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 breakfasting tête-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 we have been 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.
Chapter Thirty Four
A Busy Day for the Doctor
Riddell had not been many minutes in class before a message came from the doctor summoning him to the library.
On his arrival there he found, to his surprise, Silk standing alone in the middle of the room, while the doctor was quietly writing at his table.
“Riddell,” said the doctor, as the captain entered, “you reported two boys to me. Only one is here.”
“I told Gilks he was to be here at nine o’clock, sir,” said the captain.
“You had better go and see why he is not here.”
Riddell obeyed, and found on inquiry at the schoolhouse that Gilks was on the sick-list, and had obtained leave from the matron to remain in bed till after dinner.
The captain had his private doubts as to the seriousness of the invalid’s case, especially as, of the two, he was the less damaged in yesterday’s fight. However, he had no right to question the matron’s decision, and returned accordingly to report the matter to the doctor.
“Humph!” said the doctor, who also evidently considered it a curious coincidence that Gilks should be taken unwell the very morning when his presence was required in the library; “he had better have come. You say he is to be up after dinner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let him know he is to come here at four o’clock, and you, Silk, come too at that hour.”
Silk, who had evidently screwed himself up for the present interview, looked disappointed.
“I should like just to say, sir—” began he, with a glance at Riddell.
But the doctor interrupted.
“Not now, Silk. Go to your class now, and come here at four o’clock.”
“But it’s not about—”
“Do you hear me, sir?” said the doctor, sternly.
Silk went.
The captain was about to follow his example, when it occurred to him he might not have so favourable an opportunity again that day for acting on Bloomfield’s advice respecting Wyndham.
“Can you spare a few minutes, sir?” said he, turning back.
“Yes, what is it?” said the doctor.
“It’s about young Wyndham, sir.”
“Ah! Nothing wrong, I hope. He has seemed a good deal steadier than he was, of late.”
“So he is, sir. But this is about something he did some time ago.”
The doctor settled himself judicially in his chair, and waited for the captain’s report.
“He got into bad company early in the term, sir, and was tempted down into the town without leave, and once let himself be taken to Beamish’s Aquarium.”
The doctor gave a grunt of displeasure, which sounded rather ominous.
“How long ago was this?”
“A few days before the boat-race, sir. It has been weighing on his mind ever since.”
“Did he tell you of it?” asked the doctor.
“No, I found it out accidentally. When I spoke to him about it he admitted it and seemed very sorry.”
“And why did he not come to me himself at once?”
“That’s just it, sir,” said the captain. “I advised him to do it, and he told me he had promised the — the companions with whom he went never to mention the matter to anybody, and this prevented his coming. He even went to them, and begged them to let him off the promise so that he might come and confess to you, but he did not succeed.”
“Did he ask you, then, to come and tell me?”
“No, sir. But he is in constant dread of your hearing about it from any one else, so that I thought it would be the best thing to tell you of it myself.”
The doctor nodded his head.
“He does not know, of course, of your doing this?”
“Oh no, sir.”
“And who were the companions who you say took him to this place?”
Riddell coloured up and felt very uncomfortable.
“Do you mind me not telling you, sir?” he said. “Wyndham only wanted you to know about his part
in it. I’ll tell you if you wish,” added he, “but I’d rather not if you do not mind.”
“You need not do so at present,” said the doctor, greatly to the captain’s relief, “but you had better send Wyndham to me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddell, turning to go, but lingering for one final word. “I hope, sir — you — that is, if you can — you will take a lenient view of it. Young Wyndham’s very steady now.”
“I must see Wyndham before I can decide,” said the doctor, “but you have acted rightly in the matter — quite rightly.”
The captain went to find Wyndham, hoping for the best, but decidedly anxious.
That young gentleman was engaged in the agonies of Euclid when the school messenger entered, and announced that the doctor wanted to see him at once. His face fell, and his heart beat fast as he heard the summons. It needed not much effort to guess what it all meant. Gilks and Silk had of course been up before the doctor, and the latter had carried out the threat of which Riddell had told him; and now he was summoned to hear his fate!
