The Willoughby Captains

by Talbot Baines Reed

  “Jolly lot they care what sort of Latin it is as long as they can do us over it.”

  “I believe,” said Bosher, “Gilks has a key to Todhunter.”

  “He has? Young Telson had better collar it, then,” said King, whose opinions on the laws of property as regarded cribs were lax.

  “Bah! What’s the use of bothering?” cried Parson, pouring himself out his eighth cup of tea. “If he pulls me up for not doing the beastly things I shall tell him they’re too hard, straight out.”

  “Tell him it’s jolly gross conduct,” cried a voice at the door, followed immediately by Telson, who, contrary to all rules, had slipped across to pay a friendly visit.

  He was welcomed with the usual rejoicing, and duly installed at the festive board.

  “It’s all right if I am caught,” said he. “Gilks sent me a message to Wibberly, and I just dropped in here on the way. I say, who’s going to lick, you or Welch’s?”

  “Welch’s!” exclaimed the company, in general contempt. “It’s like their cheek to challenge us. We mean to give them a lesson.”

  “Mind you do,” said Telson, “or it’ll be jolly rough on Parrett’s. No end of a poor show you made at the Rockshire.”

  “Look here, Telson,” said Parson, gravely, “suppose we don’t talk about that. We were just wondering if Gilks had got a key to Todhunter somewhere.”

  Telson laughed.

  “Wonder if he hadn’t! He’s got more cribs than school books, I think.”

  “I say,” said King, most persuasively, “could you collar it, do you think, old man!”

  “Eh? No,” said Telson; “I draw the line at that sort of thing, you know.”

  “Well, then,” said King, evidently in a state of desperate mental agitation, “could you ever find out the answer for Number 13 in Exercise 8, and let me know it in the morning? I’d be awfully obliged.”

  Telson said he would see, whereat King was most profuse in his gratitude, and Telson received several other commissions of a similar nature.

  These little matters of business being satisfactorily settled, the company proceeded to the discussion of more general topics.

  “Fearful slow term this,” said Parson, with a yawn.

  “Yes,” said Telson, spreading a piece of bread with about a quarter-of-an-inch layer of jam; “we’re somehow done out of everything this term.”

  “Yes. We can’t go out on the river; we can’t go into town; we can’t go and have a lark in Welch’s; you can’t come over to see us—”

  “No; that’s a howling shame!” said Telson.

  “We can’t do anything, in fact,” continued Parson (now at cup Number 9). “Why, we haven’t had a spree for weeks.”

  “You seemed to think my diary was a spree,” said Bosher, meekly.

  There was a general laugh at this.

  “By the way, have you got it here?”

  “No fear! I’ll take good care you don’t see it again, you cads!”

  “Eh? By the way, that reminds me we never paid Bosher out for being a Radical, you fellows,” said Parson.

  “Oh, no — oh, yes, you did!” cried Bosher. “I apologise, you fellows. I’ll let you see the diary, you know, some day. Really, I’m not a Radical.”

  Fortunately for Bosher, the political excitement at Willoughby had quite worn away, so that no one now felt it his duty to execute the sentence of the law upon him and, after being made to apologise on his knees to each of the company in turn, he was solemnly let off.

  “You see,” said Parson, returning to the point, “we’ve been up before Parrett twice this term; that’s the mischief. We might have chanced a spree of some sort, only if we get pulled up again he may expel us.”

  There was some force in this argument, and it was generally agreed it would be better for Willoughby that the risk of a calamity like this should not be incurred.

  “Fact is,” said Telson, cutting another slice of bread, “Willoughby’s going to the dogs as hard as it can. The seniors in our house are down on you if you do anything. I even got pulled up the other day for having a duel with young Payne with elastics. Awful spree it was! We gave one another six yards, and six shots each. I got on to his face four times, and once on his ear, and he only hit me twice. One of mine was right in his eye, and there was a shindy made, and I got sixty lines from Fairbairn.”

