“All very well,” said Gilks, sullenly. “I should have liked to see you rowing your best with that puppy steering; thinking he’s doing it so wonderfully, the prig!”
“And just because you hadn’t the patience to hold out a week or two you go and spoil everything. I didn’t think you were such a fool, upon my word.”
Gilks was cowed by the wrath of his friend.
“I couldn’t help it,” he said. “I’m awfully sorry.”
“It’s done us completely now,” said Silk. “For all we know they may win. Who’s to take your place?”
“Crossfield.”
“Just the man I was afraid. He’s the best man they could have picked out. I tell you what, Gilks, you’d better go and apologise and see if you can’t get back into the boat. Who could have believed you’d be such a fool! Go at once, for goodness’ sake.”
Gilks, who saw his own mistake fully as well as his friend, obeyed. He found Fairbairn in his study with Riddell. The former seemed not at all surprised to see him.
“Fairbairn,” said Gilks, “I hope you’ll let me stay in the boat. I’m sorry I played the fool this morning.”
“Then you were playing the fool?” demanded Fairbairn, to whom Riddell had just been confiding that perhaps, after all, there had been some fault in the steering to account for it.
“Yes,” said Gilks, sullenly.
“Then,” said Fairbairn, hotly, “you may be a fool, but I won’t be such a big one as to let you stay in the boat another day!”
Gilks glared a moment at the speaker. Evidently it would be no use to argue or plead further; and, smarting with rage and humiliation, none the less keen that Riddell had been present and heard all, he turned away.
“You’ll be sorry for this, you two,” he growled. “Humbugs!”
“Well rid of him,” said Fairbairn, as soon as he had gone.
“Yes. I don’t think much of him,” said Riddell, thinking as much of young Wyndham and his temptations as of the schoolhouse boat.
“Well, old man,” said Fairbairn, after a pause, “you steered awfully well when you once began. Whatever made you so shaky at first?”
“My usual complaint,” said Riddell, smiling. “I was thinking what other people were thinking.”
“Oh,” said Fairbairn, “unless you can give that up you may as well shut up shop altogether.”
“Well, if I must do one or the other, I think I’ll keep the shop open,” said Riddell, cheerily. “By the way,” added he, looking at his watch and sighing, “I have to see some juniors in my study in two minutes. Good-bye.”
“Be sure you’re down for the tub practice this afternoon.”
“I’ll be there,” said Riddell.
Chapter Twelve
Bloomfield In Tribulation
Bloomfield was beginning to discover already that the new dignity to which he had been raised by his own partisans at Willoughby was anything but a bed of roses. Vain and easily led as he was, he was not a bad fellow by any means; and when the mutiny against the new captain first began, he flattered himself that by allowing himself to be set up in opposition he was really doing a service to Willoughby, and securing the school against a great many disasters which were certain to ensue if Riddell was left supreme.
But in these lofty hopes he was getting to be a trifle disappointed. In his own house, of course, especially among those over whom he was wont to rule in athletic sports, his authority was paramount. But these, after all, constituted only a small section of Willoughby. Over the rest of the school his influence was strangely overlooked, and even the terrors of his arm failed to bring his subjects to obedience.
It was all very well at first, when the one idea was indignation against the doctor’s new appointment. But as soon as the malcontents discovered that they had raised one more tyrant over their own heads, they began to find out their mistake, and did their best to correct it. They argued that as they had elected Bloomfield themselves they weren’t bound to obey him unless they chose; and when it came to the point of having to give up their own will in obedience to his, they remembered he was not the real captain of Willoughby and had no right to order them!
So poor Bloomfield did not find things quite as comfortable as he had expected.
One of the first rebuffs he got was administered by no less stately a hand than that of Master Telson of the schoolhouse.
This young gentleman ever since his last unfortunate expedition in “Noah’s Ark” had been somewhat under a cloud. His forced absence from the river for a whole week had preyed upon his spirits. And when at the end of that period he did revisit his old haunts, armed with a captain’s permit, it was only to discover that whatever small chance he ever had of coxing his house’s boat at the coming regatta, had vanished under the new arrangement which had brought Riddell into the boat.
It is only fair to say that this disappointment, keen as it was, had no effect on his loyalty. He was as ready as ever to fight any one who spoke ill of the schoolhouse. But it certainly had given him a jar, which resulted in rather strained relations with some of his old allies in Parrett’s.
Of course nothing could shake his devotion to Parson. That was secure whatever happened, but towards the other heroes of Parrett’s, particularly the seniors, he felt unfriendly. He conceived he must have been the victim of a plot to prevent his steering the schoolhouse boat. It was the only reason he could think of for his ill-luck; and though he never tried to argue it out, it was pretty clear to his own mind some one was at the bottom of it. And if that was so, who more likely than Bloomfield and Game and that lot, who had everything to gain by his being turned out of the rival boat?
This was the state of mind of our aggrieved junior one afternoon not long before the regatta, as he strolled dismally across the “Big” on his way to the river. Parson was not with him. He was down coxing his boat, and the thought of this only reminded Telson of his own bad luck, and added to his ill-temper.
He was roused from his moody reflections by the approach of two boys, who hailed him cheerily.
