Chapter Thirty One.

Chapter Thirty One.Welch’s versus Parrett’s Juniors.“Of course,” said Riddell, as he and Wyndham strolled down by the river that afternoon, “now that your mystery is all cleared up we are as far off as ever finding out who really cut the rudder-lines.”“Yes. My knife is the only clue, and that proves nothing, for I was always leaving it about, or lending it, or losing it. I don’t suppose I kept it one entire week in my pocket all the time I had it. And, for the matter of that, it’s not at all impossible I may have dropped it in the boat-house myself some time. I often used to change my jacket there.”Riddell had half expected Wyndham would be able to afford some clue as to who had borrowed or taken the knife at that particular time. He was rather relieved to find that he could not.“Tom the boat-boy,” said he, “distinctly says that the fellow who was getting out of the window dropped the knife as he did so. Of course that may be his fancy. Anyhow, I don’t want the knife any more, so you may as well take it.”So saying he produced the knife from his pocket, and handed it to his companion.“I don’t want the beastly thing,” cried Wyndham, taking it and pitching it into the middle of the river. “Goodness knows it’s done mischief enough! But, I say, whoever wrote that note must have known something about it.”“Of course,” said the captain, “but he evidently intends the thing to be found out without his help.”“Never mind,” said Wyndham, cheerily, “give yourself a little rest, old man, and come down and see the second-eleven practise. I’ve been too much up a tree to turn up lately, but I mean to do so this evening. I say, won’t it be jolly if my brother can come down to umpire in the match.”“Itwill,” said Riddell, and the pair forthwith launched out into a discussion of the virtues of Wyndham senior, in which one was scarcely more enthusiastic than the other.On their way back to the Big they met Parson and Telson, trotting down to the bathing sheds.The faces of these two young gentlemen looked considerably perplexed as they saw the captain and his supposed victim walking arm-in-arm. However, with the delightful simplicity of youth they thought it must be all right somehow, and having important news of some sort to relate, they made no scruple about intruding on the interview.“Oh, I say, Riddell,” began Telson, “we’ve just come from the Parliament. No end of a row. Last time was nothing to it!”“What happened?” asked the captain.“Why, you know,” said Parson, “it was Game and Ashley’s affair summoning this meeting. They sent round a private note or something telling the fellows there would be a special meeting, signed by Game, First Lord of the Admiralty, and Ashley, Home Secretary. A lot of the fellows were taken in by it and turned up, and of course they had taken good care not to summon anybody that was sweet on you. So it was a packed meeting. At least they thought so. But Telson and I showed up, and the whole lot of the Skyrockets, and gave them a lively time of it.”“You see,” said Telson, eagerly taking up the narrative, “they didn’t guess we’d cut up rough, because we’ve been in rows of that sort once or twice before.”Wyndham broke out laughing at this point.“Have you, really?” he exclaimed.“Well,” continued Telson, too full of his story to heed the interruption, “they stuck Game in the chair, and he made a frightfully rambling speech about you and that boat-race business. He said you knew who the chap was, and were sheltering him and all that, and that you were as bad every bit as if you’d done it yourself, and didn’t care a hang about the honour of the school, and a whole lot of bosh of that sort. We sung out ‘Oh, oh,’ and ‘Question,’ once or twice, but, you know, we were saving ourselves up. So Ashley got up and said he was awfully astonished to hear about it—howling cram, of course, for he knew about it as much as any one did—and he considered it a disgrace to the school, and the only thing to do was to kick you out, and he proposed it.”“Then the shindy began,” said Parson. “We sent young Lawkins off to tell Crossfield what was going on, and directly Ashley sat down old Telson got up and moved an amendment. They tried to cry him down, but they couldn’t do it, could they?”“Rather not,” said Telson, proudly. “I stuck there like a leech, and the fellows all yelled too, so that nobody could hear any one speak. We kept on singing out ‘Hole in the corner! Hole in the corner!’ for about twenty minutes, and there weren’t enough of them to turn us out. Then they tried to get round us by being civil, but we were up to that dodge. Parson went on after me, and then old Bosher, and then King, and then Wakefield, and when he’d done I started again.”“You should have seen how jolly wild they got!” cried Parson. “A lot of the fellows laughed, and joined us too. Old Game and Ashley were regularly mad! They came round and bawled in our ears that they gave us a thousand lines each, and we’d be detained all the rest of the term. But we didn’t hear it; and when they tried to get at us we hit out with rulers, and they couldn’t do it. You never saw such a lark!”“And presently Crossfield turned up,” said Telson. “My eye! you should have seen how yellow and green they looked when he dropped in and walked up to his usual place! We shut up for a bit as soon as he came—and, you know, I fancy they’d have sooner we kept it up. They were bound to say something when the row stopped. So Game tried to rush the thing through, and get the fellows to vote before Crossfield knew what was up. But he wasn’t to be done that way.”“‘I didn’t quite hear what the motion was?’ says he, as solemn as a judge.“‘Oh! it’s about the honour of the school. Riddell—’“‘Excuse me, Mr Deputy-Chairman and ex-monitor,’ says Crossfield, and there was a regular laugh at that hit, because, of course, Game had no more right in the chair, now he’s not a monitor, than I had. ‘If it’s anything to do with the honour of the school, of course it couldn’t be in better hands than yours, who have summoned the meeting on the sly, and taken such care to select a nice little party!’“They tried to stop him at that.“‘You can’t stop the business now. We were just going to take the vote when you came in,’ said Game.“‘Exactly!’ says Crossfield, propping himself up comfortably against the back of the form as if he was going to stay all night; ‘that’s just why I came, and that’s just why Bloomfield, and Porter, and Coates, and Fairbairn, and a few other gentlemen who have a sort of mild interest in the honour of the school—although it’s nothing, of course, to yours—are coming on too. They’ll be here before I’ve done my speech. By the way, one of you kids,’ said he, with a wink our way, ‘might go and fetch Riddell; he’d like to be here too.’“We shoved young Wakefield out of the door to make believe to go and fetch you. But they’d had quite enough of it, and shut up the meeting all of a sudden.“‘I adjourn the meeting!’ cried Game, as red as a turkey-cock.“‘All right! that will suit me just as well,’ says Crossfield, grinning. ‘Is it to any particular day, or shall we get notice as before?’“Of course they didn’t stop to answer, and so we gave no end of a cheer for old Crossfield, and then came on here.”And having delivered themselves of this full, true, and particular account of the afternoon’s adventures, these two small heroes continued their trot down to the river to refresh their honest limbs after the day’s labours.Their version of the proceedings was very little exaggerated, and, as Crossfield and several others who were present each entertained his own particular circle of friends with the same story, the whole affair became a joke against the luckless Game and Ashley.Even their own house did not spare them, and as for Bloomfield, he evinced his displeasure in a way which surprised the two heroes.“What’s all this foolery you’ve been up to, you two?” said he, coming into the preparation-room after tea, where most of the senior Parretts were assembled.It was not flattering certainly to the two in question to have their noble protest for the honour of the school thus designated, and Game answered, rather sheepishly, “We’ve been up to no foolery!”“You may not call it foolery,” said Bloomfield, who was in anything but a good temper, “but I do! Making the whole house ridiculous! Goodness knows there’s been quite enough done in that way without wanting your help to do more!”“What’s the use of going on like that?” said Ashley. “You don’t suppose we did it to amuse ourselves, do you?”“If you didn’t amuse yourselves you amused every one else,” growled Bloomfield. “Everybody’s laughing at us.”“We felt something ought to be done about Riddell—” began Game.“Felt! You’d no business to feel, if that’s the best you can show for it,” said Bloomfield. “You’llnever set things right!”“Look here,” said Game, quickly, losing his temper; “you know well enough it was meant for the best, and you needn’t come and kick up a row like this before everybody! If you don’t care to have Riddell shown up, it is no reason why we shouldn’t!”“A precious lot you’ve shown him up! If you’d wanted to get every one on his side, you couldn’t have done better. You don’t suppose any one would be frightened out of his skin by anything a couple of asses who’d been kicked out of the monitorship had to say?”Bloomfield certainly had the habit of expressing himself warmly at times, and on the present occasion he may have done so rather more warmly than the case deserved. But he was put out and angry at the ridiculous performance of the Parrett’s boys, in which he felt the entire house was more or less compromised.As to Riddell, Bloomfield still kept his own private opinion of him, but the difference between him and his more ardent comrades was that he had the sense to keep what he thought to himself.At any rate, he gave deep offence now to Game and Ashley, who retired in high dudgeon and greatly crestfallen to proclaim their wrongs to a small and sympathetic knot of admirers.Perhaps the most serious blow these officious young gentlemen had received—hardly second to their snubbing by the Parretts’ captain—had been the mutiny of their own juniors, on whose cooperation they had calculated to a dead certainty.To find Parson, Bosher, King, and Co. standing up in defence of Riddell againstthemwas a phenomenon so wonderful, when they came to think of it, that they were inclined to imagine they themselves were the only sane boys left out of a house of lunatics. And this was the only consolation that mixed with the affair at all.As to these juniors, they had far more to think about. In three days the match with Welch’s would be upon them, and a panic ensued on the discovery.They had been contemptuously confident of their superior prowess, and it was not until one or two of them had actually been down to inspect the play of the rival team, and Bloomfield had come down to one of their own practices and declared publicly that they were safe to be beaten hollow, that they regarded the coming contest seriously.Then they went to work in grim earnest. Having broken with Game, on whom they had usually depended for “instruction and reproof,” they boldly claimed the services of Bloomfield, and even pressed the willing Mr Parrett into the service.Mr Parrett pulled a very long face the first afternoon he came down to look at them. He had been coaching the Welchers for a week or two past, and therefore knew pretty well what their opponents ought to be. And he was bound to admit that the young Parretts were very much below the mark.They had a few good men. Parson was a fair bat, and King bowled moderately; but the “tail” of the eleven was in a shocking condition. Everything that could be done during the next few days was done. But cricket is not a study which can be “crammed” up, like Virgil or Euclid; and, despite the united efforts of Bloomfield and Mr Parrett, and a few other authorities, the team was pronounced to be a “shady” one at best as it took its place on the field of battle.Riddell had kept his men steadily at it to the last. With a generosity very few appreciated, he forbore to claim Mr Parrett’s assistance at all during the last few days of practice, but he got Fairbairn and one or two of the schoolhouse seniors instead, and with their help kept up the courage and hopes of the young Welchers, wisely taking care, however, by a little occasional judicious snubbing, to prevent them from becoming too cocky or sure of the result.It was quite an event to see the Welchers’ flag hoisted once more on the cricket-ground. Indeed, it was such an event that the doctor himself came down to watch the play, while the muster of schoolboys was almost as large as at a senior house match.Among all the spectators, none were more interested in the event than the seniors, who had taken upon themselves the responsibility of “coaching” their respective teams.Riddell was quite excited and nervous as he watched his men go out to field, while Bloomfield, though he would have been the last to own it, felt decidedly fidgety for the fate of his young champions.However, Parretts, who went in first, began better than any one expected. Parson and King went boldly—not to say rashly—to work from the outset, and knocked the bowling about considerably before a lucky ball from Philpot got round the bat of the former and demolished his wicket.Wakefield followed, and he too managed to put a few runs together; but as soon as his wicket fell a dismal quarter of an hour followed for the Parretts. Boy after boy, in all the finery of spotless flannel and pads and gloves, swaggered up to the wicket, and, after taking “middle” in magnificent style, and giving a lordly glance round the field, as though to select the best point for placing their strokes, lifted their bats miserably at the first ball that came, and had no chance of lifting it at another.It was a melancholy spectacle, and far more calculated to excite pity than amusement. Bloomfield chafed and growled for some time, and then, unable to stand it any longer, went off in disgust, leaving the young reprobates to their fate.Scarcely less remarkable than the collapse of Parrett’s was the steadiness of Welch’s in the field. Although they had little to do, they did what there was to do neatly and well, and, unlike many junior elevens, did it quietly. The junior matches at Willoughby had usually been more famous for noise than cricket, but on this occasion the order of things was reversed, and Riddell, as he looked on and heard the compliments from all quarters bestowed on his young heroes, might be excused if he felt rewarded for all the labour and patience of the past month.It offended him not at all to hear this good result attributed generally to Mr Parrett’s instructions. He knew it was true. Mr Parrett himself took care to disclaim any but a small amount of merit in the matter.“It’s a wonder to me,” said he to Fairbairn, in the hearing of a good many seniors, who were wont to treat anything he had to say on athletic matters as authoritative—“it’s a wonder to me how Riddell, who is only a moderate player himself, has turned out such a first-rate eleven. He’s about the best cricket coach we have had, and I have seen several in my time. He has worked on their enthusiasm without stint, and next best to that, he has not so much hammered into them what they ought to do, as he has hammered out of them what they ought not to do. Three fellows out of five never think of that.”“I’m sure they don’t,” said Fairbairn.“See how steady they were all the innings, too!” continued Mr Parrett. “Three coaches out of five wouldn’t lay that down as the first rule of cricket; but it is, especially with youngsters. Be steady first, and be expert next. That’s the right order, and Riddell has discovered it. I would even back a steady eleven of moderate players against a rickety eleven of good ones. In fact, a boy can’t be a cricketer at all, or anything else, unless he’s steady. Now, you see, unless I am mistaken, they will give quite as good an account of themselves at the wickets as they did on the field.”And off strolled the honest Mr Parrett, bat in hand, to umpire, leaving his hearers not a little impressed with the force of his views on the first principles of cricket.The master’s prophecy was correct. The Welchers, notwithstanding the fact that they had only twenty-five runs to get to equal their rivals’ first innings, played a steady and careful innings, in which they just trebled the Parretts’ score. The bowling against them was not strong certainly, but they took no liberties with it. Indeed, both the captain and Mr Parrett had so ruthlessly denounced and snubbed anything like “fancy hitting,” that their batting was inclined to err on the side of the over-cautious, and more runs might doubtless have been made by a little freer swing of the bats. However, the authorities were well satisfied. Cusack carried his bat for eighteen, much to his own gratification; and of his companions, Pilbury, Philpot, and Walker each made double figures.It required all Riddell’s authority, in the face of this splendid achievement, to keep his men from jeopardising their second innings in the field by yielding prematurely to elation.“For goodness’ sake don’t hulloa till you’re out of the wood!” he said; “they may catch up on you yet. Seventy-five isn’t such a big score after all. If you don’t look out you’ll muddle your chance away, and then how small you’ll look!”With such advice to hold them in check, they went out as soberly as before to field, and devoted their whole energies to the task of disposing of their enemies’ wickets for the fewest possible runs.And they succeeded quite as well as before. Indeed, the second innings of the Parretts was a feeble imitation of their first melancholy performance. Parson, King, and Wakefield were the only three who made any stand, and even they fared worse than before. All the side could put together was twenty-one runs, and about this, even, they had great trouble.When it became known that the Welchers had won the match by an innings and twenty-nine runs, great was the amazement of all Willoughby, and greater still was the mortification of the unlucky Parretts. No more was said about the grand concert in which they intended to celebrate their triumph. They evidently felt they had not much to be proud of, and, consequently, avoiding a public entry into their house, they slunk in quietly, and, shutting out the distant sounds of revelry and rejoicing in the victorious house, mingled their tears over a sympathetic pot of tea, to which even Telson was not invited.

