Chapter Thirteen.

Chapter Thirteen.Telson and Parson go to an Evening Party.It was the Saturday before the boat-race, and the excitement of Willoughby was working up every hour. Boys who were generally in the habit of lying in bed till the chapel bell began to ring had been up at six for a week past, to look at the practices on the river. Parliament had adjourned till after the event, and even the doings of the rival captains indoors were forgotten for a while in prospect of the still more exciting contest out of doors.Everybody—even the Welchers, who at the last moment had given up any attempt to form a crew, and “scratched”—found it hard to think or talk of any other subject, and beyond the school bounds, in Shellport itself, a rumour of the coming race had got wind and attracted many outsiders to the river banks.But it was not the prospect of the coming race which this Saturday afternoon was agitating the mind of Master Henry Brown.Brown was a Limpet, belonging to the schoolhouse, who occupied the distinguished position of being the only day-boarder in Willoughby. His parents lived in Shellport, and thus had the benefit of the constant society of their dear Harry; while the school, on the other hand, was deprived of that advantage for a portion of every day in the term.It was probably to make up for this deprivation that Mr and Mrs Brown made it a practice of giving an evening party once a term, to which the doctor and his ladies were always invited, and also any two of dear Harry’s friends he liked to name.In this way the fond parents not only felt they were doing a polite and neighbourly act to their son’s schoolmaster and schoolfellows, but that they were also the means of bringing together teacher and pupil in an easy unconstrained manner which would hardly be possible within the walls of the school itself.It was the prospect of one of these delightful entertainments that was exhilarating Brown this Saturday afternoon.And it must be confessed the excitement was due to very opposite emotions in the breast of the day-boarder. The doctor and his ladies were coming! On the last two occasions they had been unfortunately prevented, which had been a great blow to Brown’s “pa and ma” but a relief to Brown himself. And now the prospect of meeting these awful dignitaries face to face in his own house put him in a small panic. But on the other hand, he knew there would be jellies, and savoury pie, and strawberries, and tipsy-cake, at home that night. He had seen them arrive from the confectioner’s that morning, and, Limpet as he was, Brown smiled inwardly as he meditated thereon. This was a second ground for excitement. And a third, equal to either of the other two, was that Parson and Telson were invited and were coming!He had tried one or two other fellows first. He had sounded Coates on the subject, but he unfortunately was engaged. He had pressed Wyndham to come, but Wyndham was busy that evening with the library. He had appealed to one or two other schoolhouse Limpets, but all, on hearing that the doctor and Co. were to be present, respectfully declined.Finally Brown dropped upon Telson, and condescendingly proposed to him to be present as one of his two friends.Telson thought the matter over and fancied it promised well. He liked the sound of the jellies and the tipsy-cake, and just at present he knew of no special reason for “funking” the doctor. As for the doctor’s ladies, Telson had never seen them, so they did not weigh particularly with him.“Who else is going?” he asked.“Oh, I don’t know yet,” said Brown, rather grandly. “I’ve one or two fellows in my mind.”“Why don’t you ask young Parson?” suggested Telson, innocently.“Parson? he’s not a schoolhouse kid.”“I know he’s not, but he and I are very chummy, you know. I wouldn’t mind coming if he went.”“I’ll see,” said Brown, mightily, but secretly relieved to know of some one likely to come as his second “friend.”“All right,” said Telson. “I’ve not promised, mind, if he can’t come.”“Oh, yes, you have!” replied Brown, severely, as he left the room.In due time he found Parson and broached the subject to him.Parson viewed the matter in very much the same light as Telson had. He liked the “tuck-in” better than the company.It never occurred to him it was odd that Brown should come all the way from the schoolhouse to invite him, a Parrett’s junior, to his feast; nor did it occur to him either that the invitation put him under any obligation to his would-be host.“I tell you what I’ll do,” said he, in a business-like manner, much as if Brown had asked him to clean out his study for him, “if you ask Telson to come too, I’m game.”Brown half doubted whether these two allies had not been consulting together on the subject, so startling was the similarity of their conditions.“Oh! Telson’s coming,” he said, in as offhand a way as he could.“He is! Then I’m on, old man; rather!” exclaimed the delighted Parson.“All right! Six-thirty, mind, and chokers!” said Brown, not a little relieved to have scraped up two friends for the festive occasion. At the appointed time—or rather before the appointed time, for they arrived at twenty minutes past six—our two heroes, arrayed in their Sunday jackets and white ties, presented themselves at the house of their host. They had “put it on” considerably in order to get ahead of the doctor’s party; for they considered that—as Parson expressed it—“it would be a jolly lot less blushy work” to be there before the head master arrived. There was no doubt about their success in this little manoeuvre, for when the servant opened the door the hall was full of rout seats, and a man, uncommonly like the greengrocer, in a dress coat, was busily unpacking plates out of a small hamper.Into this scene of confusion Parson and Telson were ushered, and here they were left standing for about five minutes, interested spectators, till the hall was cleared and the domestic had leisure to go and tell Master Harry of their arrival.Master Harry was dressing, and sent down word they had better go into the shoe-room till he came down. Which they did, and amused themselves during the interval with trying on Mr Brown’s Wellingtons, and tying together the laces of all Harry’s boots they could discover.In due time Harry appeared in grand array. “How jolly early you are!” was his hospitable greeting. “You said six-thirty, didn’t you?” said Telson. “Yes; it’s only just that now. Nobody will be here for a quarter of an hour yet. You had better come in and see ma.”The two guests obeyed cheerfully. Ma was in the drawing-room, busily adjusting the sashes of the three juvenile Misses Brown, with her mouth full of pins. So all she could do was to smile pleasantly at her two visitors and nod her head as they each came up and held out their hands to be shaken.“Better sit down,” suggested Brown.Parson and Telson thereupon retreated to the sofa, on the edge of which they sat for another five or ten minutes, looking about them complacently, and not attempting to break the silence of the scene.The silence, however, was soon broken by a loud double knock at the hall door, which was the signal for Mr Brown, senior, to bolt into the room in a guilty way with one cuff not quite buttoned, and stand on the hearthrug with as free-and-easy an air as if he had been waiting there a quarter of an hour at least. Knock followed knock in quick succession, and after the usual amount of fluttering in the hall, the greengrocer flung open the drawing-room door and ushered in Dr and Mrs Patrick, Miss Stringer, and half a dozen other arrivals.Our two heroes, sitting side by side, unnoticed on the edge of the sofa, had full opportunity to take stock of the various guests, most of whom were strangers to them.As every one appeared to be about the doctor’s age, things promised slowly for Parson and Telson, whose interest in Brown’s party decidedly languished when finally they found themselves swept off their perch and helplessly wedged into a corner by an impenetrable phalanx of skirts.But this was nothing compared with a discovery they made at the same time that they had missed their tea! There was a merry rattle of cups and spoons in a room far off, through the half-open door of which they could catch glimpses of persons drinking tea, and of Brown handing round biscuits and cake. The sight of this was too much to be borne. It was at least worth an effort to retrieve their fatal mistake.“I say,” said Telson, looking for his friend round the skirts of a stately female, “hadn’t we better go and help Brown, Parson?”Luckless youth! The lady in question, hearing the unexpected voice at her side, backed a little and caught sight of the speaker.“What, dear?” she said, benevolently, taking his hand and sitting down on the sofa; “and who are you, my little man?”“My little man” was fairly trapped; there was no escaping this seizure. Parson got away safely to the tea-room, and the sight of him dodging about among the cakes and cups only added to the misery of the hapless Telson.“Who are you, my little dear?” said the lady, who was no other than Miss Stringer herself.Telson, fortunately for him, was ignorant of the fact—as ignorant, indeed, as Miss Stringer was of the fact that the little dear she was addressing was a Willoughbite.“Telson, ma’am,” said Telson, following Parson with longing eyes.“Johnny?” said the lady.“No—Augustus,” replied the proud bearer of the name.Miss Stringer surveyed him benevolently. He was a nice-looking boy, was Telson—and the lady thought so too.“And will you give me a kiss, Augustus dear?” she said, with her most winning smile.What could Augustus do? A hundred desperate alternatives darted through his mind. He would bolt into the tea-room; he would shout for help; he would show fight; he would— But while he was making up his mind what he would do, he found himself being kissed on the cheek in the most barefaced manner, before everybody, by this extraordinary female; and, more than that, being actually set down on the sofa beside her! He only hoped Parson or Brown had not seen it.Well for Miss Stringer she did not guess the wrath that boiled in the bosom of her small companion!“And do you live here, dear?” inquired she, pleased to have this opportunity of studying the juvenile human nature in which she was so much interested.“No, I don’t,” said Telson, surlily; then, suddenly recollecting he was in polite though disagreeable company, he added, “ma’am.”“And where do you go to school, pray?” inquired the spinster.“Oh, Willoughby,” replied Telson, who had gradually given up all hope of tea, and was making up his mind to his fate.Miss Stringer gave a little start at this piece of information, and was on the point of betraying her identity, but she forbore. “After all,” thought she, “he might be more constrained if I were to enlighten him on that subject.”“So you go to Willoughby,” she said, with interest. “And how do you like it?”“Oh, well enough,” said Telson, relenting somewhat towards his companion as she showed no further signs of kissing him. “Nice lot of fellows, you know, on the whole.”“Indeed? Let me see, who is the head master?” inquired the lady.“Oh, Paddy—that old boy there by the fire. And that’s Mrs Paddy there with the curls.”Miss Stringer appeared to receive another shock at this piece of information, which, however, Telson, flattered by her evident interest in his remarks, did not take to heart.“And,” said she, presently, with a slight nervousness in her voice, “I hope you like them?”“Oh,” blurted out Telson, “Paddy’s not so bad, but the dame’s an old beast, you know—at least, so fellows say. I say,” added he, “don’t you tell her I said so!”Miss Stringer regarded him with a peculiar smile, which the boy at once took to mean a promise. So he rattled on. “And she’s got a sister, or somebody hangs about the place, worse than any of them. Why, when old Wynd—”“And,” said Miss Stringer, suddenly—“and which house are you in—in the schoolhouse?”“Hullo, then! you know Willoughby?” demanded Telson sharply.Miss Stringer looked confused, as well she might, but replied, “Ah! all public schools have a schoolhouse, have they not?”“I suppose so,” said Telson. “Yes, I’m a schoolhouse fellow. I’m the captain’s fag, you know—old Riddell.”“Mr Riddell is the captain, then?”“Rather! Do you know him?”Poor Miss Stringer! How sad it is, to be sure, when once we go astray. She, the Griffin of Willoughby, was as much at the mercy of this honest unconscious fag as if he had caught her in the act of picking a pocket. For how could she reveal herself now?“I—I think I met him once,” she said.“Where? at his home, was it?” asked Telson, who seemed to be urged by a most fiendish curiosity on the subject.“No,” faltered the lady; “it was—er—I think it was at Dr Patrick’s.”“Very likely,” said Telson. “He was up there to tea, I know, just before he was made captain. But I didn’t know any one else was there except Paddy and his hyenas.”“His what, sir!” exclaimed Miss Stringer, in a voice which nearly startled Telson off the sofa.“I mean, you know, the fellows—?”“And where do you live at home?” asked Miss Stringer, determined to steer clear of this awkward topic.“Oh, London,” said Telson; “do you know London?”“Yes—it is indeed a wonderful place,” said Miss Stringer, “and whereabouts does your father live?”“Oh, my governor’s in India,” began Telson.“Your who?” said Miss Stringer, with a feeble attempt at severity.“My dad, you know; and I live with my grandfather. Jolly old boy. He was at Willoughby when he was a boy. Did you know him then? I expect he’ll recollect you, you know.”“I do not think,” said Miss Stringer, with a very ruffled countenance, “that your grandfather and I ever met.”“Oh, I don’t know. He recollects most of the old people down here, you know. I say, there’s Parson beckoning; he’s my chum, you know. I expect he wants me to help with some of the things.”And so saying off he went, leaving Miss Stringer, so to speak, fairly doubled up, and in a state of mind which may be more easily imagined than described.Every one observed how singularly silent and retiring Miss Stringer was all that evening. Some attributed it to the heat of the room, others feared she might not be well, others guessed she found the Browns’ entertainment very slow; but no one, least of all Telson himself, had a suspicion of the true reason.That young gentleman and his ally, after finding out that there was not much chance of their services being required to “look after the things”—the greengrocer being quite able to deal with the business single-handed—found themselves once more stranded in the drawing-room, and gradually getting edged back by the skirts, when an unlooked-for distinction rescued them from their perilous situation.The distinction was none other than a sign of recognition from the doctor and a friendly signal to approach.Like a pair of small well-trained circus ponies the two friends obeyed the summons and climbed over the intervening skirts.“Well, Telson and Parson,” said the doctor, shaking hands, “I’d no idea you were here—how are you?”“We got a captain’s permit. Quite well, thank you, sir.”“My dear, these are two of our boys, Telson and Parson.”Mrs Patrick regarded the two boys in her usual precise way, and said,—“Among so many boys under our roof, I find it impossible to remember every face. And which is Master Telson?”“This is Telson,” said Parson. “He’s in the schoolhouse, you know—”“I do not know,” said Mrs Patrick, severely.“Don’t you?” said Parson, with genuine astonishment. “He’s captain’s fag, you know.”“I must repeat I do not know,” reiterated Mrs Patrick.“Oh, well, he’s only been that a little time, since the sports, you know, when old Wyndham left. I say, ma’am, are you going to be at the race on Wednesday?”Mrs Patrick looked somewhat baffled as she replied,—“I think it very possible.”“It’ll be a jolly good race,” said Telson. “Old Parson is coxing Parrett’s, and it looks like a win for them. Only we aren’t so bad, and now Gilks is out of the boat and Riddell’s settled as cox we ought to make a race of it. Fairbairn’s quite as long a reach as Bloomfield, only he doesn’t kick his stretcher so hard—does he, Parson?”“Rather not,” said Parson. “That’s where we get the pull of you; besides, I’m a lighter weight than Riddell, though he’s boiled down a good bit since he went into training.”“Good deal depends on who gets the inside berth,” said Telson, delightfully oblivious of the bewildered Mrs Paddy’s presence. “It’s a jolly long swing round Willow Point for the outsiders—half a length at least.”“Yes; but it’s just as bad round the corner at the finish the other way.”“Ah! talking about the race, I see,” said the doctor, returning to the group at this point. “So, Telson, Riddell’s to steer your boat after all.”“Yes, sir,” said Telson; “it’s settled now.”“So that the schoolhouse boat is still the captain’s boat, eh? Ah! Parson, though, I suppose, wants the Parrett’s boat to win.”“Parson coxes for Parrett’s,” said Telson.“Parrett—I mean Mr Parrett—stopped my river-play a week, sir,” said Parson, by way of explaining the circumstance; “but I’ve had captain’s leave to row out since, so they kept me in the boat.”This sporting conversation went on for some time longer, Mrs Patrick not venturing again to join in. At last the doctor broke up the conference of his own accord, and our two heroes, once more adrift, went out for a lounge in the hall, as they explained, to cool themselves, but really to be at hand for a bolt into the supper-room whenever the happy moment should arrive.It did arrive after what seemed to be a week’s suspense and then the hardships and perils of the evening were fully compensated for. The two friends got into a snug corner, “far from the madding crowd,” where, to put it mildly, they spent a very busy half-hour. They managed it well. Neither boy helped himself—he wouldn’t be so greedy; but each helped the other. When Telson saw Parson’s plate getting empty of sandwiches, he most attentively fetched him a clean one with a trifle on it; and when Telson had finally got through his jellies (for he had more than one) it was Parson’s brotherly hand which assisted him to an ice!As they sat there they positively wished Brown’s “pa and ma” gave a party once a week!But all good things come to an end, and so did this grand party. Guests began to depart, and among the earliest were the doctor and his ladies. The doctor came up to the boys, and said, kindly, “We’re driving up; you two had better come with us, there’s plenty of room on the box. Now, my love—now, Miss Stringer.”Miss Stringer! Telson nearly fainted as he saw who it was who answered to the name.“Let’s walk up,” he said, entreatingly, to Parson.“I don’t mind, only Paddy—”“Now then, boys,” cried the doctor, “there’s room for one inside. Telson, will you come?”Telson bounded up on to the box without another word, and Parson beside him, and the fly drove off.“Oh, Parson, old man, I’m a gone coon!” exclaimed Telson, in tones of abject misery, as soon as they were clear of the Browns’ premises.“Why, what’s up?”“Miss Stringer!”“What about her? Isn’t she a cad, eh?”“Yes, andI told her so,” groaned Telson; “I didn’t know who she was, and I said—”“Hullo, I say, look there!” exclaimed Parson, suddenly catching his friend by the arm.They were passing the Aquarium, which at that moment was disgorging its visitors. Among those who emerged exactly as the doctor’s fly passed were three boys, whom Telson and Parson recognised in a moment.They were Silk and Gilks and another younger boy, who seemed to shrink from observation, and whose head was turned another way as the fly passed. The three, immediately on gaining the street, started to run towards Willoughby ahead of the fly.The two boys on the box pulled their caps over their eyes, and said not a word till the truants were clear. Then Telson said, “That was young Wyndham!”“I know. I wonder if Paddy saw them?”“Shouldn’t think so. And they didn’t see us. I say, will they get in before us?”“It’ll be a shave if they do. What a row there’ll be if they don’t!”It was a curious thing that almost immediately after this short dialogue Telson’s cap fell off into the road, and the fly had to be pulled up while he and Parson got down and looked for it. It was a dark night, and the cap took some time to find. When finally it was recovered, and progress was resumed, full five minutes had been lost over the search, by which time the truants had got a clear half-mile to the good, and were safe.

