“Guess Pil and I will have to shut up chemistry after this,” said Cusack.
Pilbury smiled grimly.
“What do you call the beastly stuff?” asked Telson.
“Sulphuretted hydrogen,” said Cusack, briskly. “First of all you take a—”
“Oh, shut up shop! We don’t want a chemistry lecture,” broke in Parson.
There was a brief pause, then Philpot asked, “I say, is it true then, there’s not going to be a new race?”
“Of course not,” said Parson; “what’s the use when we can’t be sure of fair play?”
“Jolly right too,” said Cusack, delighted to agree with his old enemy for once; “those schoolhouse cads are cheats, every one of them?”
“All right!” exclaimed Telson jumping up; “I’ll fight you, young Cusack, for that!”
Cusack was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected outbreak, but was inclined, nevertheless, to accept the challenge. Parson, however, interfered peremptorily.
“Look here,” he said, “we’re in quite enough row for one day, without wanting any more. So shut up, you fellows, do you hear?”
“Make him apologise, then,” said Telson, wrathfully.
“Oh, all serene. Nobody was hurting you,” said Cusack.
“Do you apologise, or do you not?” demanded Telson.
“I didn’t say I didn’t, did I?”
This was as much as the irascible schoolhouse fag could expect, so he sat down again.
“You know,” said Pilbury, anxious to make things quite pleasant again, “a lot of the fellows say the schoolhouse would have won in any case.”
“I’d like to know who says that,” demanded Parson, whose turn it now was to be angry.
“Oh, everybody in our house. They looked like winning, you know, from the very start, didn’t they, Pil?”
“Yes, a lot you and your friend Pil know about rowing,” sneered Parson.
“Know as much as you do!”
“Pity if you know such a lot you can’t put a boat on the river.”
“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Cusack. “Pil and I will row any two of your lot; there now. Funk it, eh?”
Parson looked hard at the speaker, and then glanced at Telson. Telson glanced back at Parson, and then eyed the Welchers grimly.
“You’d promise fair play?” asked Parson.
“Of course we would; we always do.”
“You’d give us fair play, then?” demanded Parson.
“Yes, honour bright.”
“All serene. Telson and I will row you; eh, Telson?”
“Rather!” said Telson, “and give them a start too.”
“All very well, you fellows,” said King, “but suppose we’re all expelled to-morrow.”
This unpleasant suggestion took away most of the interest in the proposed race, and it was decided to defer further arrangements till the fate of the parties should be decided.
After this the party waited gloomily till seven o’clock came, and then, in decidedly low spirits, rose in a body and repaired to Mr Parrett’s study.
Had they been aware of the actual state of that amiable athlete’s mind from the moment they last saw him, handkerchief in mouth, hurrying down the passage, till now, their trepidation would have been considerably relieved. The first thing Mr Parrett had done on regaining his room after that “bad quarter of an hour” with his juniors was to throw himself into a chair and laugh heartily.
The fact was, his sense of humour was inconveniently acute for the master of a public school, so that what would strike other masters as a heinous offence, occurred to him more as a ludicrous chapter of accidents. And to Mr Parrett’s mind a more ludicrous chapter of accidents had rarely occurred in his history. He saw the whole matter at once, and the more he thought about it the funnier it all seemed. And yet, funny as it was, it was a painful necessity that discipline must be maintained, and that however much he enjoyed the joke he must be severe on the jokers.
When, therefore, the group of youthful culprits slowly filed into his room, his voice was stern and his countenance betrayed no symptoms of the amusement which lurked beneath.
“Now, you boys,” said he, surveying the anxious array carefully, “what have you to say for yourselves?”
“Please, sir,” began Parson, Telson, and Cusack, all at a breath.
“Stop,” said Mr Parrett; “only one at a time. You, Parson, what have you to say?”
“Please, sir,” said Parson, “we’re all awfully sorry. It was quite an accident, really.”