  “What a frightful shame!” cried the company. “Yes,” said King; “and it’s just as bad here. The new monitors pull you up for everything. You can’t even chuck boots about in the passage but they are down on you. It was bad enough when Game and that lot were monitors, but ever since they’ve been turned out and the new chaps stuck in it’s worse.”

  “And they say it’s just as bad in Welch’s,” said Wakefield. “You know,” said Parson, profoundly, pouring himself out a fresh cup—“you know, if Riddell and Bloomfield ever took it into their heads to pull together, we’d have an awful time of it.”

  The bare possibility of such a calamity was enough to sober even the wildest spirit present.

  “These seniors are a nuisance,” said Telson, after a pause; “and the worst of it is, we can’t well pay them out.”

  “Not in school, or in the Big either,” said King. “We might stick nettles in their beds, you know,” suggested Bosher, “or something of that sort.”

  “Rather low, that,” said Parson, “and not much fun.”

  “Would leeches be better?” said Bosher, who had lately been giving himself to scientific investigation.

  It was considered leeches might not be bad, but there was rather too much uncertainty about their mode of action. That was a sort of thing more in Cusack’s and the Welchers’ line than the present company’s.

  “I tell you what,” said Telson, struck with an idea, “we might get at them in Parliament; they’re always so jolly fond of talking about fair play there, and every one being equal. Do you know, I think we might have a little fling there!”

  “Not at all a bad idea,” said Parson, admiringly—“jolly fine idea! We can do what those cads do in the newspapers — obstruct the business! Rattling idea!”

  “Yes; and fancy Messrs Telson, Parson, Bosher, and Co. being suspended,” said King.

  “They couldn’t do it, I tell you,” said Bosher; “we’d kick up a shine about freedom of speech, and all that. Anyhow, it would be rather a spree, whether we were kicked out or not. We’d be a ‘party’ you know!”

  The idea took, and an animated consultation took place. Parson, for a junior, was very well up in the “rules of the House,” and at his suggestion the notice-paper for to-morrow’s assembly was got hold of and filled with “amendments.”

  “Call them amendments,” said he, “and they can’t say anything.”

  “Oh, all serene,” said Telson, who had implicit confidence in his friend.

  “For instance, here you are,” said Parson. “‘Mr Coates to move that Classics is a nobler study than Mathematics.’ Amendment proposed: ‘Instead of “nobler” say “viler.”’ Proposed by Bosher, further amendment: ‘Instead of “nobler” say “beastlier.”’ Proposed by Telson — (‘Hear, hear,’ from Telson) — further amendment: ‘Instead of “nobler” say “more idiotic.”’ You see it can easily be worked, and when we’ve done with ‘nobler’ we can start on the ‘is’ and amend it to ‘are,’ do you twig? There’ll have to be a division over each. I say it’ll be an awful lark!”

  Little dreaming of the delightful treat in store for it, Willoughby assembled next afternoon, expecting nothing better than a dull debate on the well-worn question of classics versus mathematics. They were destined to experience more than one surprise before the meeting was over.

  Riddell, who had spent a dismal day, not knowing what to do or think, and vainly hoping that Wyndham might by his own free confession solve the bitter problem, came to the meeting. It was the least wretched thing he could do. Anything was better than sitting alone and brooding over his secret.

  For the first
time he received a cheer as he entered and took his accustomed place. Willoughby was grateful to him for that catch in the Rockshire match. How, at any other time, the captain would have rejoiced over that cheer! But now he hardly heard it.

  All the other heroes of the match received a similar ovation in proportion to the service they had done, and when, just at the last moment, Fairbairn, Coates, and Crossfield came in together, the “House” rose at them and cheered tremendously.

  The business was preceded by the usual questions, none of which, however, were very important. After the captain’s performance last week, and perhaps still more after his speech in the House a week or two ago, honourable men had shown themselves less active in “baiting” him and asking him offensive questions, and on this occasion he was only interrogated once, and that was by Cusack, who wanted to know whether they were not going to get a whole holiday in honour of the Rockshire match? The captain replied that he had heard nothing about it.