At the schoolhouse door he found Riddell waiting for him.
“Oh, Riddell, I say!” exclaimed he, in tones of misery, “I’ve to go to the doctor at once. Silk has told about me. I say, do come with me.”
“Silk hasn’t told about you at all,” said the captain; “I’ve reported you myself.”
“You!” cried Wyndham, in tones of mingled amazement and reproach; “oh, why?”
“Wouldn’t you sooner have had me do it than Silk?” asked Riddell.
The boy saw his meaning at once, and as usual flew from one extreme to the other.
“Oh, of course! What a brute I was not to see it. Thanks awfully, old man. What awful grief I should have come to if it hadn’t been for you!”
“I don’t know at all what view the doctor takes of the matter,” said the captain, gravely; “you had better not expect too much.”
Wyndham groaned.
“If only I’m not expelled!” said he. “I suppose you can’t come too?”
“No. The doctor wants to see you alone, I think.”
“Well, here goes. By the way, of course, you didn’t mention the other fellows’ names?” he added.
The manner in which he said this made Riddell feel doubly glad that the doctor had not insisted on his telling.
“No — I didn’t,” he said.
And off went Wyndham, dismally, to the doctor’s study.
It was an anxious morning for the captain. Wyndham had not returned before first school was over, and Riddell felt he could not rest till he knew his fate.
He told Bloomfield of his morning’s proceedings, but even this new friend’s encouragement failed to shake off the suspense that weighed upon him.
Presently when he could wait patiently no longer, it occurred to him Wyndham might possibly have gone back to his study unobserved, and be waiting there for him. So he went across to the schoolhouse to find out.
But nearly all the studies in the schoolhouse, Wyndham’s included, were empty, as they almost always were at this hour of the day during summer; and the captain was about to return, more uncomfortable than ever, to the Big, when a door at the end of the passage opened, and some one called his name.
It was Gilks, who, as he was dressed, had evidently recovered from his indisposition earlier than was expected.
He beckoned as the captain looked round; and Riddell, inwardly wondering when his work as a police-officer would cease, and he would be able to retire again into private life, turned and entered his study.
Gilks shut the door carefully behind him. He had a haggard look about him which may have been the result of his ailment, or may have been caused by mental trouble, but which certainly was not the expression to which the captain had been used.
“I’m to go to the doctor at four?” he asked.
“Yes. He put it off, as you were reported on the sick-list.”
“Of course he thinks I was shamming?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was — and I wasn’t. I couldn’t make out what to do, that was it, so I stayed in bed. Was Silk there?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No; the doctor told him to come again at four.”
Gilks took one or two uncomfortable turns up and down the room, and then said, “I may as well tell you, it’s no use keeping it back any longer, for it’s sure to come out. I was the fellow who cut the rudder-line. Did you know that?”
“I had heard it.”
“Who told you — Silk?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. I knew he would. And he’ll tell Paddy this afternoon. I don’t care if he does.”
“I scarcely believed it when he said so,” said Riddell.
“Eh? I suppose you thought it was rather too low even for me. So it would have been once,” he said, bitterly.
“But you backed the Parrett’s boat all along,” said Riddell. “Oh, that. If that’s all that puzzled you it’s easily explained. Perhaps if you were doing a thing like that in the dark, expecting to be caught out every moment, you might make a mistake too.”
“Then you meant to cut our lines?” asked the captain, seeing the whole mystery explained at last.
“Of course I did; and so I should have done if the rudders hadn’t been shifted, and Parrett’s put into the schoolhouse boat.” He took a few more turns, and then continued, “You may fancy what a pleasant state of mind I’ve been in since. I daresay you’ll be glad to hear I’ve been miserable day and night.”
“I’m very sorry for you,” said Riddell, so sympathetically that the unhappy boy started.