It was the Saturday before the boat-race, and the excitement of Willoughby was working up every hour. Boys who were generally in the habit of lying in bed till the chapel bell began to ring had been up at six for a week past, to look at the practices on the river. Parliament had adjourned till after the event, and even the doings of the rival captains indoors were forgotten for a while in prospect of the still more exciting contest out of doors.

Everybody—even the Welchers, who at the last moment had given up any attempt to form a crew, and “scratched”—found it hard to think or talk of any other subject, and beyond the school bounds, in Shellport itself, a rumour of the coming race had got wind and attracted many outsiders to the river banks.

But it was not the prospect of the coming race which this Saturday afternoon was agitating the mind of Master Henry Brown.

Brown was a Limpet, belonging to the schoolhouse, who occupied the distinguished position of being the only day-boarder in Willoughby. His parents lived in Shellport, and thus had the benefit of the constant society of their dear Harry; while the school, on the other hand, was deprived of that advantage for a portion of every day in the term.

It was probably to make up for this deprivation that Mr and Mrs Brown made it a practice of giving an evening party once a term, to which the doctor and his ladies were always invited, and also any two of dear Harry’s friends he liked to name.

In this way the fond parents not only felt they were doing a polite and neighbourly act to their son’s schoolmaster and schoolfellows, but that they were also the means of bringing together teacher and pupil in an easy unconstrained manner which would hardly be possible within the walls of the school itself.

It was the prospect of one of these delightful entertainments that was exhilarating Brown this Saturday afternoon.

And it must be confessed the excitement was due to very opposite emotions in the breast of the day-boarder. The doctor and his ladies were coming! On the last two occasions they had been unfortunately prevented, which had been a great blow to Brown’s “pa and ma” but a relief to Brown himself. And now the prospect of meeting these awful dignitaries face to face in his own house put him in a small panic. But on the other hand, he knew there would be jellies, and savoury pie, and strawberries, and tipsy-cake, at home that night. He had seen them arrive from the confectioner’s that morning, and, Limpet as he was, Brown smiled inwardly as he meditated thereon. This was a second ground for excitement. And a third, equal to either of the other two, was that Parson and Telson were invited and were coming!

He had tried one or two other fellows first. He had sounded Coates on the subject, but he unfortunately was engaged. He had pressed Wyndham to come, but Wyndham was busy that evening with the library. He had appealed to one or two other schoolhouse Limpets, but all, on hearing that the doctor and Co. were to be present, respectfully declined.

Finally Brown dropped upon Telson, and condescendingly proposed to him to be present as one of his two friends.

Telson thought the matter over and fancied it promised well. He liked the sound of the jellies and the tipsy-cake, and just at present he knew of no special reason for “funking” the doctor. As for the doctor’s ladies, Telson had never seen them, so they did not weigh particularly with him.

“Who else is going?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know yet,” said Brown, rather grandly. “I’ve one or two fellows in my mind.”

“Why don’t you ask young Parson?” suggested Telson, innocently.

“Parson? he’s not a schoolhouse kid.”

“I know he’s not, but he and I are very chummy, you know. I wouldn’t mind coming if he went.”

“I’ll see,” said Brown, mightily, but secretly relieved to know of some one likely to come as his second “friend.”

“All right,” said Telson. “I’ve not promised, mind, if he can’t come.”

“Oh, yes, you have!” replied Brown, severely, as he left the room.

In due time he found Parson and broached the subject to him.

Parson viewed the matter in very much the same light as Telson had. He liked the “tuck-in” better than the company.

It never occurred to him it was odd that Brown should come all the way from the schoolhouse to invite him, a Parrett’s junior, to his feast; nor did it occur to him either that the invitation put him under any obligation to his would-be host.

“I tell you what I’ll do,” said he, in a business-like manner, much as if Brown had asked him to clean out his study for him, “if you ask Telson to come too, I’m game.”

Brown half doubted whether these two allies had not been consulting together on the subject, so startling was the similarity of their conditions.

“Oh! Telson’s coming,” he said, in as offhand a way as he could.

“He is! Then I’m on, old man; rather!” exclaimed the delighted Parson.

“All right! Six-thirty, mind, and chokers!” said Brown, not a little relieved to have scraped up two friends for the festive occasion. At the appointed time—or rather before the appointed time, for they arrived at twenty minutes past six—our two heroes, arrayed in their Sunday jackets and white ties, presented themselves at the house of their host. They had “put it on” considerably in order to get ahead of the doctor’s party; for they considered that—as Parson expressed it—“it would be a jolly lot less blushy work” to be there before the head master arrived. There was no doubt about their success in this little manoeuvre, for when the servant opened the door the hall was full of rout seats, and a man, uncommonly like the greengrocer, in a dress coat, was busily unpacking plates out of a small hamper.

Into this scene of confusion Parson and Telson were ushered, and here they were left standing for about five minutes, interested spectators, till the hall was cleared and the domestic had leisure to go and tell Master Harry of their arrival.

Master Harry was dressing, and sent down word they had better go into the shoe-room till he came down. Which they did, and amused themselves during the interval with trying on Mr Brown’s Wellingtons, and tying together the laces of all Harry’s boots they could discover.

In due time Harry appeared in grand array. “How jolly early you are!” was his hospitable greeting. “You said six-thirty, didn’t you?” said Telson. “Yes; it’s only just that now. Nobody will be here for a quarter of an hour yet. You had better come in and see ma.”

The two guests obeyed cheerfully. Ma was in the drawing-room, busily adjusting the sashes of the three juvenile Misses Brown, with her mouth full of pins. So all she could do was to smile pleasantly at her two visitors and nod her head as they each came up and held out their hands to be shaken.

“Better sit down,” suggested Brown.

Parson and Telson thereupon retreated to the sofa, on the edge of which they sat for another five or ten minutes, looking about them complacently, and not attempting to break the silence of the scene.

The silence, however, was soon broken by a loud double knock at the hall door, which was the signal for Mr Brown, senior, to bolt into the room in a guilty way with one cuff not quite buttoned, and stand on the hearthrug with as free-and-easy an air as if he had been waiting there a quarter of an hour at least. Knock followed knock in quick succession, and after the usual amount of fluttering in the hall, the greengrocer flung open the drawing-room door and ushered in Dr and Mrs Patrick, Miss Stringer, and half a dozen other arrivals.

Our two heroes, sitting side by side, unnoticed on the edge of the sofa, had full opportunity to take stock of the various guests, most of whom were strangers to them.

As every one appeared to be about the doctor’s age, things promised slowly for Parson and Telson, whose interest in Brown’s party decidedly languished when finally they found themselves swept off their perch and helplessly wedged into a corner by an impenetrable phalanx of skirts.

But this was nothing compared with a discovery they made at the same time that they had missed their tea! There was a merry rattle of cups and spoons in a room far off, through the half-open door of which they could catch glimpses of persons drinking tea, and of Brown handing round biscuits and cake. The sight of this was too much to be borne. It was at least worth an effort to retrieve their fatal mistake.