  Bosher was put up to ask Bloomfield whether he considered Eutropius fit reading for young boys? Loud cheers from all the small boys in question greeted the inquiry, in the midst of which Bloomfield cunningly replied that the honourable member had better give notice of the question for next time.

  Then rose Telson, with all the dignity of office, and solemnly inquired of Mr Stutter, the Premier, whether he was aware that a new party had lately been formed in the House, consisting of Messrs Telson, Parson, Bosher, King, and Wakefield, called the “Skyrockets,” whose object was to look after the interests of the juniors all over the school, and who would be glad to receive fresh members at one shilling a head?

  Stutter, who was scarcely heard in the uproar which followed this sensational announcement, meekly replied that he had not heard a word about it, an answer which, for some reason or other, provoked almost as much laughter as the question.

  “All very well for them to grin,” growled Telson, who had expected a somewhat different reception to his important question: “wait till we start on the amendments.”

  The opportunity soon arrived. Coates being called upon to open the debate, let off the speech he had prepared, and if he did not convince the House that classics was a nobler study than mathematics, he at least showed that he had convinced himself.

  The “Skyrockets” had barely the patience to hear him out, and the moment he had done, Parson started to his feet, and shouted, “Mr Chairman and gentlemen, I beg to move an amendment—”

  Here Bloomfield, whom the sight of the notice-paper had prepared for what was coming, interposed, “When I am ready for the honourable member I will call on him. The motion is not yet seconded.”

  “No, no! That won’t wash, will it, you fellows?” cried Parson, excitedly, planting himself firmly in his place, and evidently seeing through the deep designs of the enemy. “Bother seconding! I mean to move my amendment, if I stick here all night! (Terrific Skyrocket cheers.) We kids have been snubbed long enough, and we’re going to make a stand!” (“Question,” “Order.”) “All very well for you to sing out ‘Order’—”

  The Chairman:

  “Will the honourable member—”

  “No, he won’t!” screamed Parson, with the steam well up; “and he’s not going to! I’ve got a right to be heard — we’ve all got a right to be heard, and we’re going to be heard, what’s more! (Tremendous cheers from the club.) We’re all equal here, aren’t we, you chaps?” (“Rather!”)

  Here Fairbairn rose to order, but Parson was too quick for him.

  “No, no!” he cried, “we don’t want any of your jaw! We’re not going to be shut up by you! We’re a party, I tell you, and we’re bound to stick out!” (“Hear, hear,” from Bosher.) “We expected you’d be trying to sit on us, but we made up our minds we won’t be sat on! (Prolonged cheers.) I’ve not begun my speech yet — (laughter) — and I don’t mean to till you hold your rows!”

  Here there were loud cries of “Order” from various parts of the House, which, however, only served to inspirit the speaker, who proceeded at the top of his voice, “It’s no use your going on like that. (I say, you chaps,” added he, turning round to his companions, “back me up, I’m getting husky.) You think we’re a lot of fools—”

  (“We’re a lot of fools!” chimed in the chorus, by way of backing up their orator.)

  “But we’re not as green as we look!”

  (“Green as we look!”)

  “You all seem to think it funny!”

  (“Think it funny!”)

  “But you needn’t think you’ll shut us up!”

  (“Shut us up!”)

  Here another attempt was made on the part of the chairman to reduce the meeting to order. Above the laughter and cheering and hooting he cried at the top of his voice, “Unless you stop your foolery, Parson, I’ll have you turned out!”

  “Will you? Who’s going to stop my foolery?” yelled Parson.

  (“Stop my foolery?”) howled the chorus.

  “Try it on, that’s all! You don’t think we funk you!”

  (“We funk you!”)

  “Do you suppose we don’t know what we’re doing?”

  (“We don’t know what we’re doing?”)

  “Look out, you fellows! Hold on!”

  This last remark was caused by a rush upon the devoted band, with a view to carry out the edict of the chairman.