“You wouldn’t be if you knew it was all to spite you. I was as bad as Silk in that, though it was his idea about cutting the lines. The accident turned out well for us in one way — nobody suspected either of us. But Silk has led me the life of a dog ever since. I’ve not known what minute it might all come out. He was always holding it over my head, and I had to do anything he told me. I can tell you I’ve thought of bolting more than once, or telling Paddy.”
“It must have been a dreadful time for you,” said Riddell. “So it was. But I’m glad it’s all over now. I shall be glad to be expelled. I’ve been ashamed to look any one in the face for weeks. I used to be happy enough before I knew Silk, but I don’t expect ever to be happy again now.”
There was a tremble in his voice as he said this, which went to the captain’s heart.
“I hope it’s not so bad as that,” said he, quietly. “Everybody here hates me, and they’ll hate me all the more now,” said Gilks. “You and young Wyndham are the only fellows that have been good to me, and I’ve done both of you nothing but mischief.”
“I think,” said Riddell, “the fellows will soon forgive. They would, I know, if they guessed how you have suffered already.”
“You are right. I have suffered,” said Gilks. Another long pause followed, during which the minds of both were full.
The one sensation in the captain’s heart was pity. He forgot all about the crime in commiseration of the wretchedness of the criminal. Yet he knew it was useless to hold out any hope of a reprieve, even if that had been to be desired. All he could do was to let the poor fellow know at least that he was not friendless; and this sign of sympathy Gilks gratefully appreciated.
“I don’t know why you should trouble yourself about me,” he said, after some further talk. “You owe me less than anybody. I’ve been nothing less than a brute to you.”
“Oh, no,” said Riddell; “but, do you know, I think it would be well to go to the doctor at once?”
“I mean to go at once. Do you think he’ll let me go off this afternoon, I say? I wouldn’t dare to face the fellows. I’ve got most of my things packed up.”
“I expect he would. But you stay till the morning. You can have my study. It’s quieter than this.”
Perhaps no more hospitable invitation had been issued in Willoughby, and Gi
lks knew it. And it was too welcome not to be accepted gratefully.
The captain soon afterwards departed, leaving the penitent behind him, subdued and softened, not by any sermon or moral lecture, which at such a time Riddell felt would be only out of place, but by sheer force of kindness — that virtue which costs so little, yet achieves so much.
In this new excitement the captain had for the moment forgotten young Wyndham, but he was soon reminded of that afflicted youth’s existence on reaching the Big.
He was there, waiting impatiently. A glance sufficed to show that at any rate the worst had not happened, but Wyndham’s face was such a mixture of relief and woe that the captain felt some misgivings as he inquired eagerly what was the news.
“He was frightfully kind,” said Wyndham, “and talked to me like a father. I never felt so ashamed of myself. I’m certain it’s what you said made him let me off so easy — that is, so what he means for easy. He said nothing about expelling, even when I couldn’t tell him the names of those two fellows. But he’s gated me till the end of the term! I may only go out for the half-hour after first school, and half an hour after half-past five. And you know what that means,” he added, with a groan.
“What?” asked Riddell, too rejoiced that his friend was safe to be over-curious as to the exact consequence of his sentence.
“Why!” exclaimed Wyndham, “it’s all up with the second-eleven!”
It was a blow undoubtedly — perhaps the next hardest blow to expulsion — but so much less hard that not even the boy himself could for long regard it as a crushing infliction.
He had had his lesson, and after the suspense of the last few weeks he was ready to expiate his transgression manfully, if sorrowfully.
“Anyhow,” said he, after pouring out all his disappointment into the captain’s sympathetic ear, “it’s not as bad as being sent off home. And if it hadn’t been for you that’s what might have happened. I say, and think of my brother coming down to umpire, too! What a fool I shall look! Never mind; it can’t be helped. I’m sure to get into the eleven next season. I say, by the way, I’ve no right to be standing out here. I shall have to go in.”
The Willoughby Captains Page 37