothing, but somehow the present seemed to be a sort of crisis in his life. If he gave in now, the chance of asserting himself in Willoughby might never return.

“I’m the captain,” he replied, steadily, “and as long as I am captain I’m responsible for the order of the school, and I prefer to do my own work!”

There was something in his look and tone as he uttered these inoffensive words which took Game aback and even startled Telson. It was not at all like what fellows had been used to from Riddell, certainly very unlike the manner he was generally credited with. But neither Telson nor Game were half so amazed at this little outburst as was the speaker himself. He was half frightened the moment he had uttered it. Now he was in for it with a vengeance! It would go out to all Willoughby, he knew, that he meant to stand by his guns. What an awful failure, if, after all, he should not be able to keep his word!

Game, with a forced smile which ill accorded with his inward astonishment, left the study without another word, heedless even of the laugh which Telson could no longer repress.

Of course many perverted stories of their adventure immediately got abroad in Willoughby. Telson’s highly-coloured version made it appear that a pitched battle had been fought between Game and the new captain, resulting in the defeat of the former chiefly through Telson’s instrumentality and assistance. As, however, this narrative did not appear in the same dress two hours running, it was soon taken for what it was worth, and most fellows preferred to believe the Parretts’ version of the story, which stated that Riddell had announced his intention of keeping order in Willoughby without the help of the monitors, and had had the cheek to tell Bloomfield to mind his own business.

The indignation of Parrett’s house on hearing such a story may be imagined. It was even past a joke. Bloomfield seriously offered to resign all pretensions to authority and let things take their course.

“It makes me seem,” he said, “as if I wanted to stick myself up. If he’s so sure of keeping order by himself, I don’t see what use it is my pretending to do it too.”

“It would serve him right if you did so,” said Game. “But it would be so awfully like giving in now, after you have once begun.”

This view of the matter decided the question. But Bloomfield all the same was considerably impressed by what had happened.

He knew in his heart that his only title to the position he assumed was the whim of his schoolfellows. He was a usurper, in fact, and however much he tried to persuade himself he was acting solely for the good of Willoughby, he knew those motives were only half sincere. And in spite of all his efforts, the school was as rowdy as ever. If he did thrash a batch of juniors one day, or stop some disorderly Limpets of their play, it never seemed to make much impression. Whereas the one or two rioters whom Riddell had ventured to tackle had somehow distinctly reformed their habits. How was it?

Bloomfield, as he thought the thing over, was not quite happy. He had been happier far last term when, under old Wyndham, he had exerted himself loyally for the good of the school. Was he not exerting himself now? Why should he be unhappy? It was not because he felt himself beaten—he scorned the idea—or that he felt unequal to the task before him. That too was preposterous. And yet, he felt, he certainly needed something. If only now he were first classic as well as captain of the clubs, what a pull he would have!

And as this thought occurred to him, he also recalled Crossfield’s famous speech at the last Parliament and the laughter which had greeted it. Could he translate “Balbus hopped over a wall” without the dictionary? Ah! He thought sometimes he would try, just to prove how slanderous Crossfield’s insinuation had been. The result of all these cogitations was that Bloomfield began to discover he was not quite such an “all-round” man as his friends had told him. And that being so, had not he better qualify himself like an honest man for his post?

He did not like to confide the idea to his friends for fear of their laughter, but for a week or two at least he actually read rather hard on the sly. The worst of it was, that till the examinations next term there could be nothing to show for it. For the Sixth did not change their places every day as the lower forms did. There was no chance of leaping to the top at a bound by some lucky answer, or even of advancing a single desk. And therefore, however hard he worked this term, he would never rise above eighteenth classic in the eyes of the school, and that was not—well, he would have liked to be a little higher for the sake of Willoughby!

The outlook was not encouraging. Even Wibberly, the toady, and Silk, the Welcher, were better men than he was at classics.

Suppose, instead of spending his energy over classics, he were to get up one or two rousing speeches for the Parliament, which should take the shine out of every one else and carry the school by storm? It was not a bad idea. But the chance would not come. No one could get up a fine speech on such a hackneyed subject as “That Rowing is a finer Sport than Cricket,” or that “The Study of Science in Public Schools should be Abolished!” And when he did attempt to prepare an oration on the subject of Compulsory Football, the first friend he showed it to pointed out so many faults in the composition of the first sentence that prudence prompted him to put the effusion in the fire.

Meanwhile his friends and admirers kept him busy. Their delight seemed to be to seize on all the youngsters they could by any pretext lay hands on and hale them to appear before him. By this means they imagined they were making his authority known and dealing a serious blow at the less obtrusive captain in the schoolhouse.

Poor Bloomfield had to administer justice right and left for every imaginable offence, and was so watched and prompted by officious admirers that he was constantly losing his head and making himself ridiculous.

He gave one boy a thrashing for being found with a paper dart in his hand, because Game had reported him; and to another, who had stolen a book, he gave only twenty lines, because he was in the second-eleven. Cusack and Welcher, who was caught climbing the schoolhouse elms one Monday, he sentenced to an hour’s detention; and Pilbury, whom he caught in the same act on Tuesday, he deprived of play for a week—that is, he said he was not to leave his house for a week. But Pilbury turned up the very next day in the “Big,” under the very nose of the Parrett captain, who did not even observe his presence.

It was this sort of thing which, as the term dragged on, made Bloomfield more and more uncomfortable with his position. It was all very well for Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly to declare that but for him Willoughby would have gone to the dogs—it was all very well of them to make game of and caricature Riddell and his failures. Seeing is believing; and Bloomfield, whose heart was honest, and whose common sense, when left to itself, was not altogether feeble, could not help making the unpleasant discovery that he was not doing very much after all for Willoughby.

But the boat-race was now coming on. There, at any rate, was a sphere in which he need fear no rival. With Parrett’s boat at the head of the river, and he its stroke, he would at any rate have one claim on the obedience of Willoughby which nobody could gainsay.

Back to IndexNext