  Parson went on with his oration till he was secured, hand and foot, and carried forcibly to the door, and even then continued to address the house, struggling and kicking between every syllable. His backers, equally determined, clung on to the forms and desks, and continued to shout and scream and caterwaul till they were one by one ejected.

  Even then they maintained their noble stand for freedom of speech by howling through the key-hole and kicking at the door, till finally a select band of volunteers was dispatched “to clear the approaches to the House” and drive the Skyrockets to their own distant studies, where they organised a few brawls on their own account, and ended the afternoon very hoarse, very tired, but by no means cast down.

  “Jolly spree, wasn’t it?” said Parson, when it was all over, fanning himself with a copybook and readjusting his collar.

  “Stunning!” said Telson; “never thought they’d stand it so long. No end of a speech, that of yours!”

  “Yes,” said Parson, complacently; “most of it impromptu, too! Managed to spin it out, I fancy!”

  “Rather,” said King, admiringly. “I began to make mine after you’d got kicked out, but couldn’t get out much of it.”

  “Well, all I can say is it was a jolly lark. I feel quite hungry after it,” said Telson. “Any of that jam left, old man?”

  And so these heroes appropriately celebrated their glorious field-day with a no less glorious banquet, which amply compensated for all the little inconveniences they had had to endure in the course of the afternoon’s entertainment.

  Meanwhile, rather more serious work was going on in the Great Hall.

  The Skyrockets being ejected, the house proceeded in a somewhat humdrum fashion to discuss the relative merits of classics and mathematics. Several of the seniors and a few Limpets had prepared speeches, which they duly delivered. Contrary to the expectation of most present, Riddell took no part in the discussion. As head classic, a speech from him had been quite counted on; but not even the calls of the one side or the taunts of the other could get him on to his feet.

  The fact was, he only half heard what was going on. His thoughts were far away, busied with a far more serious inward debate than that on the notice-paper.

  At length he could remain idle no longer. He must go and find out Wyndham, or see the doctor, or pay another visit to Tom the boat-boy — anything rather than this suspense and misery and inaction.

  He took advantage of a more than ordinarily dreary speech from Tedbury to rise and make his retreat quietly from the room.

  But before he had reached the door Tedbury’s voice abruptly ceased and Wibberly’s was heard s
aying, “Mr Chairman, I see Mr Riddell is leaving the meeting. Will you allow me to ask him a question before he goes?”

  There was something strange about this interruption, and also in the manner in which the question was asked, which drew the sudden attention of the House, and all eyes were turned on the captain.

  He stopped and turned in his usual nervous, half-inquiring way, apparently not quite sure what had been said or who had spoken.

  “Mr Wibberly,” said Bloomfield, “wishes to ask a question of Mr Riddell.”

  “It is merely this,” said Wibberly, rapidly, and giving no time for any objection to be raised on the point of order. “I wish to ask Mr Riddell whether he has found out yet who cut the rudder-line of Parrett’s boat at the boat-race, or whether he suspects anybody, and, if so, whom?”

  At this unlooked-for question a hubbub immediately arose. Several schoolhouse fellows protested against the proceedings being interrupted in this way, and even Bloomfield exclaimed across the table, “For goodness’ sake, Wibberly, don’t bring up that wretched subject again.”

  But those who had watched Riddell had seen him turn suddenly pale at the question, and for a moment make as though he would rush from the room. But he stopped himself, and turned like a hunted deer on the questioner.

  A dead silence fell on the assembly, as Wibberly coolly said, “I will repeat the questions. Has Mr Riddell found out who cut the rudder-lines? or does he suspect any one? and, if so, who is it?”

  Every eye turned on Riddell. The brief pause had given him time to collect himself and fight out the inward battle; and now he answered steadily, “I do suspect some one. But until I am perfectly sure I shall not say who it is.”

  So saying, he quietly left the room.

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Everything gone wrong

  Riddell was fairly committed to his task now. Like the good old general who burned his ships when he landed on the enemy’s shores, he had cut off from himself the slightest possibility of a retreat, and must now either go right through with the matter or confess himself a miserable failure.