“What was an accident?” demanded Mr Parrett.
“Why, you getting mauled about like—”
“Tell me, Parson,” said Mr Parrett, pinching himself to keep himself grave, “was it an accident that your water-can was hung over the door and the string stretched across the bottom of it?”
“Oh no, sir; not that, but—”
“Was it an accident that you had missiles in your hands and threw them in the direction of the door as it was opened?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, sir, what was the accident?”
“You were the accident, please, sir,” said Parson, sadly.
“I guessed so. And for whom were these preparations intended, pray?”
“For the Welchers, sir,” began Parson, longing to launch out into a full explanation; “and please, sir—”
But again the master pulled him up short, and, turning to Cusack and his brother Welchers, said, “And you—your preparations were for—?”
“For the Parretts, sir,” broke in Cusack.
“Just so,” said Mr Parrett, deliberately. “And now just listen to me. This is not the first time I have had to speak to some of you for this very conduct.”
Parson, Telson, Bosher, and the other Parretts looked very dejected at this point.
“And it is by no means the first time this term that all of you have been guilty of similar disturbances. Most of you here look frightened and uneasy enough now. I wish I could believe it was because you know you have been doing wrong and disgracing the school, instead of merely because I happened to have suffered by your bad conduct. But such conduct must be put a stop to. For the remainder of the term each one of you will lose one hour’s play a day except Saturdays.”
A shudder, half of anguish, half of relief, went round the small assembly at this first clause of Mr Parrett’s sentence. The next clause was still more severe.
“For the remainder of this term, too, none of you will be allowed to go into any house except your own, under any pretence, without my leave, or the Doctor’s.”
Telson and Parson looked at one another and groaned inwardly. They could hardly realise what this cruel sentence involved, but they knew it meant that life would hardly be worth living for the next six weeks.
“And,” continued Mr Parrett, “I have one more thing to say. Some of you here are in my house, and every one of you, I see, is in my form in Third School. You are most of you idle boys, and, as you know, there are plenty in the same Form better behaved and more industrious than yourselves.”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Parson, frankly.
“What I shall do during the remainder of the term is this,” said Mr Parrett. “If I hear of any other case of disturbance between the boys of different houses, in which any one of you are implicated, I intend to punish the entire Form, and stop every boy’s play for one day. It rests with you, therefore, to decide whether such a thing shall take place or not. But if you give me reason, I shall most certainly do it!”
Mr Parrett spoke severely, and looked as good as his word. He had carefully weighed his words beforehand, and he knew tolerably well the boys with whom he had to deal. They were noisy boys, and troublesome boys, and cheeky boys, and idle boys, but they were honest on the whole, and the master calculated pretty shrewdly on the effect which this last decision would have on their conduct.
As long as it was a mere question of getting his own particular self into a r
ow, not one of these boys fixed any precise limit to his disorderly instincts; but when it came to getting a whole lot of other boys into the row too, a new and very embarrassing difficulty arose which was fairly insurmountable.
Mr Parrett dismissed the boys sternly, and then, trusting he had done right, and trusting still more to be able to turn the better qualities of his noisy young pupils to some good purpose, he went straight to the doctor and told him what he had done.
Dr Patrick fully approved of the decision of his colleague, and while on the subject opened his mind to him on the question of the discipline of Willoughby generally.
“Have you been able to judge at all of the order of the school lately, Parrett?” he said.
“Well, sir,” said Mr Parrett, “I’m not sure that it is as good as it should be. Of course, it was an experiment making Riddell captain, particularly as he is not generally popular.”
“His unpopularity arises from no cause in himself,” said the doctor; “if it did I would not have put him in the post. But he will live it down — in fact, he is doing so now, I fancy.”
“I think he is,” said Mr Parrett. “The great difficulty is to get him to assert himself.”
“I trust,” said the doctor, after a pause, “there is no truth in the report that Bloomfield and the monitors of your house are trying to set up a counter authority to Riddell’s.”