“I say,” said Telson, looking for his friend round the skirts of a stately female, “hadn’t we better go and help Brown, Parson?”

Luckless youth! The lady in question, hearing the unexpected voice at her side, backed a little and caught sight of the speaker.

“What, dear?” she said, benevolently, taking his hand and sitting down on the sofa; “and who are you, my little man?”

“My little man” was fairly trapped; there was no escaping this seizure. Parson got away safely to the tea-room, and the sight of him dodging about among the cakes and cups only added to the misery of the hapless Telson.

“Who are you, my little dear?” said the lady, who was no other than Miss Stringer herself.

Telson, fortunately for him, was ignorant of the fact—as ignorant, indeed, as Miss Stringer was of the fact that the little dear she was addressing was a Willoughbite.

“Telson, ma’am,” said Telson, following Parson with longing eyes.

“Johnny?” said the lady.

“No—Augustus,” replied the proud bearer of the name.

Miss Stringer surveyed him benevolently. He was a nice-looking boy, was Telson—and the lady thought so too.

“And will you give me a kiss, Augustus dear?” she said, with her most winning smile.

What could Augustus do? A hundred desperate alternatives darted through his mind. He would bolt into the tea-room; he would shout for help; he would show fight; he would— But while he was making up his mind what he would do, he found himself being kissed on the cheek in the most barefaced manner, before everybody, by this extraordinary female; and, more than that, being actually set down on the sofa beside her! He only hoped Parson or Brown had not seen it.

Well for Miss Stringer she did not guess the wrath that boiled in the bosom of her small companion!

“And do you live here, dear?” inquired she, pleased to have this opportunity of studying the juvenile human nature in which she was so much interested.

“No, I don’t,” said Telson, surlily; then, suddenly recollecting he was in polite though disagreeable company, he added, “ma’am.”

“And where do you go to school, pray?” inquired the spinster.

“Oh, Willoughby,” replied Telson, who had gradually given up all hope of tea, and was making up his mind to his fate.

Miss Stringer gave a little start at this piece of information, and was on the point of betraying her identity, but she forbore. “After all,” thought she, “he might be more constrained if I were to enlighten him on that subject.”

“So you go to Willoughby,” she said, with interest. “And how do you like it?”

“Oh, well enough,” said Telson, relenting somewhat towards his companion as she showed no further signs of kissing him. “Nice lot of fellows, you know, on the whole.”

“Indeed? Let me see, who is the head master?” inquired the lady.

“Oh, Paddy—that old boy there by the fire. And that’s Mrs Paddy there with the curls.”

Miss Stringer appeared to receive another shock at this piece of information, which, however, Telson, flattered by her evident interest in his remarks, did not take to heart.

“And,” said she, presently, with a slight nervousness in her voice, “I hope you like them?”

“Oh,” blurted out Telson, “Paddy’s not so bad, but the dame’s an old beast, you know—at least, so fellows say. I say,” added he, “don’t you tell her I said so!”

Miss Stringer regarded him with a peculiar smile, which the boy at once took to mean a promise. So he rattled on. “And she’s got a sister, or somebody hangs about the place, worse than any of them. Why, when old Wynd—”

“And,” said Miss Stringer, suddenly—“and which house are you in—in the schoolhouse?”

“Hullo, then! you know Willoughby?” demanded Telson sharply.

Miss Stringer looked confused, as well she might, but replied, “Ah! all public schools have a schoolhouse, have they not?”

“I suppose so,” said Telson. “Yes, I’m a schoolhouse fellow. I’m the captain’s fag, you know—old Riddell.”

“Mr Riddell is the captain, then?”

“Rather! Do you know him?”

Poor Miss Stringer! How sad it is, to be sure, when once we go astray. She, the Griffin of Willoughby, was as much at the mercy of this honest unconscious fag as if he had caught her in the act of picking a pocket. For how could she reveal herself now?

“I—I think I met him once,” she said.

“Where? at his home, was it?” asked Telson, who seemed to be urged by a most fiendish curiosity on the subject.

“No,” faltered the lady; “it was—er—I think it was at Dr Patrick’s.”

“Very likely,” said Telson. “He was up there to tea, I know, just before he was made captain. But I didn’t know any one else was there except Paddy and his hyenas.”

“His what, sir!” exclaimed Miss Stringer, in a voice which nearly startled Telson off the sofa.

“I mean, you know, the fellows—?”

“And where do you live at home?” asked Miss Stringer, determined to steer clear of this awkward topic.

“Oh, London,” said Telson; “do you know London?”

“Yes—it is indeed a wonderful place,” said Miss Stringer, “and whereabouts does your father live?”

“Oh, my governor’s in India,” began Telson.

“Your who?” said Miss Stringer, with a feeble attempt at severity.

“My dad, you know; and I live with my grandfather. Jolly old boy. He was at Willoughby when he was a boy. Did you know him then? I expect he’ll recollect you, you know.”

“I do not think,” said Miss Stringer, with a very ruffled countenance, “that your grandfather and I ever met.”

“Oh, I don’t know. He recollects most of the old people down here, you know. I say, there’s Parson beckoning; he’s my chum, you know. I expect he wants me to help with some of the things.”

And so saying off he went, leaving Miss Stringer, so to speak, fairly doubled up, and in a state of mind which may be more easily imagined than described.

Every one observed how singularly silent and retiring Miss Stringer was all that evening. Some attributed it to the heat of the room, others feared she might not be well, others guessed she found the Browns’ entertainment very slow; but no one, least of all Telson himself, had a suspicion of the true reason.

That young gentleman and his ally, after finding out that there was not much chance of their services being required to “look after the things”—the greengrocer being quite able to deal with the business single-handed—found themselves once more stranded in the drawing-room, and gradually getting edged back by the skirts, when an unlooked-for distinction rescued them from their perilous situation.

The distinction was none other than a sign of recognition from the doctor and a friendly signal to approach.

Like a pair of small well-trained circus ponies the two friends obeyed the summons and climbed over the intervening skirts.

“Well, Telson and Parson,” said the doctor, shaking hands, “I’d no idea you were here—how are you?”

“We got a captain’s permit. Quite well, thank you, sir.”

“My dear, these are two of our boys, Telson and Parson.”

Mrs Patrick regarded the two boys in her usual precise way, and said,—

“Among so many boys under our roof, I find it impossible to remember every face. And which is Master Telson?”

“This is Telson,” said Parson. “He’s in the schoolhouse, you know—”

“I do not know,” said Mrs Patrick, severely.

“Don’t you?” said Parson, with genuine astonishment. “He’s captain’s fag, you know.”

“I must repeat I do not know,” reiterated Mrs Patrick.

“Oh, well, he’s only been that a little time, since the sports, you know, when old Wyndham left. I say, ma’am, are you going to be at the race on Wednesday?”

Mrs Patrick looked somewhat baffled as she replied,—

“I think it very possible.”

“It’ll be a jolly good race,” said Telson. “Old Parson is coxing Parrett’s, and it looks like a win for them. Only we aren’t so bad, and now Gilks is out of the boat and Riddell’s settled as cox we ought to make a race of it. Fairbairn’s quite as long a reach as Bloomfield, only he doesn’t kick his stretcher so hard—does he, Parson?”

“Rather not,” said Parson. “That’s where we get the pull of you; besides, I’m a lighter weight than Riddell, though he’s boiled down a good bit since he went into training.”

“Good deal depends on who gets the inside berth,” said Telson, delightfully oblivious of the bewildered Mrs Paddy’s presence. “It’s a jolly long swing round Willow Point for the outsiders—half a length at least.”

“Yes; but it’s just as bad round the corner at the finish the other way.”

“Ah! talking about the race, I see,” said the doctor, returning to the group at this point. “So, Telson, Riddell’s to steer your boat after all.”

“Yes, sir,” said Telson; “it’s settled now.”

“So that the schoolhouse boat is still the captain’s boat, eh? Ah! Parson, though, I suppose, wants the Parrett’s boat to win.”

“Parson coxes for Parrett’s,” said Telson.

“Parrett—I mean Mr Parrett—stopped my river-play a week, sir,” said Parson, by way of explaining the circumstance; “but I’ve had captain’s leave to row out since, so they kept me in the boat.”

This sporting conversation went on for some time longer, Mrs Patrick not venturing again to join in. At last the doctor broke up the conference of his own accord, and our two heroes, once more adrift, went out for a lounge in the hall, as they explained, to cool themselves, but really to be at hand for a bolt into the supper-room whenever the happy moment should arrive.

It did arrive after what seemed to be a week’s suspense and then the hardships and perils of the evening were fully compensated for. The two friends got into a snug corner, “far from the madding crowd,” where, to put it mildly, they spent a very busy half-hour. They managed it well. Neither boy helped himself—he wouldn’t be so greedy; but each helped the other. When Telson saw Parson’s plate getting empty of sandwiches, he most attentively fetched him a clean one with a trifle on it; and when Telson had finally got through his jellies (for he had more than one) it was Parson’s brotherly hand which assisted him to an ice!

As they sat there they positively wished Brown’s “pa and ma” gave a party once a week!

But all good things come to an end, and so did this grand party. Guests began to depart, and among the earliest were the doctor and his ladies. The doctor came up to the boys, and said, kindly, “We’re driving up; you two had better come with us, there’s plenty of room on the box. Now, my love—now, Miss Stringer.”

Miss Stringer! Telson nearly fainted as he saw who it was who answered to the name.

“Let’s walk up,” he said, entreatingly, to Parson.

“I don’t mind, only Paddy—”

“Now then, boys,” cried the doctor, “there’s room for one inside. Telson, will you come?”

Telson bounded up on to the box without another word, and Parson beside him, and the fly drove off.

“Oh, Parson, old man, I’m a gone coon!” exclaimed Telson, in tones of abject misery, as soon as they were clear of the Browns’ premises.

“Why, what’s up?”

“Miss Stringer!”

“What about her? Isn’t she a cad, eh?”

“Yes, andI told her so,” groaned Telson; “I didn’t know who she was, and I said—”

“Hullo, I say, look there!” exclaimed Parson, suddenly catching his friend by the arm.

They were passing the Aquarium, which at that moment was disgorging its visitors. Among those who emerged exactly as the doctor’s fly passed were three boys, whom Telson and Parson recognised in a moment.

They were Silk and Gilks and another younger boy, who seemed to shrink from observation, and whose head was turned another way as the fly passed. The three, immediately on gaining the street, started to run towards Willoughby ahead of the fly.

The two boys on the box pulled their caps over their eyes, and said not a word till the truants were clear. Then Telson said, “That was young Wyndham!”

“I know. I wonder if Paddy saw them?”

“Shouldn’t think so. And they didn’t see us. I say, will they get in before us?”

“It’ll be a shave if they do. What a row there’ll be if they don’t!”

It was a curious thing that almost immediately after this short dialogue Telson’s cap fell off into the road, and the fly had to be pulled up while he and Parson got down and looked for it. It was a dark night, and the cap took some time to find. When finally it was recovered, and progress was resumed, full five minutes had been lost over the search, by which time the truants had got a clear half-mile to the good, and were safe.