“What cheer, Telson, old man?” cried King. “How jolly blue you look! What’s the row?”
“Nothing,” replied Telson.
“We’ve just been down to see the boats. Awful spree to see old Riddell steering! isn’t it, Bosher?”
“Yes,” said Bosher; “but he’s better than he was.”
“Never mind, they won’t lick us,” said King. “You should have seen our boat! Bless you, those schoolhouse louts—”
“King, I’ll fight you!” said Telson, suddenly.
“Oh! beg pardon, old man, I didn’t — eh — what?”
This last remark was caused by the fact that Telson was taking off his coat. King, utterly taken aback by these ominous preparations, protested his sorrow, apologised, and generally humiliated himself before the offended schoolhouse junior.
But Telson had been looking out for a cause of quarrel, and now one had come, he was just in the humour for going through with the business. “Do you funk it?” he asked.
“Oh, no; not that, old man,” said King, still friendly, and very slowly unbuttoning his jacket; “but I’ll apologise, Telson, you know.”
“Don’t want any apologising; I want to fight,” said Telson. “I’ll take young Bosher too.”
“Oh!” said Bosher, rather alarmed, “I don’t want to fight.”
“I knew you were a beastly funk!” said Telson, scornfully.
“No, I’m not,” said Bosher, meekly.
“Get out of the way!” cried the majestic Telson, brushing past him towards King, who now stood with his coat off and a very apologetic face, ready for the young bantam’s disposal.
Telson and King fought there and then. It was not a very sanguinary contest, nor was it particularly scientific. It did Telson good, and it did not do King much harm. The only awkward thing about it was that neither side knew exactly when to stop. Telson claimed the victory after every round, and King respectfully dispu
ted the statement. Telson thereupon taunted his adversary with “funking it,” and went at him again, very showy in action, but decidedly feeble in execution. King, by keeping one arm over his face and working the other gently up and down in front of his body, was able to ward off most of the blows aimed, and neither aspired nor aimed to hit out himself.
The “fight” might have lasted a week had not Game, coming up that way from the boats, caught sight of it. As it was neither an exciting combat nor a profitable one, the Parrett’s monitor considered it a good case for interfering, as well as for calling in the authority of the popular captain.
“King and Telson,” he said, stepping between the combatants, “stop it, and come to Bloomfield’s study after chapel. You know fighting in the ‘Big’ is against rules.”
“What are we to go to Bloomfield for?” demanded Telson, whose temper was still disturbed.
“For breaking rules,” said Game, as he walked on.
“Shall you go?” said Telson to King as the two slowly put on their coats.
“Yes, I suppose so, or he’ll give us a licking.”
“I shan’t go; he’s not the captain,” said Telson.
“I say, you’ll catch it if you don’t,” said King, with apprehension in his looks. “They’re always down on you if you don’t go to the captain when you’re told.”
“I tell you he’s not the captain,” replied Telson, testily, “and I shan’t go. If they want to report me they’ll have to do it to Riddell.”
With which virtuous decision he went his way, slightly solaced in his mind by the fight, and still more consoled by the prospects of a row ahead.
Telson was quite cute enough to see he had a strong position to start with, and if only he played his cards well he might score off the enemy with credit.
He therefore declined an invitation to Parson’s to partake of shrimps and jam at tea, and kept himself in his own house till the time appointed for reporting himself to the captain. Then, instead of going to Bloomfield, he presented himself before Riddell.
“Well?” said the captain, in his usual half-apologetic tone.
“Oh!” said Telson, “I’m reported, please, Riddell.”
“What for? Who reported you?” asked Riddell.
“Game — for fighting,” replied Telson.
“He hasn’t told me of it. You’d better come in the morning.”
“Oh! it’s all right,” said Telson. “I was fighting King in the ‘Big’ this afternoon.”
Riddell looked perplexed. This was the first case of a boy voluntarily delivering himself up to justice, and he hardly knew what to do.
However, he had found out thus much by this time — that it didn’t so much matter what he did as long as he did something.
“You know it’s against rules,” said he, as severely as he could, “and it’s not the first time you’ve done it. You must do fifty lines of Virgil, and stop in the house on Monday and Tuesday.”
“All right! Thanks,” said Telson, rapidly departing, and leaving Riddell quite bewildered by the apparent gratitude of his fag.
Telson betook himself quietly to his study and began to write his lines. It was evident from the restless way in which he looked up at every footstep outside he did not expect to remain long undisturbed at this harmless occupation. Nor was he disappointed.
In about ten minutes King entered and said, “I say, Telson, you’re in for it! You’re to go to Bloomfield directly.”
“What’s he given you?”
“A licking!” said King; “and stopped my play half a week. But I say, you’d better go — sharp!”
“I’m not going,” said Telson.
“What!” exclaimed King, in amazement.
“Cut it,” said Telson; “I’m busy.”
“He sent me to fetch you,” said King.
“Don’t I tell you I’m not coming? I’ll lick you, King, if you don’t cut it!”
King did “cut it” in a considerable state of alarm at the foolhardiness of his youthful comrade.