“Of course,” said Riddell, as he and Wyndham strolled down by the river that afternoon, “now that your mystery is all cleared up we are as far off as ever finding out who really cut the rudder-lines.”

“Yes. My knife is the only clue, and that proves nothing, for I was always leaving it about, or lending it, or losing it. I don’t suppose I kept it one entire week in my pocket all the time I had it. And, for the matter of that, it’s not at all impossible I may have dropped it in the boat-house myself some time. I often used to change my jacket there.”

Riddell had half expected Wyndham would be able to afford some clue as to who had borrowed or taken the knife at that particular time. He was rather relieved to find that he could not.

“Tom the boat-boy,” said he, “distinctly says that the fellow who was getting out of the window dropped the knife as he did so. Of course that may be his fancy. Anyhow, I don’t want the knife any more, so you may as well take it.”

So saying he produced the knife from his pocket, and handed it to his companion.

“I don’t want the beastly thing,” cried Wyndham, taking it and pitching it into the middle of the river. “Goodness knows it’s done mischief enough! But, I say, whoever wrote that note must have known something about it.”

“Of course,” said the captain, “but he evidently intends the thing to be found out without his help.”

“Never mind,” said Wyndham, cheerily, “give yourself a little rest, old man, and come down and see the second-eleven practise. I’ve been too much up a tree to turn up lately, but I mean to do so this evening. I say, won’t it be jolly if my brother can come down to umpire in the match.”

“Itwill,” said Riddell, and the pair forthwith launched out into a discussion of the virtues of Wyndham senior, in which one was scarcely more enthusiastic than the other.

On their way back to the Big they met Parson and Telson, trotting down to the bathing sheds.

The faces of these two young gentlemen looked considerably perplexed as they saw the captain and his supposed victim walking arm-in-arm. However, with the delightful simplicity of youth they thought it must be all right somehow, and having important news of some sort to relate, they made no scruple about intruding on the interview.

“Oh, I say, Riddell,” began Telson, “we’ve just come from the Parliament. No end of a row. Last time was nothing to it!”

“What happened?” asked the captain.

“Why, you know,” said Parson, “it was Game and Ashley’s affair summoning this meeting. They sent round a private note or something telling the fellows there would be a special meeting, signed by Game, First Lord of the Admiralty, and Ashley, Home Secretary. A lot of the fellows were taken in by it and turned up, and of course they had taken good care not to summon anybody that was sweet on you. So it was a packed meeting. At least they thought so. But Telson and I showed up, and the whole lot of the Skyrockets, and gave them a lively time of it.”

“You see,” said Telson, eagerly taking up the narrative, “they didn’t guess we’d cut up rough, because we’ve been in rows of that sort once or twice before.”

Wyndham broke out laughing at this point.

“Have you, really?” he exclaimed.

“Well,” continued Telson, too full of his story to heed the interruption, “they stuck Game in the chair, and he made a frightfully rambling speech about you and that boat-race business. He said you knew who the chap was, and were sheltering him and all that, and that you were as bad every bit as if you’d done it yourself, and didn’t care a hang about the honour of the school, and a whole lot of bosh of that sort. We sung out ‘Oh, oh,’ and ‘Question,’ once or twice, but, you know, we were saving ourselves up. So Ashley got up and said he was awfully astonished to hear about it—howling cram, of course, for he knew about it as much as any one did—and he considered it a disgrace to the school, and the only thing to do was to kick you out, and he proposed it.”

“Then the shindy began,” said Parson. “We sent young Lawkins off to tell Crossfield what was going on, and directly Ashley sat down old Telson got up and moved an amendment. They tried to cry him down, but they couldn’t do it, could they?”

“Rather not,” said Telson, proudly. “I stuck there like a leech, and the fellows all yelled too, so that nobody could hear any one speak. We kept on singing out ‘Hole in the corner! Hole in the corner!’ for about twenty minutes, and there weren’t enough of them to turn us out. Then they tried to get round us by being civil, but we were up to that dodge. Parson went on after me, and then old Bosher, and then King, and then Wakefield, and when he’d done I started again.”

“You should have seen how jolly wild they got!” cried Parson. “A lot of the fellows laughed, and joined us too. Old Game and Ashley were regularly mad! They came round and bawled in our ears that they gave us a thousand lines each, and we’d be detained all the rest of the term. But we didn’t hear it; and when they tried to get at us we hit out with rulers, and they couldn’t do it. You never saw such a lark!”

“And presently Crossfield turned up,” said Telson. “My eye! you should have seen how yellow and green they looked when he dropped in and walked up to his usual place! We shut up for a bit as soon as he came—and, you know, I fancy they’d have sooner we kept it up. They were bound to say something when the row stopped. So Game tried to rush the thing through, and get the fellows to vote before Crossfield knew what was up. But he wasn’t to be done that way.”

“‘I didn’t quite hear what the motion was?’ says he, as solemn as a judge.

“‘Oh! it’s about the honour of the school. Riddell—’

“‘Excuse me, Mr Deputy-Chairman and ex-monitor,’ says Crossfield, and there was a regular laugh at that hit, because, of course, Game had no more right in the chair, now he’s not a monitor, than I had. ‘If it’s anything to do with the honour of the school, of course it couldn’t be in better hands than yours, who have summoned the meeting on the sly, and taken such care to select a nice little party!’

“They tried to stop him at that.

“‘You can’t stop the business now. We were just going to take the vote when you came in,’ said Game.

“‘Exactly!’ says Crossfield, propping himself up comfortably against the back of the form as if he was going to stay all night; ‘that’s just why I came, and that’s just why Bloomfield, and Porter, and Coates, and Fairbairn, and a few other gentlemen who have a sort of mild interest in the honour of the school—although it’s nothing, of course, to yours—are coming on too. They’ll be here before I’ve done my speech. By the way, one of you kids,’ said he, with a wink our way, ‘might go and fetch Riddell; he’d like to be here too.’

“We shoved young Wakefield out of the door to make believe to go and fetch you. But they’d had quite enough of it, and shut up the meeting all of a sudden.

“‘I adjourn the meeting!’ cried Game, as red as a turkey-cock.

“‘All right! that will suit me just as well,’ says Crossfield, grinning. ‘Is it to any particular day, or shall we get notice as before?’

“Of course they didn’t stop to answer, and so we gave no end of a cheer for old Crossfield, and then came on here.”

And having delivered themselves of this full, true, and particular account of the afternoon’s adventures, these two small heroes continued their trot down to the river to refresh their honest limbs after the day’s labours.

Their version of the proceedings was very little exaggerated, and, as Crossfield and several others who were present each entertained his own particular circle of friends with the same story, the whole affair became a joke against the luckless Game and Ashley.

Even their own house did not spare them, and as for Bloomfield, he evinced his displeasure in a way which surprised the two heroes.

“What’s all this foolery you’ve been up to, you two?” said he, coming into the preparation-room after tea, where most of the senior Parretts were assembled.

It was not flattering certainly to the two in question to have their noble protest for the honour of the school thus designated, and Game answered, rather sheepishly, “We’ve been up to no foolery!”