Chapter Fourteen.The Boat-Race.The few days that intervened between the Saturday of Brown’s party and the Wednesday of the great race were days of restless suspense in Willoughby. Even Welch’s caught the contagion, and regretted at the last hour that they had withdrawn from the all-important contest. As to the other two Houses, there never had been a year when the excitement ran so high or the rivalry grew so keen. Somehow the entire politics of Willoughby appeared to be mixed up in the contest, and it seemed as if the result of this one struggle was to decide everything.The crews had worked hard up to the last, watched morning and evening by anxious spectators from the bank. The trials had been carefully noted and times compared, the variations in style had been eagerly criticised, the weights of the rowers had become public property, and in short every detail likely to influence the result was a subject of almost painful interest to the eager partisans on either side.And every hour seemed to promise a closer race. Not that Parrett’s had fallen off. On the contrary, they still remained what they had been all along, the smartest and strongest crew that Willoughby had ever put upon the river. But the schoolhouse boat had made wonderful strides. It was long since it had ceased to be the laughingstock of the hostile juniors, and it was some time since its appearance and work had begun to cause a shade of uneasiness in the minds of a few of the rival house. Fairbairn, far from Bloomfield’s match in physique or style, had yet displayed an amount of steady, determined work which had astonished most fellows, and inspired with confidence not only his partisans on the bank, but the three oarsmen at his back. By dint of patient, untiring practice he had worked his crew up to a pitch of training scarcely hoped for, and every day the schoolhouse boat had gained in style and speed.Had the race been a fortnight or three weeks later few boys would have cared to prophesy definitely as to the result. As it was, though Parrett’s was morally bound to win, it was clear the race would be a fierce one, and hardly fought every foot.Such was the general opinion in Willoughby that Tuesday evening after the last practice had come to an end, and when the boats were finally housed for the night only to reappear next day in racing trim.Young Wyndham, as he sat in Riddell’s study with his books before him, could as soon have done a stroke of work as fly over the schoolhouse elms. Indeed, it was such a farce for him even to make the attempt that he shut up his books and gave up the idea.“I say, Riddell,” he said, presently, addressing the captain, who, though excited too after his own fashion, was poring determinedly over his work.“Well?” asked he, looking up.“I say,doyou think there’s any chance of our boat winning?”The boy asked the question so anxiously that one might have supposed his whole happiness in life depended on the answer.“It’s very hard to say,” said Riddell. “I think we have some chance, at any rate.”“You did the course in as good time as Parrett’s yesterday, didn’t you?” said Wyndham.“Yes, but we had a better tide,” said Riddell.Wyndham’s face clouded, for he knew it was true.“Youmustwin, I say,” said he, almost fiercely.Riddell smiled.“I mean to oblige you if I can, for one,” said he.“If they win,” said Wyndham, “it’ll be—”But what it would be the youthful enthusiast lacked words to express.Riddell turned again to his writing.“Hadn’t you better finish your work?” said he.“Oh, I can’t!” exclaimed Wyndham. “Who could work just before the race?”So saying, he got up and gathered together his things.Riddell was sorry for this. He had hoped the boy would stay. Amid all his fresh duties the new captain had kept his eye on his old friend’s brother, and of late he had seen things which made him uneasy. Wyndham was on friendly terms again with his two undesirable patrons, and simultaneously his work in the library and his visits to Riddell’s own study had become less regular. It all meant something, Riddell knew; and he knew, too, that that something was not any good. He made one attempt to detain the boy.“You aren’t going?” he said kindly.“Yes. It’s really no use grinding, to-night, Riddell.”“Won’t you stop and keep me company, though?” asked the captain.“You’re working,” said the boy. “I’ll come to-morrow. Good-night.”And he went, leaving Riddell very uncomfortable. Why should he be so eager to go? Why should he always seem so restless now whenever he was in that study? Why should he always avoid any reference to—Ah! here he was back again. A gleam of hope shot through Riddell’s breast as he saw the door open and Wyndham re-enter. Perhaps, after all, the boy was going to stay and give him a chance. But no, Wyndham had come back for his knife, which Riddell had borrowed for sharpening a pencil. That was all he wanted; and having recovered it he departed quickly.Riddell spent the rest of that evening in low spirits. He had been baulked, and worse than that, he felt other hands were playing their game more successfully, and that amongst them all young Wyndham was going wrong.So the eve of the great boat-race was anything but a cheerful evening for the new captain.But with the morning even Riddell could hardly harbour any thoughts outside the event of the day. Morning school that Wednesday was a farce all over Willoughby. Even the doctor seemed absent-minded, while one or two of the junior masters gave up the attempt in despair.The race was fixed for three o’clock, when the tide would be running up at its fastest, and long before that hour every advantageous point of view on the banks was secured by eager spectators. These were by no means all Willoughby boys, for the school boat-race was always more or less of an event in Shellport itself, whose inhabitants flocked in large numbers to the scene of the contest.Carnages lined the banks on either side for a considerable distance, and as usual the doctor’s party assembled in great force on Willow Point. The towing-path was jealously kept clear for the schoolboys, who trooped down in force the moment after lunch, and took possession of their places along the course. Some crowded at the starting-point. These were chiefly the more athletic heroes of the school, whose flannels and running-shoes bespoke their intention of following the race on foot. Others, less actively inclined, massed at various critical points along the course, some at the finish, but more opposite Willow Point, which being just three-quarters of the way down, and almost within view of the goal, was generally considered the most advantageous point of view of the whole race.At this point, in a snug corner above the path, with a fine view of the sharp bend of the river, and of the reaches up and down stream which met there, sat Gilks and Silk. They knew probably as well as any one that the crisis of the race was pretty sure to be played out at Willow Corner, and not a few late comers looked up at their commanding perch with envy.“Where’s the young ’un?” said Silk.“Running with the race,” said Gilks. “I couldn’t dissuade him. He’s gone daft over the thing.”Silk laughed.“I’m afraid it’ll be a blow to him, then. Young fool. I say, he was at his father confessor’s last night. I wonder if he’ll let out about Saturday night?”“Not he. That is,” said Gilks, viciously, “I don’t think he will.”“Well, it might be warmish for him if he did.”“Very warmish,” said Gilks, with a scowl, which it was just as well for Wyndham’s comfort he did not see.There was a silence, during which Gilks whistled to himself, and Silk regarded his ally with a smile.“You are a nice boy!” he broke out presently. And the laugh which greeted this very unoriginal observation closed the conversation for a time.Meanwhile, down at the boat-house things were getting very lively.Telson, Philpot, Pilbury, Cusack, King, and other of our juvenile friends, who, with their usual modesty, proposed to run along with the race, and now formed part of the crowd which awaited the start, kept up a boisterous chorus of shouts, some of defiance, some of derision, some of applause, addressed alternately to foe and friend.The young Welchers especially, having no personal interest in the race, felt themselves delightfully free to make themselves objectionable to all parties, and took full advantage of the circumstance.They howled at everybody and everything. Whenever King and Bosher greeted the appearance of the Parrett’s boat with a friendly cheer they hooted; and no sooner did Telson sing out to welcome the crew of his house, but they caterwauled derisively in the same direction.“Jolly lottheyknow about rowing!” yelled Cusack.“Why don’t you give them some lessons?” retorted Telson, hotly.“Boo—hoo! Who got kicked out his boat! Young muller, couldn’t steer a tub.”“I’ll tub you, young Pilbury, see if I don’t, presently,” replied Telson.“Never mind them,” shouted King, “can’t even make up a boat; pack of funks, all of them!”“Hullo! who are you?” cried Philpot, rounding on these new assailants. “We’d have a boat, never fear, if there was any chance of fair play.”“Lot of fair play you’d want, to turn the boat round and round and catch crabs every other second!”“There are our fellows!” cried Wyndham, raising a loud cheer as Fairbairn, Coates, Porter, Crossfield, and Riddell appeared on the landing stage.“Hurrah! schoolhouse, hurrah!”“Ye-ow, look at them—there’s a lot!” hooted the Welchers.“There’s old Parson!” yelled Telson, Bosher, and King, as the youthful hero in question strutted magnificently down to the landing.“What cheer, stuck-up jackass?” howled the Welchers, with an insulting laugh; “why don’t you grin?”This remark was suggested by Parson grandly waving his handkerchief and smiling to his admiring friends.But it is time to quit these friends and make our way to the boats themselves, which now lie waiting for their crews to embark.This is always a tedious process for onlookers. The shifting of stretchers, the getting-out of oars, the arrangement of rudder strings, and the delicate trimming of the boat, may be interesting enough to the crews themselves, but only feed the impatience of onlookers.And as usual hitches are bound to occur. Coates has got the oar belonging to Crossfield. And when this mistake has been remedied, Bloomfield in the other boat suddenly discovers that his stretcher is a little weak, and insists on waiting till a new one is brought.Finally everything is ready, and the two boats slowly swing out into mid-stream. The schoolhouse boat has won the toss, for it takes up the inside berth, amid the triumphant cheers of its partisans.“Hurrah! you’re inside,” they cry.“Mind you put them into the bank,” is the derisive echo of the enemy.“Now, Fairbairn; now, you fellows,” cries Wyndham’s voice.“Now, boss Riddell—mind your eye. Pull your left when you want to go right,” shout the facetious Welchers.Riddell had long got past the stage of being flurried by shouts from the bank. He feels nervous undoubtedly, but he does not look it, as he quietly tries his rudder-lines and settles himself on his seat.Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.But the Parrett’s crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past, and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like mad.“Bravo Parrett’s. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You’re to win.”Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.“Go it, you cripples!” cries Cusack, encouragingly; “no milksop captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!”All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat and shouts the usual question.The next moment he gives the word, and the two boats dart forward like arrows from a bow, and the race has begun.Gilks and Silk up above Willow Corner heard the shout which greeted the start, and turned anxiously towards the direction from which it came.“They’re off now!” said Silk, trying to appear more unconcerned than he really was.“Yes; no mistake about it!” said Gilks, whose anxiety was certainly not less than that of his friend.“How long before we see them?”“Three minutes; they ought to get into the School Reach by then.”Neither spoke for a minute. Then Silk said, “What a row the fellows are making!”“Yes,” said Gilks; “there’s a bigger crowd than I ever saw down this year.”Another silence. And then presently in the far distance, at the end of the School Reach, they could see first the smoke of Mr Parrett’s launch, then a black moving crowd on the bank, and finally two white specks on the water.“There they are!” said Gilks.“Can you tell which is which?” asked Silk.“No, not yet.”An anxious minute followed. The doctor and his party on the point opposite left their tent and came down to the water’s edge; spectators who had been getting tired of waiting now freshened up and made final and desperate attempts to improve their position, while those who meant to fall in with the runners buttoned their jackets and turned up their trouser ends.“Schoolhouse inside!” exclaimed Gilks, suddenly, as the sun momentarily caught the blue oars of the inside boat.This was all that could be ascertained for the moment. From where they sat the blue and the red flags seemed to be coming towards them exactly abreast.The crowd advanced with a roar, above which it was impossible to hear the name of the leading crew. But presently, as the two boats approached the corner, a slight turn inwards enabled them to answer the question for themselves.“We lead!” exclaimed Silk.Silk was a Welcher and Gilks a schoolhouse boy, but “we” meant Parrett’s.Yes, the red flag was ahead, though only a little.“How long before they’re at the point?”“Half a minute. I say, how splendidly the schoolhouse are steering, though!”Silk laughed. “More than Parrett’s are! Young Parson’s taking them round rather sharp, isn’t he?”“No; he always turns in like that; it’s better than the long sweep. Now look out!”During this brief dialogue the two boats had come on towards the corner. As far as Gilks and Silk could see at present Parrett’s led by about half a length, which advantage, however, it stood to lose owing to its outside position at the corner. Parson, however, knew what he was about even better than Riddell, who had kept a magnificent course down the reach, but who now seemed afraid to take full advantage of the sharp corner. The Parrett’s coxswain, on the other hand, with his half-length to the good, began turning his boat’s head early, even at the risk of running dangerously close on his rival’s water, and so saved as much as possible of the lost ground.It was an anxious moment, for as the boats came round that corner so the race usually depended. The crowd on the banks well knew the crisis, and shouted out their warnings and encouragements to the rival coxswains with redoubled eagerness.“Now then, Riddell! round you go! Pull your right!”“Steered indeed, Parrett’s! Bravo, Parson!”The corner was half-turned, the boats lay nearly level, each coxswain pulling hard with his right line, when suddenly there was a shock in the Parrett’s boat, followed by a loud shout from Parson, and next moment the boat was shooting helplessly straight towards the bank, from which it was only saved by a prompt order to “Backwater all!” from Bloomfield.What could it be? The shouts on the bank died away into sudden stillness, and fellows forgot even to keep up with the schoolhouse boat, which, followed by the steam-launch, rowed steadily on towards the winning-post.What was it? The answer soon became known, when Parson, standing in his boat, waved the broken end of a rudder-line above his head. At the critical point of the race this had failed, and in consequence all the efforts of the rowers were useless, and—and the schoolhouse boat was Head of the River!The rage, excitement, and disappointment at such an unlooked-for termination to the great struggle was beyond description, as the reader may imagine. A general rush was made for the unlucky boat, and shouts and recriminations and taunts and condolences bore witness to the mixed feelings of the spectators.Some demanded a fresh race there and then, some suggested foul play, others urged the boat to row on and make the best race they could of it, others boldly claimed the victory for Parrett’s, since they led at the moment of the accident.Amidst all this tumult the unlucky boat slowly backed into mid-stream, and turned towards home, Parson steering no longer by rudder but by word of mouth. As it did so, a distant report announced that the schoolhouse boat had reached the winning-post; whereat the Parrett partisans set up a loud defiant shout, which they maintained during the entire homeward progress of their ill-starred boat.Among the few who remained on the scene of the accident were Gilks and Silk, both pale and agitated.The latter, as has been said, was painfully interested in the result of the race. To him the defeat of Parrett’s meant more than the mere disappointment of a hope or the humiliation by a rival. It meant the loss of a good deal more money than he possessed, and the miscarriage of a good deal which he had expected with absolute confidence to win. No wonder then that his face was white and his voice trembling as he rounded on his friend.“You fool!” exclaimed he, with an oath.It was rather hard surely on Gilks, who may have encouraged his friend to rely on the victory of the Parrett’s boat, but who certainly was as much astounded and mortified by the accident as he was.“There must be another race,” said he, hurriedly. “They can’t take this as decisive, I tell you. Theymusthave another.”“You wouldn’t have said so if the right boat had won,” said Silk, with a sneer.“I can’t make it out,” said Gilks, looking very miserable.“Fools never can,” snarled Silk, turning on his heel.

