The Willoughby Captains

by Talbot Baines Reed

  “Rather!” said Pil; “and they told us to mind our own business.”

  “Suppose we start it ourselves?” suggested the captain; “I’m a Welcher now, you know. I don’t see why, because Tucker and Silk object, the whole house should be done out of its cricket.”

  “No more do I,” said Philpot.

  “They’ll kick up a jolly row with us, though,” said Morgan.

  “I don’t think so,” said Riddell. “At any rate, that’s no reason why there shouldn’t be a club.”

  “All serene!” said Cusack, warming up to the notion, and quite forgetting “Bouncer.”

  “I say, Riddell, couldn’t we start it now?”

  “Yes, certainly,” said Riddell; “why not? I propose Cusack be the secretary.”

  “Oh, I say!” cried that youth, blushing, half with pleasure and half with embarrassment; “you’d better be that, Riddell.”

  “Oh, no,” said Riddell, laughing, “I don’t know the fellows so well as you. If you were secretary, and Pilbury or Philpot treasurer, I’d be president, or something of that sort, if you like.”

  The idea of the new club took like wildfire, and an enthusiastic consultation followed. It was resolved to summon a meeting next day of all who took an interest in the sport, and to arrange for a trial match at once. Riddell went as warmly into the details as any one, and took every opportunity of working up the patriotic spirit of his younger companions.

  “You know,” said he, “I don’t see at all why we shouldn’t be able to get together a team for the junior elevens if we practise hard.”

  “The nuisance is,” said Cusack, “we’re stopped an hour a day’s play all this term.”

  “What for?” inquired the captain.

  The melancholy story of Mr Parrett and the sulphuretted hydrogen was recounted.

  “It’s a pity,” said he, gravely.

  “I wonder if Paddy would mind giving us a licking instead,” suggested Pilbury, whose hands were of the horny kind.

  Even the others whose palms were less seasoned seemed willing to fall in with this alternative, but Riddell discouraged it.

  “No,” said he, “he’s not likely to do that. But I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll see him and Parrett and tell them about the club, and undertake that you’ll be steady the rest of the term if they’ll let you off. Do you think I’d be safe in saying so?”

  “Rather! I’ll promise, for one,” cried Cusack.

  “And I’ll try,” said Pilbury.

  “So will we,” said the others.

  So it was settled. And when next day Riddell in triumph was able to announce that the doctor and Mr Parrett had agreed to withdraw the prohibition, in consideration of the captain’s promise on their behalf, great was the jubilation.

  Greater still was Riddell’s own satisfaction in feeling that he had at least made a good start towards getting on the right side of the juniors of his new house.

  Chapter Nineteen

  “Is Willoughby degenerate?”

  As might be expected, the new captain’s move in attempting to win over the juniors of Welch’s only served to increase the irritation of those seniors who had hitherto reigned supreme in the house.

  But Riddell had taken this into his calculation, and was therefore not greatly astonished when immediately after the enthusiastic cricket meeting just referred to, Silk followed him to his study in a by no means amiable frame of mind.

  Silk was not given to losing his temper, but on the present occasion he was decidedly ruffled. And no wonder.

  Any fellow would be ruffled who suddenly found himself deposed from his authority in the manner in which Silk had been. Had he been one of the most conscientious and painstaking of monitors, he might well have been excused flaring up a little, and, indeed, would have shown a poor spirit had he not done so.

  But Silk, as the reader knows, was neither painstaking nor conscientious. He did not care a rap about Welch’s, still less about Willoughby. As long as he could please himself and annoy his enemies, he did not care what became of his house or the boys in it. It was only when any one ventured to dispute his authority as head of the house that he attached any value to his office. In fact, it was the story of the Dog in the Manger carried out in school life — he would not be troubled doing his duty to Welch’s, and he would not if he could help it let any one else do it for him.

  Riddell, if truth must be told, was not at all sorry to have an early opportunity of coming to an explanation with Silk.