“You may not call it foolery,” said Bloomfield, who was in anything but a good temper, “but I do! Making the whole house ridiculous! Goodness knows there’s been quite enough done in that way without wanting your help to do more!”

“What’s the use of going on like that?” said Ashley. “You don’t suppose we did it to amuse ourselves, do you?”

“If you didn’t amuse yourselves you amused every one else,” growled Bloomfield. “Everybody’s laughing at us.”

“We felt something ought to be done about Riddell—” began Game.

“Felt! You’d no business to feel, if that’s the best you can show for it,” said Bloomfield. “You’llnever set things right!”

“Look here,” said Game, quickly, losing his temper; “you know well enough it was meant for the best, and you needn’t come and kick up a row like this before everybody! If you don’t care to have Riddell shown up, it is no reason why we shouldn’t!”

“A precious lot you’ve shown him up! If you’d wanted to get every one on his side, you couldn’t have done better. You don’t suppose any one would be frightened out of his skin by anything a couple of asses who’d been kicked out of the monitorship had to say?”

Bloomfield certainly had the habit of expressing himself warmly at times, and on the present occasion he may have done so rather more warmly than the case deserved. But he was put out and angry at the ridiculous performance of the Parrett’s boys, in which he felt the entire house was more or less compromised.

As to Riddell, Bloomfield still kept his own private opinion of him, but the difference between him and his more ardent comrades was that he had the sense to keep what he thought to himself.

At any rate, he gave deep offence now to Game and Ashley, who retired in high dudgeon and greatly crestfallen to proclaim their wrongs to a small and sympathetic knot of admirers.

Perhaps the most serious blow these officious young gentlemen had received—hardly second to their snubbing by the Parretts’ captain—had been the mutiny of their own juniors, on whose cooperation they had calculated to a dead certainty.

To find Parson, Bosher, King, and Co. standing up in defence of Riddell againstthemwas a phenomenon so wonderful, when they came to think of it, that they were inclined to imagine they themselves were the only sane boys left out of a house of lunatics. And this was the only consolation that mixed with the affair at all.

As to these juniors, they had far more to think about. In three days the match with Welch’s would be upon them, and a panic ensued on the discovery.

They had been contemptuously confident of their superior prowess, and it was not until one or two of them had actually been down to inspect the play of the rival team, and Bloomfield had come down to one of their own practices and declared publicly that they were safe to be beaten hollow, that they regarded the coming contest seriously.

Then they went to work in grim earnest. Having broken with Game, on whom they had usually depended for “instruction and reproof,” they boldly claimed the services of Bloomfield, and even pressed the willing Mr Parrett into the service.

Mr Parrett pulled a very long face the first afternoon he came down to look at them. He had been coaching the Welchers for a week or two past, and therefore knew pretty well what their opponents ought to be. And he was bound to admit that the young Parretts were very much below the mark.

They had a few good men. Parson was a fair bat, and King bowled moderately; but the “tail” of the eleven was in a shocking condition. Everything that could be done during the next few days was done. But cricket is not a study which can be “crammed” up, like Virgil or Euclid; and, despite the united efforts of Bloomfield and Mr Parrett, and a few other authorities, the team was pronounced to be a “shady” one at best as it took its place on the field of battle.

Riddell had kept his men steadily at it to the last. With a generosity very few appreciated, he forbore to claim Mr Parrett’s assistance at all during the last few days of practice, but he got Fairbairn and one or two of the schoolhouse seniors instead, and with their help kept up the courage and hopes of the young Welchers, wisely taking care, however, by a little occasional judicious snubbing, to prevent them from becoming too cocky or sure of the result.

It was quite an event to see the Welchers’ flag hoisted once more on the cricket-ground. Indeed, it was such an event that the doctor himself came down to watch the play, while the muster of schoolboys was almost as large as at a senior house match.

Among all the spectators, none were more interested in the event than the seniors, who had taken upon themselves the responsibility of “coaching” their respective teams.

Riddell was quite excited and nervous as he watched his men go out to field, while Bloomfield, though he would have been the last to own it, felt decidedly fidgety for the fate of his young champions.

However, Parretts, who went in first, began better than any one expected. Parson and King went boldly—not to say rashly—to work from the outset, and knocked the bowling about considerably before a lucky ball from Philpot got round the bat of the former and demolished his wicket.

Wakefield followed, and he too managed to put a few runs together; but as soon as his wicket fell a dismal quarter of an hour followed for the Parretts. Boy after boy, in all the finery of spotless flannel and pads and gloves, swaggered up to the wicket, and, after taking “middle” in magnificent style, and giving a lordly glance round the field, as though to select the best point for placing their strokes, lifted their bats miserably at the first ball that came, and had no chance of lifting it at another.

It was a melancholy spectacle, and far more calculated to excite pity than amusement. Bloomfield chafed and growled for some time, and then, unable to stand it any longer, went off in disgust, leaving the young reprobates to their fate.

Scarcely less remarkable than the collapse of Parrett’s was the steadiness of Welch’s in the field. Although they had little to do, they did what there was to do neatly and well, and, unlike many junior elevens, did it quietly. The junior matches at Willoughby had usually been more famous for noise than cricket, but on this occasion the order of things was reversed, and Riddell, as he looked on and heard the compliments from all quarters bestowed on his young heroes, might be excused if he felt rewarded for all the labour and patience of the past month.

It offended him not at all to hear this good result attributed generally to Mr Parrett’s instructions. He knew it was true. Mr Parrett himself took care to disclaim any but a small amount of merit in the matter.

“It’s a wonder to me,” said he to Fairbairn, in the hearing of a good many seniors, who were wont to treat anything he had to say on athletic matters as authoritative—“it’s a wonder to me how Riddell, who is only a moderate player himself, has turned out such a first-rate eleven. He’s about the best cricket coach we have had, and I have seen several in my time. He has worked on their enthusiasm without stint, and next best to that, he has not so much hammered into them what they ought to do, as he has hammered out of them what they ought not to do. Three fellows out of five never think of that.”

“I’m sure they don’t,” said Fairbairn.

“See how steady they were all the innings, too!” continued Mr Parrett. “Three coaches out of five wouldn’t lay that down as the first rule of cricket; but it is, especially with youngsters. Be steady first, and be expert next. That’s the right order, and Riddell has discovered it. I would even back a steady eleven of moderate players against a rickety eleven of good ones. In fact, a boy can’t be a cricketer at all, or anything else, unless he’s steady. Now, you see, unless I am mistaken, they will give quite as good an account of themselves at the wickets as they did on the field.”

And off strolled the honest Mr Parrett, bat in hand, to umpire, leaving his hearers not a little impressed with the force of his views on the first principles of cricket.

The master’s prophecy was correct. The Welchers, notwithstanding the fact that they had only twenty-five runs to get to equal their rivals’ first innings, played a steady and careful innings, in which they just trebled the Parretts’ score. The bowling against them was not strong certainly, but they took no liberties with it. Indeed, both the captain and Mr Parrett had so ruthlessly denounced and snubbed anything like “fancy hitting,” that their batting was inclined to err on the side of the over-cautious, and more runs might doubtless have been made by a little freer swing of the bats. However, the authorities were well satisfied. Cusack carried his bat for eighteen, much to his own gratification; and of his companions, Pilbury, Philpot, and Walker each made double figures.

It required all Riddell’s authority, in the face of this splendid achievement, to keep his men from jeopardising their second innings in the field by yielding prematurely to elation.

“For goodness’ sake don’t hulloa till you’re out of the wood!” he said; “they may catch up on you yet. Seventy-five isn’t such a big score after all. If you don’t look out you’ll muddle your chance away, and then how small you’ll look!”

With such advice to hold them in check, they went out as soberly as before to field, and devoted their whole energies to the task of disposing of their enemies’ wickets for the fewest possible runs.

And they succeeded quite as well as before. Indeed, the second innings of the Parretts was a feeble imitation of their first melancholy performance. Parson, King, and Wakefield were the only three who made any stand, and even they fared worse than before. All the side could put together was twenty-one runs, and about this, even, they had great trouble.

When it became known that the Welchers had won the match by an innings and twenty-nine runs, great was the amazement of all Willoughby, and greater still was the mortification of the unlucky Parretts. No more was said about the grand concert in which they intended to celebrate their triumph. They evidently felt they had not much to be proud of, and, consequently, avoiding a public entry into their house, they slunk in quietly, and, shutting out the distant sounds of revelry and rejoicing in the victorious house, mingled their tears over a sympathetic pot of tea, to which even Telson was not invited.