The few days that intervened between the Saturday of Brown’s party and the Wednesday of the great race were days of restless suspense in Willoughby. Even Welch’s caught the contagion, and regretted at the last hour that they had withdrawn from the all-important contest. As to the other two Houses, there never had been a year when the excitement ran so high or the rivalry grew so keen. Somehow the entire politics of Willoughby appeared to be mixed up in the contest, and it seemed as if the result of this one struggle was to decide everything.

The crews had worked hard up to the last, watched morning and evening by anxious spectators from the bank. The trials had been carefully noted and times compared, the variations in style had been eagerly criticised, the weights of the rowers had become public property, and in short every detail likely to influence the result was a subject of almost painful interest to the eager partisans on either side.

And every hour seemed to promise a closer race. Not that Parrett’s had fallen off. On the contrary, they still remained what they had been all along, the smartest and strongest crew that Willoughby had ever put upon the river. But the schoolhouse boat had made wonderful strides. It was long since it had ceased to be the laughingstock of the hostile juniors, and it was some time since its appearance and work had begun to cause a shade of uneasiness in the minds of a few of the rival house. Fairbairn, far from Bloomfield’s match in physique or style, had yet displayed an amount of steady, determined work which had astonished most fellows, and inspired with confidence not only his partisans on the bank, but the three oarsmen at his back. By dint of patient, untiring practice he had worked his crew up to a pitch of training scarcely hoped for, and every day the schoolhouse boat had gained in style and speed.

Had the race been a fortnight or three weeks later few boys would have cared to prophesy definitely as to the result. As it was, though Parrett’s was morally bound to win, it was clear the race would be a fierce one, and hardly fought every foot.

Such was the general opinion in Willoughby that Tuesday evening after the last practice had come to an end, and when the boats were finally housed for the night only to reappear next day in racing trim.

Young Wyndham, as he sat in Riddell’s study with his books before him, could as soon have done a stroke of work as fly over the schoolhouse elms. Indeed, it was such a farce for him even to make the attempt that he shut up his books and gave up the idea.

“I say, Riddell,” he said, presently, addressing the captain, who, though excited too after his own fashion, was poring determinedly over his work.

“Well?” asked he, looking up.

“I say,doyou think there’s any chance of our boat winning?”

The boy asked the question so anxiously that one might have supposed his whole happiness in life depended on the answer.

“It’s very hard to say,” said Riddell. “I think we have some chance, at any rate.”

“You did the course in as good time as Parrett’s yesterday, didn’t you?” said Wyndham.

“Yes, but we had a better tide,” said Riddell.

Wyndham’s face clouded, for he knew it was true.

“Youmustwin, I say,” said he, almost fiercely.

Riddell smiled.

“I mean to oblige you if I can, for one,” said he.

“If they win,” said Wyndham, “it’ll be—”

But what it would be the youthful enthusiast lacked words to express.

Riddell turned again to his writing.

“Hadn’t you better finish your work?” said he.

“Oh, I can’t!” exclaimed Wyndham. “Who could work just before the race?”

So saying, he got up and gathered together his things.

Riddell was sorry for this. He had hoped the boy would stay. Amid all his fresh duties the new captain had kept his eye on his old friend’s brother, and of late he had seen things which made him uneasy. Wyndham was on friendly terms again with his two undesirable patrons, and simultaneously his work in the library and his visits to Riddell’s own study had become less regular. It all meant something, Riddell knew; and he knew, too, that that something was not any good. He made one attempt to detain the boy.

“You aren’t going?” he said kindly.

“Yes. It’s really no use grinding, to-night, Riddell.”

“Won’t you stop and keep me company, though?” asked the captain.

“You’re working,” said the boy. “I’ll come to-morrow. Good-night.”

And he went, leaving Riddell very uncomfortable. Why should he be so eager to go? Why should he always seem so restless now whenever he was in that study? Why should he always avoid any reference to—

Ah! here he was back again. A gleam of hope shot through Riddell’s breast as he saw the door open and Wyndham re-enter. Perhaps, after all, the boy was going to stay and give him a chance. But no, Wyndham had come back for his knife, which Riddell had borrowed for sharpening a pencil. That was all he wanted; and having recovered it he departed quickly.

Riddell spent the rest of that evening in low spirits. He had been baulked, and worse than that, he felt other hands were playing their game more successfully, and that amongst them all young Wyndham was going wrong.

So the eve of the great boat-race was anything but a cheerful evening for the new captain.

But with the morning even Riddell could hardly harbour any thoughts outside the event of the day. Morning school that Wednesday was a farce all over Willoughby. Even the doctor seemed absent-minded, while one or two of the junior masters gave up the attempt in despair.

The race was fixed for three o’clock, when the tide would be running up at its fastest, and long before that hour every advantageous point of view on the banks was secured by eager spectators. These were by no means all Willoughby boys, for the school boat-race was always more or less of an event in Shellport itself, whose inhabitants flocked in large numbers to the scene of the contest.

Carnages lined the banks on either side for a considerable distance, and as usual the doctor’s party assembled in great force on Willow Point. The towing-path was jealously kept clear for the schoolboys, who trooped down in force the moment after lunch, and took possession of their places along the course. Some crowded at the starting-point. These were chiefly the more athletic heroes of the school, whose flannels and running-shoes bespoke their intention of following the race on foot. Others, less actively inclined, massed at various critical points along the course, some at the finish, but more opposite Willow Point, which being just three-quarters of the way down, and almost within view of the goal, was generally considered the most advantageous point of view of the whole race.

At this point, in a snug corner above the path, with a fine view of the sharp bend of the river, and of the reaches up and down stream which met there, sat Gilks and Silk. They knew probably as well as any one that the crisis of the race was pretty sure to be played out at Willow Corner, and not a few late comers looked up at their commanding perch with envy.

“Where’s the young ’un?” said Silk.

“Running with the race,” said Gilks. “I couldn’t dissuade him. He’s gone daft over the thing.”

Silk laughed.

“I’m afraid it’ll be a blow to him, then. Young fool. I say, he was at his father confessor’s last night. I wonder if he’ll let out about Saturday night?”

“Not he. That is,” said Gilks, viciously, “I don’t think he will.”

“Well, it might be warmish for him if he did.”

“Very warmish,” said Gilks, with a scowl, which it was just as well for Wyndham’s comfort he did not see.

There was a silence, during which Gilks whistled to himself, and Silk regarded his ally with a smile.

“You are a nice boy!” he broke out presently. And the laugh which greeted this very unoriginal observation closed the conversation for a time.

Meanwhile, down at the boat-house things were getting very lively.

Telson, Philpot, Pilbury, Cusack, King, and other of our juvenile friends, who, with their usual modesty, proposed to run along with the race, and now formed part of the crowd which awaited the start, kept up a boisterous chorus of shouts, some of defiance, some of derision, some of applause, addressed alternately to foe and friend.

The young Welchers especially, having no personal interest in the race, felt themselves delightfully free to make themselves objectionable to all parties, and took full advantage of the circumstance.

They howled at everybody and everything. Whenever King and Bosher greeted the appearance of the Parrett’s boat with a friendly cheer they hooted; and no sooner did Telson sing out to welcome the crew of his house, but they caterwauled derisively in the same direction.

“Jolly lottheyknow about rowing!” yelled Cusack.

“Why don’t you give them some lessons?” retorted Telson, hotly.

“Boo—hoo! Who got kicked out his boat! Young muller, couldn’t steer a tub.”

“I’ll tub you, young Pilbury, see if I don’t, presently,” replied Telson.

“Never mind them,” shouted King, “can’t even make up a boat; pack of funks, all of them!”

“Hullo! who are you?” cried Philpot, rounding on these new assailants. “We’d have a boat, never fear, if there was any chance of fair play.”

“Lot of fair play you’d want, to turn the boat round and round and catch crabs every other second!”

“There are our fellows!” cried Wyndham, raising a loud cheer as Fairbairn, Coates, Porter, Crossfield, and Riddell appeared on the landing stage.

“Hurrah! schoolhouse, hurrah!”

“Ye-ow, look at them—there’s a lot!” hooted the Welchers.

“There’s old Parson!” yelled Telson, Bosher, and King, as the youthful hero in question strutted magnificently down to the landing.

“What cheer, stuck-up jackass?” howled the Welchers, with an insulting laugh; “why don’t you grin?”

This remark was suggested by Parson grandly waving his handkerchief and smiling to his admiring friends.

But it is time to quit these friends and make our way to the boats themselves, which now lie waiting for their crews to embark.

This is always a tedious process for onlookers. The shifting of stretchers, the getting-out of oars, the arrangement of rudder strings, and the delicate trimming of the boat, may be interesting enough to the crews themselves, but only feed the impatience of onlookers.

And as usual hitches are bound to occur. Coates has got the oar belonging to Crossfield. And when this mistake has been remedied, Bloomfield in the other boat suddenly discovers that his stretcher is a little weak, and insists on waiting till a new one is brought.

Finally everything is ready, and the two boats slowly swing out into mid-stream. The schoolhouse boat has won the toss, for it takes up the inside berth, amid the triumphant cheers of its partisans.

“Hurrah! you’re inside,” they cry.

“Mind you put them into the bank,” is the derisive echo of the enemy.

“Now, Fairbairn; now, you fellows,” cries Wyndham’s voice.

“Now, boss Riddell—mind your eye. Pull your left when you want to go right,” shout the facetious Welchers.

Riddell had long got past the stage of being flurried by shouts from the bank. He feels nervous undoubtedly, but he does not look it, as he quietly tries his rudder-lines and settles himself on his seat.

Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.

But the Parrett’s crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.

Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past, and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like mad.

“Bravo Parrett’s. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You’re to win.”

Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.

“Go it, you cripples!” cries Cusack, encouragingly; “no milksop captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!”

All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat and shouts the usual question.

The next moment he gives the word, and the two boats dart forward like arrows from a bow, and the race has begun.

Gilks and Silk up above Willow Corner heard the shout which greeted the start, and turned anxiously towards the direction from which it came.

“They’re off now!” said Silk, trying to appear more unconcerned than he really was.

“Yes; no mistake about it!” said Gilks, whose anxiety was certainly not less than that of his friend.

“How long before we see them?”

“Three minutes; they ought to get into the School Reach by then.”

Neither spoke for a minute. Then Silk said, “What a row the fellows are making!”

“Yes,” said Gilks; “there’s a bigger crowd than I ever saw down this year.”

Another silence. And then presently in the far distance, at the end of the School Reach, they could see first the smoke of Mr Parrett’s launch, then a black moving crowd on the bank, and finally two white specks on the water.

“There they are!” said Gilks.

“Can you tell which is which?” asked Silk.

“No, not yet.”

An anxious minute followed. The doctor and his party on the point opposite left their tent and came down to the water’s edge; spectators who had been getting tired of waiting now freshened up and made final and desperate attempts to improve their position, while those who meant to fall in with the runners buttoned their jackets and turned up their trouser ends.

“Schoolhouse inside!” exclaimed Gilks, suddenly, as the sun momentarily caught the blue oars of the inside boat.

This was all that could be ascertained for the moment. From where they sat the blue and the red flags seemed to be coming towards them exactly abreast.