“It is true,” said Mr Parrett; “and it is the secret of most of the bad order in the school. But I am not sure, sir, whether it is a matter you would do well to notice. It is one of the difficulties which Riddell has to live down, and which bring him out more than anything else. He has made his mark already on the usurpers.”
“You are quite right,” said the doctor. “I would rather leave a difficulty like that to right itself. And I dare say the reason Riddell is so slow in asserting himself, as you say, is that in his own house he really has not much to do.”
“Exactly,” said Mr Parrett.
The doctor paused for a moment and then started on an apparently fresh topic.
“I am afraid Welch’s house is no better than it was.”
“How can it be?” said Mr Parrett. “It has not a single senior of influence or even character in it.”
“And more than that,” added the doctor, “it contains a few boys — one or two only, I hope — whose influence is distinctly bad.”
Mr Parrett nodded.
“A change of some sort must be made,” said the doctor. “It has occurred to me, Parrett, quite recently, that Riddell might do better there.”
Mr Parrett opened his eyes wide.
“You are astonished,” said the doctor. “So was I when I first thought of it. But Riddell is a safe man, if slow, and his influence is just what is wanted in Welch’s. Besides, Fairbairn would make an excellent head for the schoolhouse. What do you think?”
“Without doubt Riddell, as far as character goes, is the best boy you could choose. I’m not quite sure, though, whether he has sufficient force.”
“But, as you say, his force answers to his difficulties. At any rate I am disposed to try him. A few weeks will show how he gets on. I have not much fear myself.”
And so the head master and his lieutenant separated.
Little dreaming of the changes in store for them, Silk and Gilks were sitting together in the study of the latter, furtively consuming cigar-ends and looking decidedly glum as they conversed together in low and mysterious and not very amicable tones.
“Think he’ll do it?” said Silk.
“He had a letter from home this morning,” replied Gilks, “I know, because he sat next to me at breakfast while he was reading it.”
“Did you see what it said,” inquired Silk, as naturally as if looking over another fellow’s letters were an ordinary proceeding.
“No, but it was from his brother, and it had a post-office order in it.”
“It had? that’s lucky. How much was it for?”
“I couldn’t see,” said Gilks.
“Where is he now?” asked Silk, after a pause.
“I don’t know. Probably in his Holiness’s study — or, no, it’s library night — he’ll be there.”
“What a nuisance that library is. The young beggar’s always pottering about there,” said Silk. “Think he’ll look us up before bedtime?”
“Don’t know,” said Gilks.
“You’d better know,” said Silk. “He must come, and you’d better see he does.”
This last was spoken in a somewhat menacing voice, and Gilks sulkily replied, “What are you in such a hurry to-night for? The morning will do, won’t it?”
“No,” said Silk, “it won’t, there; and if it did, I choose to see him to-night.”
“I don’t know what makes you so precious disagreeable,” growled Gilks. “I don’t want to be ordered about by you, I can tell you.”
Silk sneered. “I’m under great obligations to you, I know,” he said.
“Well,” said Gilks, who winced visibly under the satire, “however could I help it? It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. I’m awfully sorry you lost on the race, but—”
“But you’d better look alive and do what I tell you,” said Silk, viciously.
It was curious, to say the least of it, that in so short a time the Welcher should have so completely got the upper hand of his confederate that the latter departed meekly without another word on his errand.
He found Wyndham, as he had expected, in the library, busy getting together the books for distribution next day.
“Hullo!” said Gilks, with a show of cordiality; “here you are again. You seem to live here.”
“No, I don’t,” said Wyndham, looking not very pleased to be interrupted; “but I always have to get ready an evening before the day, or the fellows kick up such a jolly row when they’re kept waiting.”
“How long shall you be?” asked Gilks.
“I don’t know. Why?” asked Wyndham.