Chapter Thirty Two.A Climax to Everything.Among the few Willoughbites who took no interest at all in the juniors’ match was Gilks.It was hardly to be wondered at that he, a schoolhouse boy, should not concern himself much about a contest between the fags of Welch’s and Parrett’s. And yet, if truth were known, it would have been just the same had the match been the greatest event of the season, for Gilks, from some cause or other, was in no condition to care about anything.He wandered about listlessly that afternoon, avoiding the crowded Big, and bending his steps rather to the unfrequented meadows by the river. What he was thinking about as he paced along none of the very few boys who met him that afternoon could guess, but that it was nothing pleasant was very evident.At the beginning of this very term Gilks had been one of the noisiest and liveliest fellows in Willoughby. Although his principles had never been lofty, his spirits always used to be excellent, and those who knew him best could scarcely recognise now in the anxious, spiritless monitor the companion whose shout and laugh had been so familiar only a few months ago.Among those who met him this afternoon was Wibberly. Wibberly, like Gilks, felt very little interest in the juniors’ match. He was one of the small party who yesterday had come in for such a smart snubbing from Bloomfield, and the only way to show his sense of the ingratitude of such treatment, especially towards an old toady like himself, was to profess no interest in an event which was notoriously interesting the Parretts’ captain.So Wibberly strolled down that afternoon to the river, and naturally met Gilks.The two were not by any means chums—indeed, they were scarcely to be called friends. But they had one considerable bond of sympathy in a common dislike for the schoolhouse, and still more for Riddell. Gilks, as the reader knows, was anything but a loyal schoolhouse man, and ever since he became a monitor had cast in his lot with the rival house. So that he was generally considered, and considered himself to be, quite as much of a Parrett as a “schoolhouser.”“So you are not down looking at the little boys?” said Wibberly.“No,” said Gilks.“Awful rot,” said Wibberly, “making all that fuss about them!”“Pleases them and doesn’t hurt us,” replied Gilks.“In my opinion it’s all a bit of vanity on the part of Riddell. He’d like to make every one think he has been coaching his kids, and this is just a show-off.”“Well, let him show off; who cares?” growled Gilks.“All very well. He ought to be hooted round the school instead of flashing it there in the Big, the hypocritical cad!”“Well, why don’t you go and do it?” said Gilks; “you’d get plenty to join you.”“Would I? No, I wouldn’t. Even Bloomfield’s taking his part—he’s gammoned him somehow.”“Well, that doesn’t prevent your going and hooting him, does it?” said Gilks, with a sneer. “You’ve a right to enjoy yourself as well as any one else.”“What! have you come round to worship his holiness too?” asked Wibberly, who had at least expected some sympathy from Gilks.“Not exactly!” said Gilks, bitterly; “but I’ve come round to letting the cad alone. What’s the good of bothering?”“And you mean to say you’d let him go on knowing who the fellow is who cut the rudder-lines of our boat, and not make him say who it is?”“I expect that’s all stuff about his knowing at all,” said Gilks.“Not it! Between you and me, I fancy he’s had a tip from somewhere.”“He has? Bah! don’t you believe it. He’d like to make believe he knows all about it. It would pay, you know.”“But every one thinks he knows.”“Not he! He would have told the fellow’s name long ago. Whatever object would he have in keeping it back?”“Oh! I don’t know. He says some gammon about not being quite sure. But he’s had time enough to be sure by now.”Gilks walked on in silence for a little, and then inquired, “And suppose you did get to know who it was, what would be the use?”“The use!” exclaimed Wibberly, in amazement. “Why, what do you mean? By Jove, I’m sorry for the fellow when he turns up. He’ll soon find out the use of it.”Gilks said nothing, but walked on evidently out of humour, and Wibberly having nothing better to do accompanied him.“By the way,” said the latter, presently, seeing his companion was not disposed to continue the former conversation, “what’s up between you and Silk? Is it true you’ve had a row?”Gilks growled out something which sounded very like an oath, and replied, “Yes.”“What about?” inquired the inquisitive Wibberly, who seemed to have the knack of hitting upon unwelcome topics.“It wouldn’t do you any good to know,” growled Gilks.“I heard it was some betting row, or something of that sort,” said Wibberly.“Eh?—yes—something of that sort,” said Gilks.“Well,” said Wibberly, “I never cared much for Silk. He always seemed to know a little too much for me. I wouldn’t break my heart if I were you.”“I don’t mean to,” said Gilks, but in a tone which belied the words, and even struck Wibberly by its wretchedness.“I say,” said he, “you’re awfully down in the mouth these times. What’s wrong?”“What makes you think anything’s wrong? I’m all right, I tell you,” said Gilks, half angrily.Wibberly was half inclined to say that he would not have thought it if he had not been told so, but judging from his companion’s looks that this little pleasantry would not be appreciated, he forbore and walked on in silence.It was a relief when Wibberly at length discovered that it was time for him to be going back. Gilks wanted nobody’s company, and was glad to be left alone.And yet he would gladly have escaped even from his own company, which to judge by his miserable looks as he walked on alone was less pleasant than any.He was sorry now he had not gone to watch the juniors, where at least he would have heard something less hateful than his own thoughts, and seen something less hateful than the dreary creations of his own troubled imagination.“What’s the use of keeping it up?” said he, bitterly, to himself. “I don’t care! Things can’t be worse than they are. Down in the mouth! He’d be down in the mouth if he were!—the fool! I’ve a good mind to— And yet I daren’t face it. What’s the use of trusting to a fellow like Silk! Bah! how I hate him. He’ll betray me as soon as ever it suits him, and—and—oh, I don’t care. Let him!”Gilks had reached this dismal climax in his reflections, when he suddenly became aware that the object of his meditations was approaching him.Silk had his own reasons for not joining the throng that was looking on at the juniors’ match. It may have been mere lack of interest, or it may have been a special desire to take this walk. Whichever it was, his presence now was about as unwelcome an apparition as Gilks could have encountered, and the smile on the intruder’s face showed pretty clearly that he was aware of the fact.“What are you prowling about here for?” said he as he came up, with all the insolence of a warder addressing a convict.“I’ve a right to walk here if I choose,” replied Gilks, sulkily; “what are you here for?”“To find you. I want to speak to you,” replied Silk.“I don’t want to speak to you,” replied Gilks, moving on.“Don’t you?” replied Silk, with a sneer. “You’ll have to do it whether you want or not, my boy.”There was something about the Welcher which had the effect of cowing his companion, and Gilks, fuming inwardly, and with a face as black as thunder, said, “Well—say what you’ve got to say, and be done with it.”Silk laughed.“Thank you. I’ll take my time, not yours. Which way are you going?”“No way at all,” said Gilks, standing still.“Very well. I’m going this way. Come with me.”And he began to walk on, Gilks sullenly following.“You saw Wyndham the other day?” said Silk.“Suppose I did?”“What did he want?”“I don’t know—some foolery or other. I didn’t listen to him.”“You needn’t tell lies. What did he want, I say?”“How should I know?” retorted Gilks.“What did he want? do you hear?” repeated the other.“He wanted me to let him blab about something—about Beamish’s it was.”“And did you tell him he might?”“Yes. I said he might blab about me too for all I cared. And so he may. I wish to goodness he would.”“And whatever business had you to tell him he might say a word about it?” demanded Silk, angrily.“What business? A good deal more business than you’ve got to ask me questions.”“Do you know what he’s done?”“No, I don’t; and I don’t care.”“Don’t you care?” snarled Silk, fast losing his temper; “that foolery of yours has spoiled everything.”“So much the better.Idon’t care.”“ButIcare!” exclaimed Silk, furiously, “and I’ll see you care too, you fool!”“What’s happened, then?” asked Gilks.“Why, Riddell—”“For goodness’ sake don’t start on him!” cried Gilks, viciously; “he’s nothing to do with it.”“Hasn’t he? That’s all you know, you blockhead! He suspected Wyndham of that boat-race business. I can’t make out how, but he did. And the young fool all along thought it was Beamish’s he was in a row about. But Riddell wouldn’t have known it to this day if you hadn’t given the young idiot leave to go and blab, and so clear it up.”“Let him blab. I wish he’d clear up everything,” growled, or rather groaned, Gilks.“Look here!” said Silk, stopping short in his walk and rounding on his victim. “I’ve had quite enough of this, and you’d better shut up. You know I could make you sorry for it if I chose.”Gilks said nothing, but walked on sullenly.“And the worse thing about it,” continued Silk, “is that now Wyndham and Riddell are as thick as brothers, and the young toady’s sure to tell him everything.”“And suppose he does?”“There’s no suppose about it. I don’t choose to have it, I tell you.”“How can you help it?” said Gilks.“We must get hold of the young ’un again,” said Silk, “and you’ll have to manage it.”“Who?—I?” said Gilks, with a bitter laugh.“Yes, you. And don’t talk so loud, do you hear? You’ll have to manage it, and I think I can put you up to a way for getting hold of him.”“You can spare yourself the trouble,” said Gilks, stopping short and folding his arms doggedly. “I won’t do it.”“What!” cried Silk, in a passion.It was the second time in one week that Silk had been thus defied—each time by a boy whom he had imagined to be completely in his power. Wyndham’s mutiny had not wholly surprised him, but from Gilks he had never expected it.“I won’t do it, there!” said Gilks, now fairly at bay and determined enough.Silk glared at him for a moment, then laughed scornfully.“You won’t? You know what you are saying?”“Yes, I know,” said Gilks.“And you know what I shall do?”“Yes, you’ll tell—”Silk’s face fell. He was beginning to discover that once more he had overdone his part, and that the ground was taken from under him. But he made one last effort to recover himself.“I say, Gilks,” said he, half coaxing, half warning, “don’t be a fool. Don’t ruin yourself. I didn’t mean to be offensive. You know it’s as much in your interest as mine. If we can get hold of young Wyndham again—”“If you want him, get him yourself, I’m not going to do it,” once more said Gilks, with pale face and clenched teeth.Silk’s manner changed once more. His face became livid, and his eyes flashed, as he sprang at Gilks, and with a sudden blow, exclaimed, “Take that, then!”It was as good as proclaiming that the game was over. As Gilks’s guilty confidant he had retained to the last some sort of influence; but now, with that blow, the last shred of his superiority had gone, and he stood there beaten before ever the fight began.Gilks had expected the blow, but had not been prepared for its suddenness. It struck him full on the cheek, and for a moment staggered him—but only for a moment. Wasting no words, he returned it vehemently, and next moment the fight had begun.That fight was not the growth of a day or a week. For many weeks it had been getting nearer and nearer, sometimes by rapid strides, sometimes by imperceptible steps; but always getting nearer, until now it had suddenly reached its climax; and the cry, “A fight—Gilks and Silk!” spread like wildfire over Willoughby.The Welchers, in the heyday of their triumph, heard it above even the chorus of the glorious Bouncer; and hearing it, forsook their revelry and hurried towards it. The Parretts quitted their melancholy teapot, and rushed with one accord to the spot. And ere they reached it Telson was there, and many a schoolhouse Limpet, and Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly, from Parrett’s; and Tucker, and I know not what crowds from Welch’s. And they crowded round, and took sides, and speculated on the result, and cheered impartially every hit.Far be it from me to describe that fight. It was no different from twenty other fights that same term, except from the one fact that the combatants were seniors. No one cared an atom about the quarrels or its merits. It was quite enough that it was an even match—that there was plenty of straight hitting and smart parrying, and that it lasted over a quarter of an hour.It was a wonder it lasted so long. Not that the men could not stay, but because no monitor with power to stop it appeared on the scene. Indeed, the only monitor present was Gilks himself, and he took no steps to end the conflict.At length, however, while the result was still undecided, a cry of “Cave!” was raised.“Look out, here’s Riddell!” cried some small boy.A round was just beginning, and neither combatant evinced any desire to desist on account of the captain’s approach.Riddell was not alone, Fairbairn was with him, and, being naturally attracted by the crowd and shouting, they both hurried up in time to see the end of the round.As soon as it was over they pushed their way in among the crowd and entered the ring.“Stop the fight!” said Riddell.The two combatants glared at him angrily, and Gilks replied, “Who says so?”“I say so,” said Riddell, quietly.The days were long gone by when the captain issued his orders in an apologetic voice and a diffident manner. He had learned enough during this term to discover the value of a little self-confidence, and had profited by the discovery. Willoughby was far more docile to an order than to a request, and on the present occasion neither Gilks nor Silk seemed disposed to argue the matter.They put on their jackets sulkily, and, without further words to one another or to the monitors, betook their battered selves to their several quarters.Willoughby, perceiving that the matter was at an end, also dispersed and returned to its several quarters. The Welchers resumed their interrupted revel with unabated rejoicing; the melancholy Parretts called for more hot water to eke out the consolations of their teapot; the Limpets turned in again to their preparation, and the seniors to their studies—every one criticising the fight, and wondering how it would have ended, but scarcely one troubling himself much about its merit, and less still about its consequences.One of these consequences the principals in the engagement were not long in learning. A message arrived for each, before the evening was over, that they were reported to the doctor, and were to go to his room at nine next morning.Silk did not get the message till late, as he had been absent most of the evening in Tucker’s study, who was an expert at repairing the damage incurred in a pugilistic encounter.When about bedtime he returned to his own study and found the captain’s note lying on the table, he broke out into a state of fury which, to say the least of it, it was well there was no one at hand to witness.Late as the hour was, he went at once to Riddell’s study.Riddell was half-undressed as his visitor entered. “What do you want?” he inquired.“I want you! Do you mean to say you’ve reported me to the doctor?”“Of course. It was a fight. I’m bound to report it.”“Boundto report it. You snivelling humbug! Have you sent the name up yet?”“Why do you want to know?” said Riddell, who had ceased to be in bodily fear of Silk for some time past.“Because I want to know. Have you sent it up?”“I have.”“All right, you’ll be sorry for it,” said Silk.“Iamsorry for it,” replied the captain.Silk saw at a glance that the captain was not to be bullied, and changed his tone.“I suppose you know,” said he, “we shall both be expelled?”“The doctor doesn’t usually expel for fighting,” said the captain.“Of course not. But you remember getting a note from me a little time ago.”“From you? No; I never had a note from you.”“What, not one telling you to go down and see Tom the boat-boy?”“Was that from you?” exclaimed Riddell, in astonishment.“Of course it was. And of course you know now what I mean.”“I don’t. I could discover nothing,” said the captain.“You mean to say you don’t know who cut the rudder-lines?”“No; who?”“Gilks!”