The crowd advanced with a roar, above which it was impossible to hear the name of the leading crew. But presently, as the two boats approached the corner, a slight turn inwards enabled them to answer the question for themselves.

“We lead!” exclaimed Silk.

Silk was a Welcher and Gilks a schoolhouse boy, but “we” meant Parrett’s.

Yes, the red flag was ahead, though only a little.

“How long before they’re at the point?”

“Half a minute. I say, how splendidly the schoolhouse are steering, though!”

Silk laughed. “More than Parrett’s are! Young Parson’s taking them round rather sharp, isn’t he?”

“No; he always turns in like that; it’s better than the long sweep. Now look out!”

During this brief dialogue the two boats had come on towards the corner. As far as Gilks and Silk could see at present Parrett’s led by about half a length, which advantage, however, it stood to lose owing to its outside position at the corner. Parson, however, knew what he was about even better than Riddell, who had kept a magnificent course down the reach, but who now seemed afraid to take full advantage of the sharp corner. The Parrett’s coxswain, on the other hand, with his half-length to the good, began turning his boat’s head early, even at the risk of running dangerously close on his rival’s water, and so saved as much as possible of the lost ground.

It was an anxious moment, for as the boats came round that corner so the race usually depended. The crowd on the banks well knew the crisis, and shouted out their warnings and encouragements to the rival coxswains with redoubled eagerness.

“Now then, Riddell! round you go! Pull your right!”

“Steered indeed, Parrett’s! Bravo, Parson!”

The corner was half-turned, the boats lay nearly level, each coxswain pulling hard with his right line, when suddenly there was a shock in the Parrett’s boat, followed by a loud shout from Parson, and next moment the boat was shooting helplessly straight towards the bank, from which it was only saved by a prompt order to “Backwater all!” from Bloomfield.

What could it be? The shouts on the bank died away into sudden stillness, and fellows forgot even to keep up with the schoolhouse boat, which, followed by the steam-launch, rowed steadily on towards the winning-post.

What was it? The answer soon became known, when Parson, standing in his boat, waved the broken end of a rudder-line above his head. At the critical point of the race this had failed, and in consequence all the efforts of the rowers were useless, and—and the schoolhouse boat was Head of the River!

The rage, excitement, and disappointment at such an unlooked-for termination to the great struggle was beyond description, as the reader may imagine. A general rush was made for the unlucky boat, and shouts and recriminations and taunts and condolences bore witness to the mixed feelings of the spectators.

Some demanded a fresh race there and then, some suggested foul play, others urged the boat to row on and make the best race they could of it, others boldly claimed the victory for Parrett’s, since they led at the moment of the accident.

Amidst all this tumult the unlucky boat slowly backed into mid-stream, and turned towards home, Parson steering no longer by rudder but by word of mouth. As it did so, a distant report announced that the schoolhouse boat had reached the winning-post; whereat the Parrett partisans set up a loud defiant shout, which they maintained during the entire homeward progress of their ill-starred boat.

Among the few who remained on the scene of the accident were Gilks and Silk, both pale and agitated.

The latter, as has been said, was painfully interested in the result of the race. To him the defeat of Parrett’s meant more than the mere disappointment of a hope or the humiliation by a rival. It meant the loss of a good deal more money than he possessed, and the miscarriage of a good deal which he had expected with absolute confidence to win. No wonder then that his face was white and his voice trembling as he rounded on his friend.

“You fool!” exclaimed he, with an oath.

It was rather hard surely on Gilks, who may have encouraged his friend to rely on the victory of the Parrett’s boat, but who certainly was as much astounded and mortified by the accident as he was.

“There must be another race,” said he, hurriedly. “They can’t take this as decisive, I tell you. Theymusthave another.”

“You wouldn’t have said so if the right boat had won,” said Silk, with a sneer.

“I can’t make it out,” said Gilks, looking very miserable.

“Fools never can,” snarled Silk, turning on his heel.

Chapter Fifteen.Foul Play.Willoughby reassembled after the eventful boat-race in a state of fever. The great event which was to settle everything had settled nothing, and the suspense and excitement which was to have been set at rest remained still as unsatisfied as ever, and intensified by a feeling of rage and disappointment.As boys dropped in in groups from the course, and clustered round the school gate, one might have supposed by their troubled faces that instead of a rudder-line having broken both crews had been capsized and drowned.The Parrett’s partisans particularly were loud in their clamour for a new race, and many of them freely insinuated foul play as the cause of the accident.The schoolhouse, on the other hand, indignantly repelled the charge, and dared their opponents defiantly to meet them again. And amidst all this wrangling and bickering, the Welchers dispensed their taunts and invectives with even-handed impartiality, and filled in just what was wanted to make the scene one of utter confusion and Babel.“I tell you we’d have beaten them hollow,” shouted Wibberly to the company in general.“No you wouldn’t!” retorted Wyndham; “we were ahead and our men were as fresh as yours, every bit!”“Ya—boo—cheats! Told you there’d be no fair play with such a pack,” shouted the Welchers.“Look here, who are you calling a cheat?” said Wyndham, very red in the face, edging up to the speaker.“You, if you like,” shouted Pilbury and Cusack.“I’ll knock your heads together when I catch you,” said Wyndham, with lofty disgust, not intending to put himself out for two juniors.A loud laugh greeted the threat.Meanwhile, fellows were running up every moment. Some who had been waiting for the boats at the winning-post had only just heard the news, and came in red-hot with excitement to learn particulars.“It’s all a vile dodge,” howled Wibberly, “to get their boat to the head of the river.”“I’ll bet anything the precious captain’s at the bottom of it,” shouted another. “He’d stick at nothing, I know.”“Yes, and you’ll see, now they’ll funk another race!”“Who’ll funk another race?” roared the hot-headed Wyndham. “I’ll row you myself, you asses, the lot of you.”Another derisive laugh followed at the speaker’s expense.“It’s not our fault if your line broke,” cried a schoolhouse boy. “It’s your lookout. You should have seen it was right before you started.”“Yes. You wouldn’t have been so anxious for a new race if it was our line had broken,” said Wyndham.“Yes, we would. We’re not afraid of you!”“Yes, you are.”“No, we aren’t. You’re a set of cheats. Couldn’t win by fair means, so you’ve tried foul.”“I’ll fight any one who says so,” retorted Wyndham.How long the wrangle might have gone on, and to what riot it might have led, cannot be told. It was at its hottest, and a general fight seemed imminent, when a diversion was caused by the sudden appearance of Parson running at full speed up the path from the river.There was something unusual in the looks and manner of the Parretts’ coxswain, which even his misadventure that afternoon was not sufficient to account for. He bore tidings of some sort, it was evident, and by common consent the clamour of the crowd was suspended as he approached.Among the first to hail him at shouting distance was Telson.“What’s up, old man?” he cried.Parson rushed on a dozen yards or so before he answered. Then he yelled, in a voice half-choked with excitement, “The line was cut! It’s foul play!”The howl which arose from the agitated crowd at this amazing piece of news—amazing even to those who had most freely raised the cry of foul play—was one the like of which Willoughby never heard before or since. Mingled rage, scorn, incredulity, derision, all found vent in that one shout—and then suddenly died into silence as Parson began again.“They’ve looked at the place where it broke,” he gasped. “It’s a clean cut half-way through. I knew it was foul play!”Once again the shout drowned his voice.“Who did it?” shrieked a voice, before Parson could resume.Parson glared round wrathfully for the speaker.“I don’t know,” he replied. “Sorry for him if I did!”This valiant invective from the honest little fag failed even to appear ludicrous in the midst of the general excitement. Further words were now interrupted by the appearance of the Parretts’ crew coming slowly up the walk.This was the signal for a general cheer and rush in their direction, in the midst of which the defeated heroes with difficulty struggled up to the school. Wrath and indignation were on all their faces. In reply to the hundred inquiries showered upon them they said nothing, but forced their way through the press sullenly, heedless of the cheers of their sympathisers or the silence of their opponents.The crowd slowly fell back to let them pass, and watched them disappear into the school. Then they turned again towards the path from the river, and waited with grim purpose.The news announced by Parson and confirmed by the black looks of the injured crew had fallen like a thunderbolt, and for the moment Willoughby was stunned. The boys could not—would not—believe that one of their number could be guilty of such an act. And yet, how could they disbelieve it?In a few minutes there was a cry of “Here they are!” and at the same moment the schoolhouse crew appeared on the walk. They, victors though they were, looked troubled and dispirited as they approached, talking eagerly among themselves, and unconcerned apparently about the crowd which in ominous silence awaited them.They certainly did not look like guilty persons, and it is most probable not even the wildest libeller in Willoughby would have cared positively to charge any one of them with the dishonourable deed.But for all that, they had won in consequence of that deed, and that was quite sufficient to set three-fourths of the crowd against them.As they came up a loud groan and cries of “Cheats! Foul play!” suddenly arose. Startled by the unexpected demonstration, the five heroes looked up with flushed faces.“Cheats! Cowards!” reiterated the hostile section, beginning at the same time to surge towards them.Foremost among these was Tucker of Welch’s house and Wibberly of Parrett’s, who, as the crowd behind pressed forward, were carried with their abusive taunts on their lips into the midst of the schoolhouse group. The latter, as may be imagined, were in anything but the humour for an assault of this sort, and their leaders instantly resented it in averypractical manner.“Where are you coming to?” demanded Fairbairn, flinging Wibberly from him into the arms of his followers.Before Wibberly could recover his balance the crowd had closed in by a sudden impulse, and with a loud shout had set upon the crew.“Have them over, Parrett’s!” shouted a voice, as Wibberly staggered back a second time before Fairbairn’s stalwart arm, while at the same moment Tucker received a similar rebuff from Crossfield.The summons was promptly answered, and a dash was made on the five schoolhouse boys with a view to carrying out the threat literally, when Wyndham’s voice shouted, “Rescue here! schoolhouse, come on!”Instantly the whole crowd seemed to resolve itself by magic into two parties, and a short but desperate battle ensued.The fire had been waiting for weeks for a match, and now the flare-up had come. Nobody knew whom he hit out at or by whom he was attacked that forenoon. The pent-up irritation of half a term found vent in that famous battle in which the schoolhouse boys fought their way inch by inch up to the door of their house.Luckily for them, the most formidable of their rivals were not upon the field of action, and in due time the compact phalanx of seniors, aided by Wyndham and his band of recruits, forced their way through superior numbers, and finally burst triumphantly through and gained their stronghold.But the victory was hardly bought, for the slaughter had been great.Coates had a black eye, and Porter’s jacket was torn from his back. Riddell had twice been knocked down and trodden on, while Wyndham, Telson, and others of the rescuing party were barely recognisable through dust and bruises. On the other side the loss had been even greater. Tucker and Wibberly, the only two monitors engaged, were completely doubled up, while the number of maimed and disabled Limpets and juniors was nearly beyond counting.So ended the great battle at the school gate, and it ended only just in time, for as the schoolhouse boys finally gained their quarters, and the enemy picked itself up and turned surlily schoolwards, the doctor and his party arrived on the scene and gave a finishing touch to the rout.That evening was a sore one for Willoughby. Sore not only in respect of bruised bodies and swollen faces, but still more in the sense of disappointment, suspicion, and foul play.Among the most violent of the Parrett’s the whole mystery of the thing was perfectly clear. These philosophers could see it all from beginning to end, and were astonished any one else should be so dull as not to see it too.“Of course, it’s a regularly arranged thing,” said Wibberly, whose face was enveloped in a handkerchief and whose lips were unusually thick. “They’ve vowed all along to keep their boat at the head of the river, and they’ve managed it.”“Yes,” said another. “They knew what they had to expect if Bloomfield got there. I can see it all.”“But you don’t mean to say,” said Strutter, “the Premier,” “that you think any one of those fellows would do such a thing as cut our rope?”“I don’t know,” said Wibberly. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t. I don’t fancy they’d stick at a trifle, the cads!”“If Gilks had been in the boat,” said another, “I could have believed it of him, but he was as anxious for us to win as we were ourselves.”“No wonder; he and his friend Silk have been betting right and left on us, I hear.”“Well, I suppose there’s bound to be a new race,” said Strutter.“I don’t know,” replied Wibberly. “I’d be just as well pleased if Bloomfield refused. The vile cheats!”Bloomfield, be it said to his credit, was no party to these reckless accusations. Mortified as he was beyond description, and disappointed by the collapse of his ambition, he yet scouted the idea of any one of his five rivals being guilty of so dirty a trick as the cutting of his boat’s rudder-line. At the same time he was as convinced as any one that foul play had been at the bottom of the accident, and the perpetrator of the mean act was undoubtedly a schoolhouse boy. What mortified him most was that he did not feel as positive by any means as others that his boat, without the accident, would have won the race. He had been astonished and even disheartened by the performance of the rival crew, who had stuck to him in a manner he had not looked for, and which had boded seriously for the final result.It was this reflection, more even than the thought of the broken line, which troubled him that evening. Could it be possible that his luck was deserting him?His companions were troubled by no such suggestion. Indignation was the uppermost feeling in their breasts. Whoever had done the deed, it was a vile action, and till the culprit was brought to justice the whole schoolhouse was responsible in their eyes.“I wonder a single one of them can hold up his head,” exclaimed Game.“I hope to goodness Bloomfield won’t demand a fresh race.Iwon’t row if he does,” said Ashley.“And the worst of it is they’ll try to make out now they would have won in any case. I heard one of them say so myself this very afternoon.”“Let them say what they like,” said Ashley. “Nobody will believe them.”Perhaps these hot-headed heroes, had they been able to overhear a conversation that was going on at that very time in the captain’s study, would have discovered that at any rate it was not the immediate intention of the schoolhouse to insist that the victory was theirs.Riddell had recovered somewhat from his rough handling that afternoon, but he looked pale and dejected as, along with his friend Fairbairn, he sat and discussed for the twentieth time the event of the day.“It’s quite evident we must offer them a fresh race,” said he.“Yes, I think so,” said Fairbairn. “It’s hard lines, for I expect it won’t be easy to get our men up to the mark again after they are once run down.”“We can’t help that,” said Riddell. “It’s the least we can do.”“Of course. But I don’t see, Riddell, old man, that we are bound to hang down our heads over this business. Whoever did it did as mean a trick to us as ever he did to them. I’d like to have him a minute or two, even if he was my own brother.”“Well,” said Riddell, “to my mind it seems like a disgrace to the whole house, and the least we can do is to offer to row again.”“Oh, rather; that’s settled. I say,” added Fairbairn, “I’d give anything to get at the bottom of it. I saw the boats locked up last night, and I was there when they were taken out this morning. I can’t imagine how it was done.”“It seemed a clean cut, didn’t it?”“Yes; about three-quarters of the way through. Whoever did it must have been up to his business, for he only touched the right cord on which all the strain comes at the corner.”“It must have been done between five o’clock yesterday and this morning,” said Riddell. “If the cut had been there yesterday the line would have given at the corner to a certainty.”“Oh, yes; it must have been done in the night.”“Doesn’t the boatman know anything about it?”“No; I asked him. He says no one opened the door after the boats had gone in except himself and the boat-boy.”“It’s horribly mysterious,” said Riddell. “But, I say, hadn’t we better offer the new race at once?”“All serene.”“Had we better write?” asked Riddell.“No; why? What’s the use of looking ashamed?” said Fairbairn; “let’s go to them. Bloomfield’s sure to be in his study.”The two boys went accordingly, and found the Parrett’s captain in his study along with Game and Ashley. It was rarely indeed that the schoolhouse seniors penetrated uninvited into the headquarters of their rivals. But on this occasion they had a right cause at heart and honest consciences to back them.But it was evident at a glance they had fallen on unfriendly society. Game, quite apart from his state of mind with regard to the accident, had not forgotten his repulse at the hands of the new captain a week or two ago, nor had Bloomfield quite got over the indirect snub he had received on the same occasion.Riddell himself had almost forgotten the circumstance, and attributed the unencouraging aspect of the rival seniors entirely to the day’s misadventure.“Excuse us coming over,” said he, feeling that a beginning must be made to the interview, “but we wanted to tell you how sorry our fellows are about the race.”“Have you found out who did it?” asked Bloomfield.“No,” said Riddell, “and we can’t even guess.”“But what we came for specially,” broke in Fairbairn at this point, “was to say we are quite ready to row you again any day you like.”There was a touch of defiance in the tone of the schoolhouse stroke which was particularly irritating to the Parrett’s boys.“Of course, we would row you—” began Bloomfield.“But we don’t mean to,” broke in Game, “till this ugly business is cleared up.”“What do you mean?” asked Fairbairn.“You know what we mean,” said Game, warmly. “As soon as you find out who cut our line we’ll go out on the river again.”“Yes; we don’t mean to row you till that’s done,” said Ashley.“How on earth are we to find out who cut your line any more than you?” said Fairbairn, losing his temper.“There’s no doubt he must be a schoolhouse fellow,” said Bloomfield, who but for his friends would have been disposed to accept the challenge.“I’m afraid he is,” said Riddell.“Well, I won’t row again till we know who he is,” repeated Ashley.“Do you supposeweknow who he is?” demanded Fairbairn.“You’re the proper people to find out, that’s all I know,” said Ashley.“Then you mean to say you won’t row again?” asked Fairbairn.“No, if it comes to that,” said Bloomfield.“Why,” said Game, “the same thing might happen again.”“If you’d looked to your lines before you started,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “it wouldn’t have happened.”“We shall certainly make a point of looking at them again when next we row you,” said Ashley, with a sneer.Fairbairn seemed inclined to retort, but a look from Riddell deterred him.“Then you won’t row again?” he repeated once more.“No.”“Then we claim to-day’s race,” said Fairbairn.“You can claim what you like,” said Game.“And our boat remains at the head of the river.”“It doesn’t matter to us where it remains,” replied Ashley. “You may think what you like and we’ll think what we like.”It was evidently useless to attempt further parley, and the two schoolhouse boys accordingly retired, bitterly disappointed to be thwarted of their only chance of righting themselves and their house in the eyes of Willoughby.It soon got to be known there was to be no second race, and, as usual, all sorts of stories accompanied the rumour. The enemies of the schoolhouse said openly that they had refused Bloomfield’s demand for a new race, and intended to stick to their ill-gotten laurels in spite of everybody. On the other side it was as freely asserted that Parrett’s had funked it; and some went even so far to hint that the snapping of the rope happened fortunately for the boat, and saved it under cover of an accident from the disgrace of a defeat. The few who knew the real story considered Bloomfield was quite right in refusing another race till the culprit of the first should be brought to justice.But the two fellows on whom the announcement fell most severely were Gilks and Silk. For if the race of that day was to stand, the schoolhouse boat had definitely won the race, and consequently they were both losers to a considerable extent.They had counted almost certainly on a second race, but now that this had been decided against, their wrath and dismay knew no bounds. They spent the evening in vituperations and angry discussion, and ended it in what was very little short of a downright quarrel. Indeed, if young Wyndham had not opportunely arrived on the scene shortly before bedtime and created a diversion, the quarrel might have come to blows.Wyndham burst into the room suddenly.“Has either of you seen my knife?” he enquired; “I’ve lost it.”“Have you?” inquired Silk.“Yes; I fancy I left it here last night. I say, have you heard Parrett’s won’t accept a new race?”“I wonder why?” asked Silk.“Because they say they won’t have out their boat again till the fellow’s found who cut the lines.”“Well, I don’t blame them—do you, Gilks?” said Silk. “I suppose there’s no idea who he is?”“Not a bit,” said Wyndham; “I wish to goodness there was. Some fool, I expect, who’s been betting against Parrett’s.”“I could show you a fool who’s been betting on Parrett’s,” said Silk, “and who’s decidedly up a tree now! I say, young ’un, I suppose you couldn’t lend me a sov. till the end of the term?”“I’ve only got half-a-sov. in the world,” said Wyndham.“Well, I’ll try and make that do, thanks,” said Silk.Wyndham pulled out his purse rather ruefully and handed him the coin.“Mind you let me have it back, please,” he said, “as I’m saving up for a racket. And I say,” added he, leaving, “if you do come across my knife, let’s have it, will you?”