  Silk was one of the very few boys in Willoughby whom the captain positively disliked, and that being so Riddell was troubled with none of the half-apologetic nervousness which he usually felt in the presence of his other fellow-seniors. He looked upon Silk both as an enemy to Willoughby and as the evil genius of young Wyndham, and therefore was by no means disposed to beg his pardon or consult his pleasure in the new order of things at Welch’s.

  “I hear the juniors have been saying something to you about starting the cricket club,” said Silk, in tones which were the reverse of conciliatory.

  “Yes,” said Riddell; “or, rather, I suggested it to them.”

  “You did! All I can say is, it’s like your impudence. Welch’s is come to a pretty pass if you’re sent here to look after our athletics.”

  Riddell did not feel called upon to reply to this, and Silk therefore continued, “Don’t you know Tucker and I have been captains of the clubs here for the last two years?”

  “I was told so.”

  “Then what business have you to interfere?”

  “There was no house club at all this year.”

  “A lot you care about the cricket. I know well enough it’s just a canting dodge for snubbing Tucker and me before the fellows, nothing more.”

  “You’re quite mistaken,” replied Riddell.

  “Oh, of course! You’d like to make out that you care a fig about cricket. You who couldn’t even bowl a ball from one end of the wickets to the other!”

  There seemed nothing particular to reply to in this, so Riddell remained silent. This only irritated Silk the more, who felt that he was by no means getting the best of it.

  “You’d better stop this sort of thing at once,” he said, viciously. “You’re sent here to look after the morals of the house, not to interfere with what doesn’t concern you. Tucker and I can look after the cricket without you.”

  “Are you and Tucker going to start the old club again, then?” asked Riddell quietly.

  “Whatever business of yours is it whether we are or aren’t? Find out.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do. If you are, I’ll advise the other fellows to join it and not have two clubs.”

  “You advise the fellows!” sneered Silk; “they don’t want a schoolhouse prig like you to advise them.”

  It was evidently no use trying to conciliate a fellow like this, and Riddell began to get tired of the interview.

  “I don’t want to offend you or anybody,” said he boldly; “but if you and Tucker won’t take the trouble to start the club, I don’t see that all the house is to be done out of their cricket in consequence. The fellows have little enough to keep them together as it is.”

  “You are a nice little thing to keep them together with, I must say,” snarled Silk, “and you’ve made a good start by setting the juniors against their seniors.”

  “I’ve done nothing of the sort,” replied Riddell, quietly; “and if you’ll excuse me, I’ve some work to do, and there’s really not much use talking on the subject.”

  So saying, he turned, and began taking his books down from the shelf.

  Silk, whose irritation had been gradually getting beyond bounds, was pleased to regard this action as a direct insult to himself, and flared up accordingly.

  “Look here, you snivelling, stuck-up, hypocritical prig, you!” exclaimed he, advancing and seizing the captain roughly by the arm, “we’d better come to an understanding at once. If you think you’re going to cheek us just a
s you please here, you’re mistaken, I tell you. What do you mean by it?”

  “By what?” inquired Riddell, mildly, but quite composedly.

  Silk’s only reply was a passionate blow in the captain’s face, which sent him staggering to the other side of the room.

  It was a critical moment. Riddell was no coward, nor was he one of those sickly individuals who, not satisfied to be struck on one cheek only, invite a repetition of the assault on the other side. Physically weak and nervous as he was, he had sufficient British instinct to move him to stand up for himself.

  And yet as he stood there a moment irresolute, it flashed across him that whatever the cost he must not enter upon a fight with Silk.

  Of course he would be called a coward, and nothing he could say could prove he wasn’t. He was no match for Silk, and consequently his refusal to defend himself would be called fear.

  “And yet,” thought he, “if I fight, my chance in Welch’s is gone, even if I were able to beat him. The fellows will have no more respect for me than any other rowdy, and will soon enough make my thrashing an excuse for mutiny.”

  It was a hard position for any boy, and the courage required to hold him back cost Riddell more effort than had he blindly rushed into the fray and given himself up to be thrashed.

  “Will you fight?” shouted Silk, advancing.

  “No,” said Riddell, as coolly as he could.

  “Wretched coward!” exclaimed the bully, “of course you won’t. Then take what you deserve. I’ll give you the biggest hiding you ever had in your life.”