Among the few Willoughbites who took no interest at all in the juniors’ match was Gilks.

It was hardly to be wondered at that he, a schoolhouse boy, should not concern himself much about a contest between the fags of Welch’s and Parrett’s. And yet, if truth were known, it would have been just the same had the match been the greatest event of the season, for Gilks, from some cause or other, was in no condition to care about anything.

He wandered about listlessly that afternoon, avoiding the crowded Big, and bending his steps rather to the unfrequented meadows by the river. What he was thinking about as he paced along none of the very few boys who met him that afternoon could guess, but that it was nothing pleasant was very evident.

At the beginning of this very term Gilks had been one of the noisiest and liveliest fellows in Willoughby. Although his principles had never been lofty, his spirits always used to be excellent, and those who knew him best could scarcely recognise now in the anxious, spiritless monitor the companion whose shout and laugh had been so familiar only a few months ago.

Among those who met him this afternoon was Wibberly. Wibberly, like Gilks, felt very little interest in the juniors’ match. He was one of the small party who yesterday had come in for such a smart snubbing from Bloomfield, and the only way to show his sense of the ingratitude of such treatment, especially towards an old toady like himself, was to profess no interest in an event which was notoriously interesting the Parretts’ captain.

So Wibberly strolled down that afternoon to the river, and naturally met Gilks.

The two were not by any means chums—indeed, they were scarcely to be called friends. But they had one considerable bond of sympathy in a common dislike for the schoolhouse, and still more for Riddell. Gilks, as the reader knows, was anything but a loyal schoolhouse man, and ever since he became a monitor had cast in his lot with the rival house. So that he was generally considered, and considered himself to be, quite as much of a Parrett as a “schoolhouser.”

“So you are not down looking at the little boys?” said Wibberly.

“No,” said Gilks.

“Awful rot,” said Wibberly, “making all that fuss about them!”

“Pleases them and doesn’t hurt us,” replied Gilks.

“In my opinion it’s all a bit of vanity on the part of Riddell. He’d like to make every one think he has been coaching his kids, and this is just a show-off.”

“Well, let him show off; who cares?” growled Gilks.

“All very well. He ought to be hooted round the school instead of flashing it there in the Big, the hypocritical cad!”

“Well, why don’t you go and do it?” said Gilks; “you’d get plenty to join you.”

“Would I? No, I wouldn’t. Even Bloomfield’s taking his part—he’s gammoned him somehow.”

“Well, that doesn’t prevent your going and hooting him, does it?” said Gilks, with a sneer. “You’ve a right to enjoy yourself as well as any one else.”

“What! have you come round to worship his holiness too?” asked Wibberly, who had at least expected some sympathy from Gilks.

“Not exactly!” said Gilks, bitterly; “but I’ve come round to letting the cad alone. What’s the good of bothering?”

“And you mean to say you’d let him go on knowing who the fellow is who cut the rudder-lines of our boat, and not make him say who it is?”

“I expect that’s all stuff about his knowing at all,” said Gilks.

“Not it! Between you and me, I fancy he’s had a tip from somewhere.”

“He has? Bah! don’t you believe it. He’d like to make believe he knows all about it. It would pay, you know.”

“But every one thinks he knows.”

“Not he! He would have told the fellow’s name long ago. Whatever object would he have in keeping it back?”

“Oh! I don’t know. He says some gammon about not being quite sure. But he’s had time enough to be sure by now.”

Gilks walked on in silence for a little, and then inquired, “And suppose you did get to know who it was, what would be the use?”

“The use!” exclaimed Wibberly, in amazement. “Why, what do you mean? By Jove, I’m sorry for the fellow when he turns up. He’ll soon find out the use of it.”

Gilks said nothing, but walked on evidently out of humour, and Wibberly having nothing better to do accompanied him.

“By the way,” said the latter, presently, seeing his companion was not disposed to continue the former conversation, “what’s up between you and Silk? Is it true you’ve had a row?”

Gilks growled out something which sounded very like an oath, and replied, “Yes.”

“What about?” inquired the inquisitive Wibberly, who seemed to have the knack of hitting upon unwelcome topics.

“It wouldn’t do you any good to know,” growled Gilks.

“I heard it was some betting row, or something of that sort,” said Wibberly.

“Eh?—yes—something of that sort,” said Gilks.

“Well,” said Wibberly, “I never cared much for Silk. He always seemed to know a little too much for me. I wouldn’t break my heart if I were you.”

“I don’t mean to,” said Gilks, but in a tone which belied the words, and even struck Wibberly by its wretchedness.

“I say,” said he, “you’re awfully down in the mouth these times. What’s wrong?”

“What makes you think anything’s wrong? I’m all right, I tell you,” said Gilks, half angrily.

Wibberly was half inclined to say that he would not have thought it if he had not been told so, but judging from his companion’s looks that this little pleasantry would not be appreciated, he forbore and walked on in silence.

It was a relief when Wibberly at length discovered that it was time for him to be going back. Gilks wanted nobody’s company, and was glad to be left alone.

And yet he would gladly have escaped even from his own company, which to judge by his miserable looks as he walked on alone was less pleasant than any.

He was sorry now he had not gone to watch the juniors, where at least he would have heard something less hateful than his own thoughts, and seen something less hateful than the dreary creations of his own troubled imagination.

“What’s the use of keeping it up?” said he, bitterly, to himself. “I don’t care! Things can’t be worse than they are. Down in the mouth! He’d be down in the mouth if he were!—the fool! I’ve a good mind to— And yet I daren’t face it. What’s the use of trusting to a fellow like Silk! Bah! how I hate him. He’ll betray me as soon as ever it suits him, and—and—oh, I don’t care. Let him!”

Gilks had reached this dismal climax in his reflections, when he suddenly became aware that the object of his meditations was approaching him.

Silk had his own reasons for not joining the throng that was looking on at the juniors’ match. It may have been mere lack of interest, or it may have been a special desire to take this walk. Whichever it was, his presence now was about as unwelcome an apparition as Gilks could have encountered, and the smile on the intruder’s face showed pretty clearly that he was aware of the fact.

“What are you prowling about here for?” said he as he came up, with all the insolence of a warder addressing a convict.

“I’ve a right to walk here if I choose,” replied Gilks, sulkily; “what are you here for?”

“To find you. I want to speak to you,” replied Silk.

“I don’t want to speak to you,” replied Gilks, moving on.

“Don’t you?” replied Silk, with a sneer. “You’ll have to do it whether you want or not, my boy.”

There was something about the Welcher which had the effect of cowing his companion, and Gilks, fuming inwardly, and with a face as black as thunder, said, “Well—say what you’ve got to say, and be done with it.”

Silk laughed.

“Thank you. I’ll take my time, not yours. Which way are you going?”

“No way at all,” said Gilks, standing still.

“Very well. I’m going this way. Come with me.”

And he began to walk on, Gilks sullenly following.

“You saw Wyndham the other day?” said Silk.

“Suppose I did?”

“What did he want?”

“I don’t know—some foolery or other. I didn’t listen to him.”

“You needn’t tell lies. What did he want, I say?”

“How should I know?” retorted Gilks.

“What did he want? do you hear?” repeated the other.

“He wanted me to let him blab about something—about Beamish’s it was.”

“And did you tell him he might?”

“Yes. I said he might blab about me too for all I cared. And so he may. I wish to goodness he would.”

“And whatever business had you to tell him he might say a word about it?” demanded Silk, angrily.

“What business? A good deal more business than you’ve got to ask me questions.”

“Do you know what he’s done?”

“No, I don’t; and I don’t care.”

“Don’t you care?” snarled Silk, fast losing his temper; “that foolery of yours has spoiled everything.”

“So much the better.Idon’t care.”

“ButIcare!” exclaimed Silk, furiously, “and I’ll see you care too, you fool!”

“What’s happened, then?” asked Gilks.

“Why, Riddell—”

“For goodness’ sake don’t start on him!” cried Gilks, viciously; “he’s nothing to do with it.”

“Hasn’t he? That’s all you know, you blockhead! He suspected Wyndham of that boat-race business. I can’t make out how, but he did. And the young fool all along thought it was Beamish’s he was in a row about. But Riddell wouldn’t have known it to this day if you hadn’t given the young idiot leave to go and blab, and so clear it up.”

“Let him blab. I wish he’d clear up everything,” growled, or rather groaned, Gilks.

“Look here!” said Silk, stopping short in his walk and rounding on his victim. “I’ve had quite enough of this, and you’d better shut up. You know I could make you sorry for it if I chose.”

Gilks said nothing, but walked on sullenly.

“And the worse thing about it,” continued Silk, “is that now Wyndham and Riddell are as thick as brothers, and the young toady’s sure to tell him everything.”

“And suppose he does?”

“There’s no suppose about it. I don’t choose to have it, I tell you.”

“How can you help it?” said Gilks.

“We must get hold of the young ’un again,” said Silk, “and you’ll have to manage it.”

“Who?—I?” said Gilks, with a bitter laugh.

“Yes, you. And don’t talk so loud, do you hear? You’ll have to manage it, and I think I can put you up to a way for getting hold of him.”

“You can spare yourself the trouble,” said Gilks, stopping short and folding his arms doggedly. “I won’t do it.”

“What!” cried Silk, in a passion.

It was the second time in one week that Silk had been thus defied—each time by a boy whom he had imagined to be completely in his power. Wyndham’s mutiny had not wholly surprised him, but from Gilks he had never expected it.

“I won’t do it, there!” said Gilks, now fairly at bay and determined enough.

Silk glared at him for a moment, then laughed scornfully.

“You won’t? You know what you are saying?”

“Yes, I know,” said Gilks.

“And you know what I shall do?”

“Yes, you’ll tell—”

Silk’s face fell. He was beginning to discover that once more he had overdone his part, and that the ground was taken from under him. But he made one last effort to recover himself.

“I say, Gilks,” said he, half coaxing, half warning, “don’t be a fool. Don’t ruin yourself. I didn’t mean to be offensive. You know it’s as much in your interest as mine. If we can get hold of young Wyndham again—”

“If you want him, get him yourself, I’m not going to do it,” once more said Gilks, with pale face and clenched teeth.

Silk’s manner changed once more. His face became livid, and his eyes flashed, as he sprang at Gilks, and with a sudden blow, exclaimed, “Take that, then!”

It was as good as proclaiming that the game was over. As Gilks’s guilty confidant he had retained to the last some sort of influence; but now, with that blow, the last shred of his superiority had gone, and he stood there beaten before ever the fight began.

Gilks had expected the blow, but had not been prepared for its suddenness. It struck him full on the cheek, and for a moment staggered him—but only for a moment. Wasting no words, he returned it vehemently, and next moment the fight had begun.