But Telson knew his business. No sooner had King gone than he took up his Virgil and paper, and repaired once more to Riddell’s study.
“Please, Riddell,” said he, meekly, “do you mind me writing my lines here?”
“Not a bit,” said Riddell, whose study was always open house to his youthful fag.
Telson said “Thank you,” and immediately deposited himself at the table, and quietly continued his work, awaiting the result of King’s message.
The result was not long in coming.
“Telson!” shouted a voice down the passage in less than five minutes.
Telson went to the door and shouted back, “What’s the row?”
“Where are you?” said the voice.
“Here,” replied Telson, shutting the door and resuming his work.
“Who’s that?” asked Riddell of his fag.
“I don’t know, unless it’s Game,” said Telson.
“Now then, Telson,” cried the voice again, “come here.”
“I can’t — I’m busy!” shouted Telson back from where he sat. At the same moment the door opened, and Game entered in a great state of wrath.
The appearance of a Parrett monitor “on duty” in the schoolhouse was always a strange spectacle; and Game, when he discovered into whose study he had marched, was a trifle embarrassed.
“What is it, Game?” asked Riddell, civilly.
“I want Telson,” said Game, who, by the way, had scarcely spoken to the new captain since his appointment.
“What do you want?” said Telson, boldly.
“Why didn’t you come when you were sent for?” demanded Game.
“Who sent for me?”
“Bloomfield.”
“I’m not Bloomfield’s fag,” retorted Telson. “I’m Riddell’s.”
“What did I tell you this afternoon?” said Game, beginning to suspect that he had fallen into a trap.
“Told me to go to the captain after chapel.”
“And what do you mean by not going?”
“I did go — I went to Riddell.”
“I told you to go to Bloomfield,” said Game, growing hot.
“Bloomfield’s not the captain,” retorted Telson, beginning to enjoy himself. “Riddell’s captain.”
“You were fighting in the ‘Big,’” said Game, looking uneasily at Riddell while he spoke.
“I know I was. Riddell’s potted me for it, haven’t you, Riddell?”
“I’ve given Telson fifty lines, and stopped his play two days,” said Riddell, quietly.
“Yes, and I’m writing the lines now,” said Telson, dipping his pen in the ink, and scarcely smothering a laugh.
Game, now fully aware of his rebuff, was glad of an opportunity of covering his defeat by a diversion.
“Look here,” said he, walking up to Telson, “I didn’t come here to be cheeked by you, I can tell you.”
“Who’s cheeking you?” said Telson. “I’m not.”
“Yes, you are,” said Game. “I’m not going to be humbugged about by you.”
“I don’t want to humbug you about,” replied the junior, defiantly.
“I think there’s a mistake, you know,” said Riddell, thinking it right to interpose. “I’ve given him lines for fighting in the ‘Big,’ and there’s really no reason for his going to Bloomfield.”
“I told him to come to Bloomfield, and he ought to have come.”
“I don’t think you had any right to tell him to go to Bloomfield,” replied Riddell, with a boldness which astonished himself. “I’m responsible for stopping fights.”
“I don’t want you to tell me my business,” retorted Game, hotly; “who are you?”
Game could have thrashed the captain as easily as he could Telson, and the thought flashed through Riddell’s mind as he paused to reply. He would much have preferred saying nothing, but somehow the present seemed to be a sort of crisis in his life. If he gave in now, the chance of ass
erting himself in Willoughby might never return.
“I’m the captain,” he replied, steadily, “and as long as I am captain I’m responsible for the order of the school, and I prefer to do my own work!”
There was something in his look and tone as he uttered these inoffensive words which took Game aback and even startled Telson. It was not at all like what fellows had been used to from Riddell, certainly very unlike the manner he was generally credited with. But neither Telson nor Game were half so amazed at this little outburst as was the speaker himself. He was half frightened the moment he had uttered it. Now he was in for it with a vengeance! It would go out to all Willoughby, he knew, that he meant to stand by his guns. What an awful failure, if, after all, he should not be able to keep his word!
Game, with a forced smile which ill accorded with his inward astonishment, left the study without another word, heedless even of the laugh which Telson could no longer repress.
Of course many perverted stories of their adventure immediately got abroad in Willoughby. Telson’s highly-coloured version made it appear that a pitched battle had been fought between Game and the new captain, resulting in the defeat of the former chiefly through Telson’s instrumentality and assistance. As, however, this narrative did not appear in the same dress two hours running, it was soon taken for what it was worth, and most fellows preferred to believe the Parretts’ version of the story, which stated that Riddell had announced his intention of keeping order in Willoughby without the help of the monitors, and had had the cheek to tell Bloomfield to mind his own business.
The indignation of Parrett’s house on hearing such a story may be imagined. It was even past a joke. Bloomfield seriously offered to resign all pretensions to authority and let things take their course.
“It makes me seem,” he said, “as if I wanted to stick myself up. If he’s so sure of keeping order by himself, I don’t see what use it is my pretending to do it too.”
“It would serve him right if you did so,” said Game. “But it would be so awfully like giving in now, after you have once begun.”
This view of the matter decided the question. But Bloomfield all the same was considerably impressed by what had happened.
The Willoughby Captains Page 13