  He would probably have carried out his threat, and Riddell would probably before half a minute have given up all further idea of non-resistance, when an opportune diversion occurred in the person of Telson, who appeared with the remainder of his late senior’s possessions from the schoolhouse.

  “I say, Riddell,” he exclaimed, almost before the door was open, “here’s a jolly go! I’ve got to be that beast Gilks’s fag, and— Hullo! what’s up?”

  This remark was caused by Silk’s suddenly turning on his heel and hurrying from the study without putting into execution his threat.

  “What was he up to?” asked Telson, as the door was shut. “He was going to exterminate me, so he said,” replied Riddell, smiling.

  “I wish he’d tried, and you’d given him a jolly licking,” said Telson. “He’s a cad. I wonder what young Wyndham or any one sees to like in him.”

  “Wyndham likes him, then?” asked the captain. “They always seem jolly thick,” said the fag. “By the way, Riddell, were you ever at Beamish’s?”

  “Beamish’s? No!” exclaimed Riddell. “Why?”

  “Oh,” said Telson, “I only wanted to know what sort of place it was.”

  “Not a good one. There’s a pretty strong rule against it in the school. Bad job for any one caught going there.”

  “I know, I’m not going; I only wanted to know what sort of place it was. But I’m off, I’ve got a motion on in Parliament to-morrow. I say, Riddell, I wish you hadn’t left the schoolhouse.”

  And off went the junior, leaving Riddell somewhat perplexed by his chatter, but considerably consoled nevertheless to think that there was any one in the schoolhouse, or anywhere, who was sorry to lose him.

  However, the same reason which took Telson away left Riddell also little time to spend in vague reflections. He, too, had a speech to prepare for Parliament to-morrow.

  The meeting promised to be an important one in many respects. It was the first after the boat-race, and consequently party feeling was likely to make use of the opportunity to let off a little of its steam. Then, of course, it was the captain’s first public appearance as the head of Welch’s, and that was sure to excite a good deal of curiosity and interest. And last, but not least, the subject for the evening was a debate on the question, “That Willoughby is Degenerate,” to be opened in the affirmative by Ashley, and in the negative by Porter, and on this burning question the debate as well as the division promised to be pretty interesting.

  There was the usual lively time before the regular business was reached over “Questions,” of which there were a good many on the notice-paper. But it will be best to report the meeting in the usual Parliamentary style, as it would have appeared on the records of the House, had any record been kept at Willoughby:

  Mr Bloomfield took the chair at three o’clock.

  Mr Merrison (Welcher) gave notice that at the next meeting he would move—“That this House gives its support to the Liberal candidate in the coming election at Shellport, and does all in its power to kick out the Radical.” (Loud cheers.)

  Mr Pringle (Parrett’s) asked the Home Secretary what day the summer holidays were to begin.

  Mr Ashley replied that he was not in a position to inform the hon. member, but probably in about six weeks.

  Mr Wyndham, jun. (schoolhouse), wished to ask why Parrett’s would not row another race when the schoolhouse had offered it? (Great schoolhouse cheers.)

  Mr Game (First Lord of the Admiralty), amid equally loud cheers on Parrett’s side, replied that as soon as the schoolhouse found out who had been mean enough to cut the Parrett’s rudder-line, and gave him up to justice, they would see about it.

  Whereupon Mr Wibberly begged to ask the schoolhouse stroke whether he had any information to give the House on the subject.

  Mr Fairbairn. — The information I have to give the House is that Mr Riddell and I, directly after the race, went to Mr Bloomfield and said we were sorry for the accident — (ironical laughter from Parrett’s) — and offered to row them again any day they liked, and the offer was declined. (Schoolhouse cheers.)

  Mr Tipper. — I should like to know if the schoolhouse fellows are making any efforts to discover the culprit by whose assistance they won the race. (Tremendous Parrett’s cheers.)

  Mr Fairbairn. — I can’t say we are. (Derisive cheers of “Of course not!” from Parrett’s.) The hon. gentlemen opposite seem to know so much about it, that I think they had better find the culprit themselves. (“Hear, hear,” from the schoolhouse.)