That fight was not the growth of a day or a week. For many weeks it had been getting nearer and nearer, sometimes by rapid strides, sometimes by imperceptible steps; but always getting nearer, until now it had suddenly reached its climax; and the cry, “A fight—Gilks and Silk!” spread like wildfire over Willoughby.

The Welchers, in the heyday of their triumph, heard it above even the chorus of the glorious Bouncer; and hearing it, forsook their revelry and hurried towards it. The Parretts quitted their melancholy teapot, and rushed with one accord to the spot. And ere they reached it Telson was there, and many a schoolhouse Limpet, and Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly, from Parrett’s; and Tucker, and I know not what crowds from Welch’s. And they crowded round, and took sides, and speculated on the result, and cheered impartially every hit.

Far be it from me to describe that fight. It was no different from twenty other fights that same term, except from the one fact that the combatants were seniors. No one cared an atom about the quarrels or its merits. It was quite enough that it was an even match—that there was plenty of straight hitting and smart parrying, and that it lasted over a quarter of an hour.

It was a wonder it lasted so long. Not that the men could not stay, but because no monitor with power to stop it appeared on the scene. Indeed, the only monitor present was Gilks himself, and he took no steps to end the conflict.

At length, however, while the result was still undecided, a cry of “Cave!” was raised.

“Look out, here’s Riddell!” cried some small boy.

A round was just beginning, and neither combatant evinced any desire to desist on account of the captain’s approach.

Riddell was not alone, Fairbairn was with him, and, being naturally attracted by the crowd and shouting, they both hurried up in time to see the end of the round.

As soon as it was over they pushed their way in among the crowd and entered the ring.

“Stop the fight!” said Riddell.

The two combatants glared at him angrily, and Gilks replied, “Who says so?”

“I say so,” said Riddell, quietly.

The days were long gone by when the captain issued his orders in an apologetic voice and a diffident manner. He had learned enough during this term to discover the value of a little self-confidence, and had profited by the discovery. Willoughby was far more docile to an order than to a request, and on the present occasion neither Gilks nor Silk seemed disposed to argue the matter.

They put on their jackets sulkily, and, without further words to one another or to the monitors, betook their battered selves to their several quarters.

Willoughby, perceiving that the matter was at an end, also dispersed and returned to its several quarters. The Welchers resumed their interrupted revel with unabated rejoicing; the melancholy Parretts called for more hot water to eke out the consolations of their teapot; the Limpets turned in again to their preparation, and the seniors to their studies—every one criticising the fight, and wondering how it would have ended, but scarcely one troubling himself much about its merit, and less still about its consequences.

One of these consequences the principals in the engagement were not long in learning. A message arrived for each, before the evening was over, that they were reported to the doctor, and were to go to his room at nine next morning.

Silk did not get the message till late, as he had been absent most of the evening in Tucker’s study, who was an expert at repairing the damage incurred in a pugilistic encounter.

When about bedtime he returned to his own study and found the captain’s note lying on the table, he broke out into a state of fury which, to say the least of it, it was well there was no one at hand to witness.

Late as the hour was, he went at once to Riddell’s study.

Riddell was half-undressed as his visitor entered. “What do you want?” he inquired.

“I want you! Do you mean to say you’ve reported me to the doctor?”

“Of course. It was a fight. I’m bound to report it.”

“Boundto report it. You snivelling humbug! Have you sent the name up yet?”

“Why do you want to know?” said Riddell, who had ceased to be in bodily fear of Silk for some time past.

“Because I want to know. Have you sent it up?”

“I have.”

“All right, you’ll be sorry for it,” said Silk.

“Iamsorry for it,” replied the captain.

Silk saw at a glance that the captain was not to be bullied, and changed his tone.

“I suppose you know,” said he, “we shall both be expelled?”

“The doctor doesn’t usually expel for fighting,” said the captain.

“Of course not. But you remember getting a note from me a little time ago.”

“From you? No; I never had a note from you.”

“What, not one telling you to go down and see Tom the boat-boy?”

“Was that from you?” exclaimed Riddell, in astonishment.

“Of course it was. And of course you know now what I mean.”

“I don’t. I could discover nothing,” said the captain.

“You mean to say you don’t know who cut the rudder-lines?”

“No; who?”

“Gilks!”