Willoughby reassembled after the eventful boat-race in a state of fever. The great event which was to settle everything had settled nothing, and the suspense and excitement which was to have been set at rest remained still as unsatisfied as ever, and intensified by a feeling of rage and disappointment.

As boys dropped in in groups from the course, and clustered round the school gate, one might have supposed by their troubled faces that instead of a rudder-line having broken both crews had been capsized and drowned.

The Parrett’s partisans particularly were loud in their clamour for a new race, and many of them freely insinuated foul play as the cause of the accident.

The schoolhouse, on the other hand, indignantly repelled the charge, and dared their opponents defiantly to meet them again. And amidst all this wrangling and bickering, the Welchers dispensed their taunts and invectives with even-handed impartiality, and filled in just what was wanted to make the scene one of utter confusion and Babel.

“I tell you we’d have beaten them hollow,” shouted Wibberly to the company in general.

“No you wouldn’t!” retorted Wyndham; “we were ahead and our men were as fresh as yours, every bit!”

“Ya—boo—cheats! Told you there’d be no fair play with such a pack,” shouted the Welchers.

“Look here, who are you calling a cheat?” said Wyndham, very red in the face, edging up to the speaker.

“You, if you like,” shouted Pilbury and Cusack.

“I’ll knock your heads together when I catch you,” said Wyndham, with lofty disgust, not intending to put himself out for two juniors.

A loud laugh greeted the threat.

Meanwhile, fellows were running up every moment. Some who had been waiting for the boats at the winning-post had only just heard the news, and came in red-hot with excitement to learn particulars.

“It’s all a vile dodge,” howled Wibberly, “to get their boat to the head of the river.”

“I’ll bet anything the precious captain’s at the bottom of it,” shouted another. “He’d stick at nothing, I know.”

“Yes, and you’ll see, now they’ll funk another race!”

“Who’ll funk another race?” roared the hot-headed Wyndham. “I’ll row you myself, you asses, the lot of you.”

Another derisive laugh followed at the speaker’s expense.

“It’s not our fault if your line broke,” cried a schoolhouse boy. “It’s your lookout. You should have seen it was right before you started.”

“Yes. You wouldn’t have been so anxious for a new race if it was our line had broken,” said Wyndham.

“Yes, we would. We’re not afraid of you!”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, we aren’t. You’re a set of cheats. Couldn’t win by fair means, so you’ve tried foul.”

“I’ll fight any one who says so,” retorted Wyndham.

How long the wrangle might have gone on, and to what riot it might have led, cannot be told. It was at its hottest, and a general fight seemed imminent, when a diversion was caused by the sudden appearance of Parson running at full speed up the path from the river.

There was something unusual in the looks and manner of the Parretts’ coxswain, which even his misadventure that afternoon was not sufficient to account for. He bore tidings of some sort, it was evident, and by common consent the clamour of the crowd was suspended as he approached.

Among the first to hail him at shouting distance was Telson.

“What’s up, old man?” he cried.

Parson rushed on a dozen yards or so before he answered. Then he yelled, in a voice half-choked with excitement, “The line was cut! It’s foul play!”

The howl which arose from the agitated crowd at this amazing piece of news—amazing even to those who had most freely raised the cry of foul play—was one the like of which Willoughby never heard before or since. Mingled rage, scorn, incredulity, derision, all found vent in that one shout—and then suddenly died into silence as Parson began again.

“They’ve looked at the place where it broke,” he gasped. “It’s a clean cut half-way through. I knew it was foul play!”

Once again the shout drowned his voice.

“Who did it?” shrieked a voice, before Parson could resume.

Parson glared round wrathfully for the speaker.

“I don’t know,” he replied. “Sorry for him if I did!”

This valiant invective from the honest little fag failed even to appear ludicrous in the midst of the general excitement. Further words were now interrupted by the appearance of the Parretts’ crew coming slowly up the walk.

This was the signal for a general cheer and rush in their direction, in the midst of which the defeated heroes with difficulty struggled up to the school. Wrath and indignation were on all their faces. In reply to the hundred inquiries showered upon them they said nothing, but forced their way through the press sullenly, heedless of the cheers of their sympathisers or the silence of their opponents.

The crowd slowly fell back to let them pass, and watched them disappear into the school. Then they turned again towards the path from the river, and waited with grim purpose.

The news announced by Parson and confirmed by the black looks of the injured crew had fallen like a thunderbolt, and for the moment Willoughby was stunned. The boys could not—would not—believe that one of their number could be guilty of such an act. And yet, how could they disbelieve it?