“Only Silk wants to speak to you.”
Wyndham’s face clouded. He had come fresh from Riddell’s study an hour ago. His brother’s friend had been as kind as ever. In a hundred ways he had shown it without sermon or lecture, and Wyndham had felt stung with a sense of his own ingratitude and dishonesty as he accepted the help and goodness of his mentor.
Now, consequently, this summons to present himself before Silk was more than usually distasteful.
“I can’t come, tell him. It will take me all the evening to finish this.”
“You’d better go, though,” said Gilks.
“I can’t. Why had I better go?” asked Wyndham, looking uncomfortable.
“It’s something important he wants you for. You’d better go, young un.”
Wyndham flung down the book in his hand with a baffled air, and muttering, “I hate the fellow!” walked miserably off. Gilks called him back for a moment.
“I say,” he said, “don’t you be such a fool as to rile Silk, young un. He could make it precious awkward for you and me too if it came to a row. Take my advice and keep in with him.”
Wyndham answered nothing, but went off moodily to Silk. “Ah, Wyndham,” said the latter, cordially, as his young protégé entered, “I was just wondering if you’d give me a look up.”
“Gilks came and said you wanted me; that’s why I came,” said Wyndham.
“Awfully good of you,” said Silk. “Of course I wanted you. The fact is, young un,” said he, becoming a little mysterious, “there’s rather an awkward thing turned up. I hope it won’t come to anything, I’m sure, but it doesn’t do to be too sure.”
“What do you mean?” demanded Wyndham, looking alarmed. “I mean,” said Silk, slowly, “that last time you took Gilks and me down to Beamish’s—”
“I took you!” exclaimed Wyndham. “You took me — you made me go.”
Silk laughed.
“Well, the last time we three went to Beamish’s, if you like — the Saturday before the race; last Saturday, in fa
ct — somebody saw us, or rather saw you.”
“What!” cried Wyndham, turning pale. “Who was it?”
“It wouldn’t do you any good to know,” said Silk, “but it seems to be a fact.”
“Who was it? a master or a monitor, or who?” asked the boy, anxiously.
“Neither. I don’t fancy you know the fellow at all; I do, though.”
Silk, as he concocted this lie, would probably have been as astonished as any one to discover that the escapade in question had really been witnessed by two boys from the box of the doctor’s own fly!
“You know him?” said Wyndham. “Will he let out, do you think?”
“I can’t say. I think I could prevent him,” said Silk.
“Oh, please do,” said the troubled boy, full of exaggerated terror at the consequences of detection.
“I’ll see,” said Silk, not very assuringly.
“What!” cried Wyndham. “You surely won’t leave me in the lurch, Silk?”
Silk looked benevolently at his young friend.
“It depends,” said he, coolly.
“Depends! On what? Oh, Silk, what do you mean?”
“Don’t alarm yourself,” said Silk, smiling. Then he added, confidentially, “The fact is, young un, I’m hard-up. I lost a lot of money on the race, owing to that — that is, because Parrett’s lost. The thing is, can you lend me a couple of sovereigns, Wyndham?”
Wyndham’s face clouded for a moment, but he replied quickly, “Yes, I can, Silk, if you’ll promise to see it doesn’t get out about last Saturday.”
“Of course I will. You don’t suppose I’m such a cad as all that.”
“Oh, no,” said Wyndham, looking more cheerful, and taking out his purse.
He drew from it a post-office order.
“It’s for three pounds,” he said. “I was going to change it to-morrow.”
“Oh, I’ll do that,” said Silk. “I’m going into town early. You have signed it, I see. There’ll be a sov. to give you out of it, won’t there?”
“Yes, please; and the two pounds, and the ten shillings the other day,” faltered the boy.
“You shall have them back, never fear,” said Silk, pocketing the order.
Wyndham, in spite of this assurance, did fear considerably, as he returned with empty purse to his house.
The Willoughby Captains Page 19