Chapter Thirty Three.A Treaty of Peace.The captain’s first impulse on receiving from Silk this astounding piece of information was to go at once to the schoolhouse and confront Gilks with his accuser.But his second impulse was to doubt the whole story and look upon it as a mere fabrication got up in the vague hope of preventing him from reporting the fight to the doctor.It was absurd to suppose Gilks had cut the rudder-lines. Not that it was an action of which he would be incapable. On that score the accusation was likely enough. But then, Riddell remembered, Gilks, though a schoolhouse boy, had all along been a strong partisan of the Parretts’ boat, and, ever since he had been turned out of his own boat, had made no secret of his hope that Parrett’s might win. He had even, if rumours spoke truly, lost money on the race. How was it likely, then, he would do such an absurd thing as cut the rudder-lines of the very boat he wanted to win, and on whose success he had even made a bet?It was much more likely that Silk had made this wild charge for the sake of embarrassing the captain, and leading him to reconsider his determination to report the fight.And what followed partly confirmed this idea.“You don’t want to get both Gilks and me expelled?” said Silk, with a half-whine very different from his late bullying tones.“The doctor never expels fellows for fighting.”“But he will when he finds out all this other business,” said Silk.“I really can’t help that,” said the captain, not quite seeing how the two offences were involved one with another.“It’s bound to come out,” continued Silk, “and Gilks will bring me into it too. I say, can’t you get back the names?”“Certainly not,” said the captain.“You were glad enough to hush it all up when you thought it was young Wyndham had done it,” said Silk.The captain winced, and Silk was quick enough to see it.“You profess to be fair and honest. Do you call it fair to shelter one fellow because he’s your friend, and tell about another because he isn’t? Eh, Riddell?”It was not a bad move on Silk’s part. The question thrust home, and had he been content to leave the matter there, it might have been some time before the captain, with his own scrupulous way of regarding things, would have detected its fallacies. But, not for the first time, Silk overdid it.“Besides,” said he, seeing he had made an impression, and foolishly thinking to follow it up—“besides, young Wyndham’s a long way from being out of the wood himself yet. Of course I don’t want to do it, but I could make it rather awkward for him if I chose.”The captain fired up scornfully, but Silk did not notice it, and continued, “You wouldn’t like to see him expelled, would you? If I were to tell all I know about him, he would be, to a certainty.”Riddell, on whom these incautious words had acted with a result wholly different from what was intended, could scarcely contain himself to talk coolly as he replied, “Please leave my room. I don’t want you here.” Silk looked round in a startled way at the words, and his face changed colour.“What?” he demanded. “Please leave my room,” replied the captain. “Not till you promise to get back the names.”“I shall do nothing of the sort.”“You won’t? You know the consequence?” Riddell said nothing. “I shall tell of Wyndham,” said Silk. “Please leave my room,” once more said the captain. Silk glared at him, and took a step forward as though he meant to try one last method for extorting the promise.But Riddell stood his ground boldly, and the spirit of the bully faltered.“You’ll be sorry for it,” snarled the latter. Riddell said nothing, but waited patiently for him to go. Seeing that nothing more was to be gained, and baffled on all points—even on the point where he made sure of having his enemy, Silk turned on his heel and went, slamming the door viciously behind him.Riddell had rarely felt such a sense of relief as he experienced on being thus left to himself.The suddenness of Silk’s disclosure and the strange way in which it had been followed up had disconcerted him. But now he had time to think calmly over the whole affair.And two things seemed pretty clear. One was that, strange as it seemed, there must be something in Silk’s story. He could hardly have invented it and stuck to it in the way he had for no other purpose than embarrassing the captain; and the pressure he had applied to get Riddell to withdraw the names before the doctor saw them, confirmed this idea.The other point made clear was that his duty, at whatever cost, even at the cost of young Wyndham himself, was to report the fight and make no terms with the offenders. If the result was what Silk threatened, he could only hope the doctor would deal leniently with the boy.One other thing was clear too. He must see both Wyndham and Bloomfield in the morning.With which resolve, and not without a prayer for wisdom better than his own to act in this crisis, he retired to bed.Early next morning, before almost any sign of life showed itself in Willoughby, the captain was up and dressed.The magic that so often attends on a night’s sleep had done its work on him, and as he walked across the quadrangle that fresh summer morning his head was clear and his mind made up.The outer door of the schoolhouse was still unopened, and he paced outside, as it seemed to him, for half an hour before he could get in.He went at once to Wyndham’s study, and found that young athlete arraying himself in his cricket flannels.“Hullo, Riddell!” cried he, as the captain entered; “have you come to see the practice? We’re going to play a scratch match with some of the seniors. You play too, will you?”The captain did not reply to this invitation, and his serious face convinced Wyndham something must be wrong.“What’s up, I say?” he inquired, looking concerned.“Nothing very pleasant,” said Riddell. “You heard of the fight last night?”“Eh? between Silk and Gilks? Yes. I half guessed it would come to that. They’ve been quarrelling a lot lately.”“I reported them, and they are to go to the doctor’s after breakfast,” said Riddell.“They’ll catch it, I expect,” said Wyndham. “Paddy’s sure to be down on them because they’re seniors.”“They expect to catch it. At least, Silk says so. He came to me last night and tried to get me to withdraw the names. And when I said I couldn’t be threatened to tell about you, and get you into a row.”Wyndham’s face changed colour.“What? I say, do you think he really will?” he exclaimed.“I think it’s very likely,” said the captain.“Of course, you can’t withdraw the names?” said the boy.“I’ve no right to do it—no, I can’t,” replied the captain.“Oh, of course. But I say, what had I better do?” faltered the boy. “I hoped that bother was all over.”“I would advise you to go to the doctor before chapel and tell him yourself.”The boy’s face fell.“How can I? I promised I wouldn’t, and Silk wouldn’t let me off when I asked him.”“But he is going to tell of you, he says. You had much better let the doctor hear it from you than from him.”“If only I could!” exclaimed the boy; “but how can I?”“I don’t want to persuade you to break a promise,” said the captain, “but I’m sorry for it.”“I suppose I’m sure to get expelled,” said the boy, dismally; “they’re sure to make it as bad against me as they can.”Riddell reflected a little, and then said, “Perhaps it’s only a threat, and no more. At any rate, if the doctor is told he is sure to give you a chance of telling him everything, so don’t give up hope, old man.”Poor Wyndham did not look or feel very hopeful certainly as he thought over the situation.“Thanks for telling me about it, anyhow,” said he. “I say, shall you be there to hear what they say?”“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But if you are sent for let me know, and I’ll go with you.”With this grain of comfort the captain went, leaving Wyndham anything but disposed to show up at the cricket practice. Indeed, for a little while he gave up all thought of going out, and it was not till a messenger arrived to tell him he was keeping everybody waiting that he screwed himself up to the effort and went.Riddell meanwhile, with the other half of his mission still to execute, went over to Parrett’s. Parson was lounging about at the door, with a towel over his arm, waiting, as any one might have guessed, for Telson.“Has Bloomfield gone out?” asked the captain of this youthful hero.Parson, who ever since the famous breakfast in Riddell’s room had looked upon the captain with eyes of favour, replied, “No, I don’t think so, I’ll go and see if you like.”“Thanks. If he’s in, tell him I want to speak to him.”“All serene. Hold my towel, do you mind? It’s Bosher’s, and he may try to collar it if he sees me. And tell Telson I’ll be back in a second.”And off he went, leaving the captain in charge of Bosher’s towel.He soon returned with a message that Bloomfield was getting up, and would be out in a minute or two.“I say,” said he, after the two had waited impatiently some time, each for his own expected schoolfellow, “did you see much of the fight last night?”“No,” said Riddell, “I didn’t see it at all.”“Oh, hard lines. I got there late, as I went to tell Telson. Gilks used his right too much, you know. We both thought so. He keeps no guard to speak of, and— Hullo! where on earth have you been all this time?”This last exclamation was in honour of Telson, who appeared on the scene at that moment, and with whom the speaker joyfully departed, leaving Riddell only half informed as to the scientific defects in Gilks’s style of boxing.In due time Bloomfield appeared, not a little curious to know the object of this early interview.Riddell, too, was embarrassed, for the last time they met they had parted on anything but cordial terms. However, that had nothing to do with his duty now.“Good-morning,” he said, in reply to Bloomfield’s nod. “Do you mind taking a turn? I want to tell you something.”Bloomfield obeyed, and that morning any one who looked out might have witnessed the unusual spectacle of the Willoughby captains walking together round the quadrangle in eager conversation.“You heard of the fight?” said Riddell.“Yes; what about it?” inquired Bloomfield.“I’ve reported it. And last night Silk came to me and asked me to get back the names.”“You won’t do it, will you?” asked Bloomfield.“No. But the reason why Silk wanted it was because he was afraid of something else coming out. He says it was Gilks who cut the rudder-lines.”“What! Gilks?” exclaimed Bloomfield, standing still in astonishment. “It can’t be! Gilks was one of us. He backed our boat all along!”“That’s just what I can’t make out,” said the captain; “and I wanted to see what you think had better be done.”“Have you asked Gilks?” inquired Bloomfield.“No. I thought perhaps the best thing was to wait till they had been up to the doctor. They may let out about it to him, if there’s anything in it. If they don’t, we should see what Gilks says.”“If it had been your lines that were cut,” said Bloomfield, “I could have believed it. He had a spite against all your fellows, and especially you, since he was kicked out of the boat. But he had betted over a sovereign on us, I know.”“I shouldn’t have believed it at all,” said Riddell, “if Silk hadn’t sent me an anonymous note a week or two ago. Here it is, by the way.”Bloomfield read the note.“Did you go and see the boat-boy?” he asked.“Yes; and all I could get out of him was that some one had got into the boat-house that night, and scrambled out of the window just in time to avoid being seen. But the fellow, whoever he was, dropped a knife, which I managed to get from Tom, and which turned out to be one young Wyndham had lost.”“Young Wyndham! Then it was true you suspected him?”“It was true.”And then the captain told his companion the story of the complication of misunderstandings which had led him almost to the point of denouncing the boy as the culprit; at the end of which Bloomfield said, in a more friendly tone than he had yet assumed, “It was a shave, certainly. Young Wyndham ought to be grateful to you. He’d have found it not so easy to clear himself if you’d reported him at once.”“I dare say it would have been hard,” said Riddell.“I’m rather ashamed of myself now for trying to make you do it,” said Bloomfield.“Oh, not at all,” said Riddell, dreading as he always did this sort of talk. “But, I say, what do you think ought to be done?”“I think we’d better wait, as you say, till they’ve been to Paddy. Then if nothing has come out, you ought to see Gilks.”“I think so, but I wish you’d be there too. As captain of the clubs, you’ve really more to do with it than I have.”“You’re captain of the school, though,” said Bloomfield, “but I’ll be there too, if you like.”“Thanks,” said Riddell.And the two walked on discussing the situation, and drifting from it into other topics in so natural a way that it occurred to neither of them at the time to wonder how they two, of all boys, should have so much in common.“I shall be awfully glad when it’s all cleared up,” said Riddell.“So shall I. If it is cleared up the credit of it will belong to you, I say.”“Not much credit in getting a fellow expelled,” said Riddell.“Anyhow, it was to your credit sticking by young Wyndham as you did.”“I was going to report him for it, though, the very day the matter was explained.”“Well, all the more credit for making up your mind to an unpleasant duty like that when you might have shirked it.”The bell for chapel began to ring at this point.“There goes the bell,” said Bloomfield. “I say, how should you like to ask me to breakfast with you? I’d ask you to my room, only our fellows would be so inquisitive.”Riddell jumped at the hint with the utmost delight, and to all the marvels of that wonderful term was added this other, of the two Willoughby captains breakfastingtête-à-tête, partaking of coffee out of the same pot and toast cut off the same loaf.They talked far more than they ate or drank. It was more like the talk of two friends who had just met after a long separation, than of two schoolfellows who had sat shoulder to shoulder in the same class-room for weeks. Bloomfield confided all his troubles, and failures, and disappointments, and Riddell confessed his mistakes, and discouragements, and anxieties. And the Parrett’s captain marvelled to think how he could have gone on all this term without finding out what a much finer fellow the captain of the school was than himself. And Riddell reproached himself inwardly for never having made more serious efforts to secure the friendship of this honest, kind-hearted athlete, and gradually these secret thoughts oozed out in words.Bloomfield, as was only natural and only right, took to himself most of the blame, although Riddell chivalrously insisted on claiming as much as ever he could. And when at last this wonderful meal ended, a revolution had taken place in Willoughby which the unsuspecting school, as it breakfasted elsewhere, little dreamed of.“Upon my honour wehavebeen fools,” said Bloomfield: “that is, I have. But we’ll astonish the fellows soon, I fancy. Do you know I’ve a good mind to break bounds or have a fight with some one just to make you give me an impot!”“As long as you don’t do anything which calls for personal chastisement,” said the captain, laughing, “I’ll promise to oblige you.”“I say,” said Bloomfield, as the bell for first school was beginning to ring, “I’m glad we—that is I—have come to our senses before old Wyndham comes down. His young brother has persuaded him to come and umpire for the school in the Templeton match.”Riddell’s face became troubled.“I hope young Wyndham may be here himself. You know, Silk threatened that unless I withdrew the names he would tell the doctor about that affair of Beamish’s and get Wyndham expelled to spite me.”Bloomfield laughed.“Not he. It’s all brag, depend on it. But why on earth doesn’t the young ’un go and make a clean breast to the doctor, before he gets to know of it any other way?”“That’s just the worst of it. They made him promise he wouldn’t say a word about it to any one, and he’s such an honest young beggar that even though Silk tells of him, he won’t tell of Silk.”“That’s awkward,” said Bloomfield, musing. “Did he tell you about it, then?”“No. His mouth was shut, you see. If I hadn’t found out about it from Parson and Telson, who saw the three of them coming out, I shouldn’t have known it till now.”Bloomfield’s face brightened.“Then you found it out quite independently?” asked he.“To be sure.”“All right. Then the best thing you can do is to report him for it at once.”“What?” exclaimed Riddell, aghast, “report him?”“Yes. And then you can go to Paddy and tell him all about it, and explain how he was led into it, and he’s sure not to be very down on it.”“Upon my word,” said Riddell, struck with the idea, “I do believe you are right. It’s the very best thing I could do. What a donkey I was never to think of it before.”So it was decided that young Wyndham was forthwith to be reported for his transgression, and as the time had now arrived when all the school but Gilks and Silk were due in class, the two captains hurried off to their places, each feeling that he had discovered a friend; and in that friend a hope for Willoughby, of which he had scarcely even dreamed till now.

The captain’s first impulse on receiving from Silk this astounding piece of information was to go at once to the schoolhouse and confront Gilks with his accuser.

But his second impulse was to doubt the whole story and look upon it as a mere fabrication got up in the vague hope of preventing him from reporting the fight to the doctor.

It was absurd to suppose Gilks had cut the rudder-lines. Not that it was an action of which he would be incapable. On that score the accusation was likely enough. But then, Riddell remembered, Gilks, though a schoolhouse boy, had all along been a strong partisan of the Parretts’ boat, and, ever since he had been turned out of his own boat, had made no secret of his hope that Parrett’s might win. He had even, if rumours spoke truly, lost money on the race. How was it likely, then, he would do such an absurd thing as cut the rudder-lines of the very boat he wanted to win, and on whose success he had even made a bet?

It was much more likely that Silk had made this wild charge for the sake of embarrassing the captain, and leading him to reconsider his determination to report the fight.

And what followed partly confirmed this idea.

“You don’t want to get both Gilks and me expelled?” said Silk, with a half-whine very different from his late bullying tones.

“The doctor never expels fellows for fighting.”

“But he will when he finds out all this other business,” said Silk.

“I really can’t help that,” said the captain, not quite seeing how the two offences were involved one with another.

“It’s bound to come out,” continued Silk, “and Gilks will bring me into it too. I say, can’t you get back the names?”

“Certainly not,” said the captain.

“You were glad enough to hush it all up when you thought it was young Wyndham had done it,” said Silk.

The captain winced, and Silk was quick enough to see it.

“You profess to be fair and honest. Do you call it fair to shelter one fellow because he’s your friend, and tell about another because he isn’t? Eh, Riddell?”

It was not a bad move on Silk’s part. The question thrust home, and had he been content to leave the matter there, it might have been some time before the captain, with his own scrupulous way of regarding things, would have detected its fallacies. But, not for the first time, Silk overdid it.

“Besides,” said he, seeing he had made an impression, and foolishly thinking to follow it up—“besides, young Wyndham’s a long way from being out of the wood himself yet. Of course I don’t want to do it, but I could make it rather awkward for him if I chose.”

The captain fired up scornfully, but Silk did not notice it, and continued, “You wouldn’t like to see him expelled, would you? If I were to tell all I know about him, he would be, to a certainty.”

Riddell, on whom these incautious words had acted with a result wholly different from what was intended, could scarcely contain himself to talk coolly as he replied, “Please leave my room. I don’t want you here.” Silk looked round in a startled way at the words, and his face changed colour.

“What?” he demanded. “Please leave my room,” replied the captain. “Not till you promise to get back the names.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort.”

“You won’t? You know the consequence?” Riddell said nothing. “I shall tell of Wyndham,” said Silk. “Please leave my room,” once more said the captain. Silk glared at him, and took a step forward as though he meant to try one last method for extorting the promise.

But Riddell stood his ground boldly, and the spirit of the bully faltered.

“You’ll be sorry for it,” snarled the latter. Riddell said nothing, but waited patiently for him to go. Seeing that nothing more was to be gained, and baffled on all points—even on the point where he made sure of having his enemy, Silk turned on his heel and went, slamming the door viciously behind him.

Riddell had rarely felt such a sense of relief as he experienced on being thus left to himself.

The suddenness of Silk’s disclosure and the strange way in which it had been followed up had disconcerted him. But now he had time to think calmly over the whole affair.

And two things seemed pretty clear. One was that, strange as it seemed, there must be something in Silk’s story. He could hardly have invented it and stuck to it in the way he had for no other purpose than embarrassing the captain; and the pressure he had applied to get Riddell to withdraw the names before the doctor saw them, confirmed this idea.