In a few minutes there was a cry of “Here they are!” and at the same moment the schoolhouse crew appeared on the walk. They, victors though they were, looked troubled and dispirited as they approached, talking eagerly among themselves, and unconcerned apparently about the crowd which in ominous silence awaited them.

They certainly did not look like guilty persons, and it is most probable not even the wildest libeller in Willoughby would have cared positively to charge any one of them with the dishonourable deed.

But for all that, they had won in consequence of that deed, and that was quite sufficient to set three-fourths of the crowd against them.

As they came up a loud groan and cries of “Cheats! Foul play!” suddenly arose. Startled by the unexpected demonstration, the five heroes looked up with flushed faces.

“Cheats! Cowards!” reiterated the hostile section, beginning at the same time to surge towards them.

Foremost among these was Tucker of Welch’s house and Wibberly of Parrett’s, who, as the crowd behind pressed forward, were carried with their abusive taunts on their lips into the midst of the schoolhouse group. The latter, as may be imagined, were in anything but the humour for an assault of this sort, and their leaders instantly resented it in averypractical manner.

“Where are you coming to?” demanded Fairbairn, flinging Wibberly from him into the arms of his followers.

Before Wibberly could recover his balance the crowd had closed in by a sudden impulse, and with a loud shout had set upon the crew.

“Have them over, Parrett’s!” shouted a voice, as Wibberly staggered back a second time before Fairbairn’s stalwart arm, while at the same moment Tucker received a similar rebuff from Crossfield.

The summons was promptly answered, and a dash was made on the five schoolhouse boys with a view to carrying out the threat literally, when Wyndham’s voice shouted, “Rescue here! schoolhouse, come on!”

Instantly the whole crowd seemed to resolve itself by magic into two parties, and a short but desperate battle ensued.

The fire had been waiting for weeks for a match, and now the flare-up had come. Nobody knew whom he hit out at or by whom he was attacked that forenoon. The pent-up irritation of half a term found vent in that famous battle in which the schoolhouse boys fought their way inch by inch up to the door of their house.

Luckily for them, the most formidable of their rivals were not upon the field of action, and in due time the compact phalanx of seniors, aided by Wyndham and his band of recruits, forced their way through superior numbers, and finally burst triumphantly through and gained their stronghold.

But the victory was hardly bought, for the slaughter had been great.

Coates had a black eye, and Porter’s jacket was torn from his back. Riddell had twice been knocked down and trodden on, while Wyndham, Telson, and others of the rescuing party were barely recognisable through dust and bruises. On the other side the loss had been even greater. Tucker and Wibberly, the only two monitors engaged, were completely doubled up, while the number of maimed and disabled Limpets and juniors was nearly beyond counting.

So ended the great battle at the school gate, and it ended only just in time, for as the schoolhouse boys finally gained their quarters, and the enemy picked itself up and turned surlily schoolwards, the doctor and his party arrived on the scene and gave a finishing touch to the rout.

That evening was a sore one for Willoughby. Sore not only in respect of bruised bodies and swollen faces, but still more in the sense of disappointment, suspicion, and foul play.

Among the most violent of the Parrett’s the whole mystery of the thing was perfectly clear. These philosophers could see it all from beginning to end, and were astonished any one else should be so dull as not to see it too.

“Of course, it’s a regularly arranged thing,” said Wibberly, whose face was enveloped in a handkerchief and whose lips were unusually thick. “They’ve vowed all along to keep their boat at the head of the river, and they’ve managed it.”

“Yes,” said another. “They knew what they had to expect if Bloomfield got there. I can see it all.”

“But you don’t mean to say,” said Strutter, “the Premier,” “that you think any one of those fellows would do such a thing as cut our rope?”

“I don’t know,” said Wibberly. “I don’t see why they shouldn’t. I don’t fancy they’d stick at a trifle, the cads!”

“If Gilks had been in the boat,” said another, “I could have believed it of him, but he was as anxious for us to win as we were ourselves.”

“No wonder; he and his friend Silk have been betting right and left on us, I hear.”

“Well, I suppose there’s bound to be a new race,” said Strutter.

“I don’t know,” replied Wibberly. “I’d be just as well pleased if Bloomfield refused. The vile cheats!”

Bloomfield, be it said to his credit, was no party to these reckless accusations. Mortified as he was beyond description, and disappointed by the collapse of his ambition, he yet scouted the idea of any one of his five rivals being guilty of so dirty a trick as the cutting of his boat’s rudder-line. At the same time he was as convinced as any one that foul play had been at the bottom of the accident, and the perpetrator of the mean act was undoubtedly a schoolhouse boy. What mortified him most was that he did not feel as positive by any means as others that his boat, without the accident, would have won the race. He had been astonished and even disheartened by the performance of the rival crew, who had stuck to him in a manner he had not looked for, and which had boded seriously for the final result.

It was this reflection, more even than the thought of the broken line, which troubled him that evening. Could it be possible that his luck was deserting him?

His companions were troubled by no such suggestion. Indignation was the uppermost feeling in their breasts. Whoever had done the deed, it was a vile action, and till the culprit was brought to justice the whole schoolhouse was responsible in their eyes.

“I wonder a single one of them can hold up his head,” exclaimed Game.

“I hope to goodness Bloomfield won’t demand a fresh race.Iwon’t row if he does,” said Ashley.

“And the worst of it is they’ll try to make out now they would have won in any case. I heard one of them say so myself this very afternoon.”

“Let them say what they like,” said Ashley. “Nobody will believe them.”

Perhaps these hot-headed heroes, had they been able to overhear a conversation that was going on at that very time in the captain’s study, would have discovered that at any rate it was not the immediate intention of the schoolhouse to insist that the victory was theirs.

Riddell had recovered somewhat from his rough handling that afternoon, but he looked pale and dejected as, along with his friend Fairbairn, he sat and discussed for the twentieth time the event of the day.

“It’s quite evident we must offer them a fresh race,” said he.

“Yes, I think so,” said Fairbairn. “It’s hard lines, for I expect it won’t be easy to get our men up to the mark again after they are once run down.”

“We can’t help that,” said Riddell. “It’s the least we can do.”

“Of course. But I don’t see, Riddell, old man, that we are bound to hang down our heads over this business. Whoever did it did as mean a trick to us as ever he did to them. I’d like to have him a minute or two, even if he was my own brother.”

“Well,” said Riddell, “to my mind it seems like a disgrace to the whole house, and the least we can do is to offer to row again.”

“Oh, rather; that’s settled. I say,” added Fairbairn, “I’d give anything to get at the bottom of it. I saw the boats locked up last night, and I was there when they were taken out this morning. I can’t imagine how it was done.”

“It seemed a clean cut, didn’t it?”

“Yes; about three-quarters of the way through. Whoever did it must have been up to his business, for he only touched the right cord on which all the strain comes at the corner.”

“It must have been done between five o’clock yesterday and this morning,” said Riddell. “If the cut had been there yesterday the line would have given at the corner to a certainty.”

“Oh, yes; it must have been done in the night.”

“Doesn’t the boatman know anything about it?”

“No; I asked him. He says no one opened the door after the boats had gone in except himself and the boat-boy.”

“It’s horribly mysterious,” said Riddell. “But, I say, hadn’t we better offer the new race at once?”

“All serene.”

“Had we better write?” asked Riddell.

“No; why? What’s the use of looking ashamed?” said Fairbairn; “let’s go to them. Bloomfield’s sure to be in his study.”

The two boys went accordingly, and found the Parrett’s captain in his study along with Game and Ashley. It was rarely indeed that the schoolhouse seniors penetrated uninvited into the headquarters of their rivals. But on this occasion they had a right cause at heart and honest consciences to back them.

But it was evident at a glance they had fallen on unfriendly society. Game, quite apart from his state of mind with regard to the accident, had not forgotten his repulse at the hands of the new captain a week or two ago, nor had Bloomfield quite got over the indirect snub he had received on the same occasion.

Riddell himself had almost forgotten the circumstance, and attributed the unencouraging aspect of the rival seniors entirely to the day’s misadventure.

“Excuse us coming over,” said he, feeling that a beginning must be made to the interview, “but we wanted to tell you how sorry our fellows are about the race.”

“Have you found out who did it?” asked Bloomfield.

“No,” said Riddell, “and we can’t even guess.”

“But what we came for specially,” broke in Fairbairn at this point, “was to say we are quite ready to row you again any day you like.”

There was a touch of defiance in the tone of the schoolhouse stroke which was particularly irritating to the Parrett’s boys.

“Of course, we would row you—” began Bloomfield.

“But we don’t mean to,” broke in Game, “till this ugly business is cleared up.”

“What do you mean?” asked Fairbairn.

“You know what we mean,” said Game, warmly. “As soon as you find out who cut our line we’ll go out on the river again.”

“Yes; we don’t mean to row you till that’s done,” said Ashley.

“How on earth are we to find out who cut your line any more than you?” said Fairbairn, losing his temper.

“There’s no doubt he must be a schoolhouse fellow,” said Bloomfield, who but for his friends would have been disposed to accept the challenge.

“I’m afraid he is,” said Riddell.

“Well, I won’t row again till we know who he is,” repeated Ashley.

“Do you supposeweknow who he is?” demanded Fairbairn.

“You’re the proper people to find out, that’s all I know,” said Ashley.

“Then you mean to say you won’t row again?” asked Fairbairn.

“No, if it comes to that,” said Bloomfield.

“Why,” said Game, “the same thing might happen again.”

“If you’d looked to your lines before you started,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “it wouldn’t have happened.”

“We shall certainly make a point of looking at them again when next we row you,” said Ashley, with a sneer.

Fairbairn seemed inclined to retort, but a look from Riddell deterred him.

“Then you won’t row again?” he repeated once more.

“No.”

“Then we claim to-day’s race,” said Fairbairn.

“You can claim what you like,” said Game.

“And our boat remains at the head of the river.”

“It doesn’t matter to us where it remains,” replied Ashley. “You may think what you like and we’ll think what we like.”

It was evidently useless to attempt further parley, and the two schoolhouse boys accordingly retired, bitterly disappointed to be thwarted of their only chance of righting themselves and their house in the eyes of Willoughby.

It soon got to be known there was to be no second race, and, as usual, all sorts of stories accompanied the rumour. The enemies of the schoolhouse said openly that they had refused Bloomfield’s demand for a new race, and intended to stick to their ill-gotten laurels in spite of everybody. On the other side it was as freely asserted that Parrett’s had funked it; and some went even so far to hint that the snapping of the rope happened fortunately for the boat, and saved it under cover of an accident from the disgrace of a defeat. The few who knew the real story considered Bloomfield was quite right in refusing another race till the culprit of the first should be brought to justice.

But the two fellows on whom the announcement fell most severely were Gilks and Silk. For if the race of that day was to stand, the schoolhouse boat had definitely won the race, and consequently they were both losers to a considerable extent.

They had counted almost certainly on a second race, but now that this had been decided against, their wrath and dismay knew no bounds. They spent the evening in vituperations and angry discussion, and ended it in what was very little short of a downright quarrel. Indeed, if young Wyndham had not opportunely arrived on the scene shortly before bedtime and created a diversion, the quarrel might have come to blows.

Wyndham burst into the room suddenly.

“Has either of you seen my knife?” he enquired; “I’ve lost it.”

“Have you?” inquired Silk.

“Yes; I fancy I left it here last night. I say, have you heard Parrett’s won’t accept a new race?”

“I wonder why?” asked Silk.

“Because they say they won’t have out their boat again till the fellow’s found who cut the lines.”

“Well, I don’t blame them—do you, Gilks?” said Silk. “I suppose there’s no idea who he is?”

“Not a bit,” said Wyndham; “I wish to goodness there was. Some fool, I expect, who’s been betting against Parrett’s.”

“I could show you a fool who’s been betting on Parrett’s,” said Silk, “and who’s decidedly up a tree now! I say, young ’un, I suppose you couldn’t lend me a sov. till the end of the term?”

“I’ve only got half-a-sov. in the world,” said Wyndham.

“Well, I’ll try and make that do, thanks,” said Silk.

Wyndham pulled out his purse rather ruefully and handed him the coin.

“Mind you let me have it back, please,” he said, “as I’m saving up for a racket. And I say,” added he, leaving, “if you do come across my knife, let’s have it, will you?”

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