  The proceedings at this stage became rather noisy, every one being anxious to express his opinion on the question. It was not till after the President had threatened to “adjourn the House” that silence was at length restored.

  Bloomfield took the sensible course, also, of announcing that, as quite enough questions had been asked about the race, he should not allow any more on that subject.

  Whereupon Mr Tucker, the Welcher, rose and put a question on another matter. He wanted to know the reason why Mr Riddell had become a Welcher; whether it was true that he had been turned out of the schoolhouse for being incompetent; and whether he had been kicked out of the captaincy as well.

  Mr Crossfield said he had been requested to reply. And first he must congratulate the hon. member on having succeeded in asking a question which any one could understand. (Laughter.)

  In reply, he understood Mr Riddell had been sent to Welch’s in order to study the virtues of a fellow called Tucker, who was—

  Mr Tucker, rising: Mr Chairman, I didn’t put my question in order to be insulted by Crossfield or any one. (Laughter.)

  Mr Crossfield. — I apologise to the hon. gentleman. I will not insult him by supposing he has any virtues. I should say Mr Riddell has gone to take a few lessons in the art of keeping a house in order, which no one can so well teach him as Mr Tucker. (Loud laughter.) In reply to the gentleman’s second question—

  Mr Tucker. — I don’t want any more. (Laughter.)

  Mr Crossfield. — In reply to the gentleman’s second question, I am sorry to inform him that his impressions are about as correct and intelligent as they usually are. (Renewed cheers and laughter, in the midst of which Tucker subsided in a state of mind hardly amiable.)

  As soon as silence was restored, Mr Porter wished to ask the captain of the eleven whether the team to play against Rockshire was yet settled.

  Mr Bloomfield. — Not quite. Nine n
ames are fixed — Game, Tipper, Ashley, Wibberly, and myself from Parrett’s house, and Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Crossfield from the schoolhouse. (Cheers and counter-cheers, and loud cries of “What about the Welchers?”) What about the Welchers? That’s what everybody wants to know! (Loud cheers.)

  Hereupon Mr Cusack rose in his place and asked if the House was aware that the Welchers’ cricket club was started again; that he was the secretary; and old Mr Pil the treasurer, and Mr Riddell the president, that the subscription was two shillings and sixpence in advance, and that— But here the enthusiastic secretary’s announcement was drowned in the general laughter of the assembly, led by the Parrett’s juniors, who roared as if they’d never heard such a joke in their lives. “Won’t be a joke when we smash you in one innings,” shouted Cusack, standing on his seat to give emphasis to the challenge. “Ho, ho! when’s that to be?”

  “When you like,” cried the Welchers. “Do you funk it?”

  “Unless those juniors there hold their row,” interposed Bloomfield, “I shall have them turned out of the meeting.” Whereat the little breeze calmed down.

  The President then called upon Mr Ashley to move the resolution standing in his name, which he did in a rather feeble speech.

  “I really don’t think it necessary to say much to prove that the school is degenerate. Look at the clubs! They aren’t nearly as good as they were in old Wyndham’s time. Parrett’s clubs, thanks to Mr Bloomfield, keep up; but where are the others? Then the rows. (Hear, hear.) I’m sure there have been more rows in the school this term than all the rest of the year put together. The juniors seem to do what they like,”—(“Hear, hear,” from Telson, Parson, and Co.)—“and no one seems to know who has a right to keep any one else in order. Now, why is all this? (Loud cheers from Bosher.) You know as well as I do. The captain of the school always used to be a fellow the boys could look up to. Old Wyndham and the captain before him were something like fellows. (Loud Parrett’s cheers.) They weren’t afraid to look any one in the face — (cheers) — and they didn’t, when they got tired of one house — (cheers) — ask the doctor to move them to another. (Terrific applause from the Parrett’s and Welchers.) Why, if this boat-race affair had happened in old Wyndham’s time, do you suppose he wouldn’t have made it right, and found out the fellow, even if it was his own brother? (Loud cheers, amidst which young Wyndham blushed a great deal at this unexpected piece of notoriety.) I’m not going to say any more.” (“Hear, hear,” from Fairbairn.)