The other point made clear was that his duty, at whatever cost, even at the cost of young Wyndham himself, was to report the fight and make no terms with the offenders. If the result was what Silk threatened, he could only hope the doctor would deal leniently with the boy.

One other thing was clear too. He must see both Wyndham and Bloomfield in the morning.

With which resolve, and not without a prayer for wisdom better than his own to act in this crisis, he retired to bed.

Early next morning, before almost any sign of life showed itself in Willoughby, the captain was up and dressed.

The magic that so often attends on a night’s sleep had done its work on him, and as he walked across the quadrangle that fresh summer morning his head was clear and his mind made up.

The outer door of the schoolhouse was still unopened, and he paced outside, as it seemed to him, for half an hour before he could get in.

He went at once to Wyndham’s study, and found that young athlete arraying himself in his cricket flannels.

“Hullo, Riddell!” cried he, as the captain entered; “have you come to see the practice? We’re going to play a scratch match with some of the seniors. You play too, will you?”

The captain did not reply to this invitation, and his serious face convinced Wyndham something must be wrong.

“What’s up, I say?” he inquired, looking concerned.

“Nothing very pleasant,” said Riddell. “You heard of the fight last night?”

“Eh? between Silk and Gilks? Yes. I half guessed it would come to that. They’ve been quarrelling a lot lately.”

“I reported them, and they are to go to the doctor’s after breakfast,” said Riddell.

“They’ll catch it, I expect,” said Wyndham. “Paddy’s sure to be down on them because they’re seniors.”

“They expect to catch it. At least, Silk says so. He came to me last night and tried to get me to withdraw the names. And when I said I couldn’t be threatened to tell about you, and get you into a row.”

Wyndham’s face changed colour.

“What? I say, do you think he really will?” he exclaimed.

“I think it’s very likely,” said the captain.

“Of course, you can’t withdraw the names?” said the boy.

“I’ve no right to do it—no, I can’t,” replied the captain.

“Oh, of course. But I say, what had I better do?” faltered the boy. “I hoped that bother was all over.”

“I would advise you to go to the doctor before chapel and tell him yourself.”

The boy’s face fell.

“How can I? I promised I wouldn’t, and Silk wouldn’t let me off when I asked him.”

“But he is going to tell of you, he says. You had much better let the doctor hear it from you than from him.”

“If only I could!” exclaimed the boy; “but how can I?”

“I don’t want to persuade you to break a promise,” said the captain, “but I’m sorry for it.”

“I suppose I’m sure to get expelled,” said the boy, dismally; “they’re sure to make it as bad against me as they can.”

Riddell reflected a little, and then said, “Perhaps it’s only a threat, and no more. At any rate, if the doctor is told he is sure to give you a chance of telling him everything, so don’t give up hope, old man.”

Poor Wyndham did not look or feel very hopeful certainly as he thought over the situation.

“Thanks for telling me about it, anyhow,” said he. “I say, shall you be there to hear what they say?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. But if you are sent for let me know, and I’ll go with you.”

With this grain of comfort the captain went, leaving Wyndham anything but disposed to show up at the cricket practice. Indeed, for a little while he gave up all thought of going out, and it was not till a messenger arrived to tell him he was keeping everybody waiting that he screwed himself up to the effort and went.

Riddell meanwhile, with the other half of his mission still to execute, went over to Parrett’s. Parson was lounging about at the door, with a towel over his arm, waiting, as any one might have guessed, for Telson.

“Has Bloomfield gone out?” asked the captain of this youthful hero.

Parson, who ever since the famous breakfast in Riddell’s room had looked upon the captain with eyes of favour, replied, “No, I don’t think so, I’ll go and see if you like.”

“Thanks. If he’s in, tell him I want to speak to him.”

“All serene. Hold my towel, do you mind? It’s Bosher’s, and he may try to collar it if he sees me. And tell Telson I’ll be back in a second.”

And off he went, leaving the captain in charge of Bosher’s towel.

He soon returned with a message that Bloomfield was getting up, and would be out in a minute or two.

“I say,” said he, after the two had waited impatiently some time, each for his own expected schoolfellow, “did you see much of the fight last night?”

“No,” said Riddell, “I didn’t see it at all.”

“Oh, hard lines. I got there late, as I went to tell Telson. Gilks used his right too much, you know. We both thought so. He keeps no guard to speak of, and— Hullo! where on earth have you been all this time?”

This last exclamation was in honour of Telson, who appeared on the scene at that moment, and with whom the speaker joyfully departed, leaving Riddell only half informed as to the scientific defects in Gilks’s style of boxing.

In due time Bloomfield appeared, not a little curious to know the object of this early interview.

Riddell, too, was embarrassed, for the last time they met they had parted on anything but cordial terms. However, that had nothing to do with his duty now.

“Good-morning,” he said, in reply to Bloomfield’s nod. “Do you mind taking a turn? I want to tell you something.”

Bloomfield obeyed, and that morning any one who looked out might have witnessed the unusual spectacle of the Willoughby captains walking together round the quadrangle in eager conversation.

“You heard of the fight?” said Riddell.

“Yes; what about it?” inquired Bloomfield.

“I’ve reported it. And last night Silk came to me and asked me to get back the names.”

“You won’t do it, will you?” asked Bloomfield.

“No. But the reason why Silk wanted it was because he was afraid of something else coming out. He says it was Gilks who cut the rudder-lines.”

“What! Gilks?” exclaimed Bloomfield, standing still in astonishment. “It can’t be! Gilks was one of us. He backed our boat all along!”

“That’s just what I can’t make out,” said the captain; “and I wanted to see what you think had better be done.”

“Have you asked Gilks?” inquired Bloomfield.

“No. I thought perhaps the best thing was to wait till they had been up to the doctor. They may let out about it to him, if there’s anything in it. If they don’t, we should see what Gilks says.”

“If it had been your lines that were cut,” said Bloomfield, “I could have believed it. He had a spite against all your fellows, and especially you, since he was kicked out of the boat. But he had betted over a sovereign on us, I know.”

“I shouldn’t have believed it at all,” said Riddell, “if Silk hadn’t sent me an anonymous note a week or two ago. Here it is, by the way.”

Bloomfield read the note.

“Did you go and see the boat-boy?” he asked.

“Yes; and all I could get out of him was that some one had got into the boat-house that night, and scrambled out of the window just in time to avoid being seen. But the fellow, whoever he was, dropped a knife, which I managed to get from Tom, and which turned out to be one young Wyndham had lost.”

“Young Wyndham! Then it was true you suspected him?”

“It was true.”

And then the captain told his companion the story of the complication of misunderstandings which had led him almost to the point of denouncing the boy as the culprit; at the end of which Bloomfield said, in a more friendly tone than he had yet assumed, “It was a shave, certainly. Young Wyndham ought to be grateful to you. He’d have found it not so easy to clear himself if you’d reported him at once.”

“I dare say it would have been hard,” said Riddell.

“I’m rather ashamed of myself now for trying to make you do it,” said Bloomfield.

“Oh, not at all,” said Riddell, dreading as he always did this sort of talk. “But, I say, what do you think ought to be done?”

“I think we’d better wait, as you say, till they’ve been to Paddy. Then if nothing has come out, you ought to see Gilks.”

“I think so, but I wish you’d be there too. As captain of the clubs, you’ve really more to do with it than I have.”

“You’re captain of the school, though,” said Bloomfield, “but I’ll be there too, if you like.”

“Thanks,” said Riddell.

And the two walked on discussing the situation, and drifting from it into other topics in so natural a way that it occurred to neither of them at the time to wonder how they two, of all boys, should have so much in common.

“I shall be awfully glad when it’s all cleared up,” said Riddell.

“So shall I. If it is cleared up the credit of it will belong to you, I say.”

“Not much credit in getting a fellow expelled,” said Riddell.

“Anyhow, it was to your credit sticking by young Wyndham as you did.”

“I was going to report him for it, though, the very day the matter was explained.”

“Well, all the more credit for making up your mind to an unpleasant duty like that when you might have shirked it.”

The bell for chapel began to ring at this point.

“There goes the bell,” said Bloomfield. “I say, how should you like to ask me to breakfast with you? I’d ask you to my room, only our fellows would be so inquisitive.”

Riddell jumped at the hint with the utmost delight, and to all the marvels of that wonderful term was added this other, of the two Willoughby captains breakfastingtête-à-tête, partaking of coffee out of the same pot and toast cut off the same loaf.

They talked far more than they ate or drank. It was more like the talk of two friends who had just met after a long separation, than of two schoolfellows who had sat shoulder to shoulder in the same class-room for weeks. Bloomfield confided all his troubles, and failures, and disappointments, and Riddell confessed his mistakes, and discouragements, and anxieties. And the Parrett’s captain marvelled to think how he could have gone on all this term without finding out what a much finer fellow the captain of the school was than himself. And Riddell reproached himself inwardly for never having made more serious efforts to secure the friendship of this honest, kind-hearted athlete, and gradually these secret thoughts oozed out in words.

Bloomfield, as was only natural and only right, took to himself most of the blame, although Riddell chivalrously insisted on claiming as much as ever he could. And when at last this wonderful meal ended, a revolution had taken place in Willoughby which the unsuspecting school, as it breakfasted elsewhere, little dreamed of.

“Upon my honour wehavebeen fools,” said Bloomfield: “that is, I have. But we’ll astonish the fellows soon, I fancy. Do you know I’ve a good mind to break bounds or have a fight with some one just to make you give me an impot!”

“As long as you don’t do anything which calls for personal chastisement,” said the captain, laughing, “I’ll promise to oblige you.”

“I say,” said Bloomfield, as the bell for first school was beginning to ring, “I’m glad we—that is I—have come to our senses before old Wyndham comes down. His young brother has persuaded him to come and umpire for the school in the Templeton match.”

Riddell’s face became troubled.

“I hope young Wyndham may be here himself. You know, Silk threatened that unless I withdrew the names he would tell the doctor about that affair of Beamish’s and get Wyndham expelled to spite me.”

Bloomfield laughed.

“Not he. It’s all brag, depend on it. But why on earth doesn’t the young ’un go and make a clean breast to the doctor, before he gets to know of it any other way?”

“That’s just the worst of it. They made him promise he wouldn’t say a word about it to any one, and he’s such an honest young beggar that even though Silk tells of him, he won’t tell of Silk.”

“That’s awkward,” said Bloomfield, musing. “Did he tell you about it, then?”

“No. His mouth was shut, you see. If I hadn’t found out about it from Parson and Telson, who saw the three of them coming out, I shouldn’t have known it till now.”

Bloomfield’s face brightened.

“Then you found it out quite independently?” asked he.

“To be sure.”

“All right. Then the best thing you can do is to report him for it at once.”

“What?” exclaimed Riddell, aghast, “report him?”

“Yes. And then you can go to Paddy and tell him all about it, and explain how he was led into it, and he’s sure not to be very down on it.”

“Upon my word,” said Riddell, struck with the idea, “I do believe you are right. It’s the very best thing I could do. What a donkey I was never to think of it before.”

So it was decided that young Wyndham was forthwith to be reported for his transgression, and as the time had now arrived when all the school but Gilks and Silk were due in class, the two captains hurried off to their places, each feeling that he had discovered a friend; and in that friend a hope for Willoughby, of which he had scarcely even dreamed till now.

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