“Oh!” broke in the outraged Parson. “I knew he was a Radical cad. All right, Bosher, my boy; you’ll catch it! Steam away, Telson!”
“‘It was a gross meeting, Pringle being much stuck-up. He maketh a speech. Meditations while Pringle is making a speech. The grass is very green. (Great laughter at Pringle’s expense.) I will aspire up Telson thinketh he is much, but thou ist not oh, Telson, much at all I spoke boldly and to the point. I am the Radical.’”
“There you are!” exclaimed Parson, triumphantly: “didn’t I tell you so? Bosher! What do you mean by telling such howling crams, Bosher?”
“I only meant—”
“Shut up! Fire away, Telson!”
“‘I am the Radical. I desire to smash everything the little Welchers make noises. Meditations: let me be noble dinner at 3:1 stew. The turnips are gross. I request leave of Riddell to go to the town to-morrow but he sayeth no. I am roused’—that’s all of yesterday.”
“About enough too!” exclaimed the wrathful Parson. “Just read the day before, before we start hiding him.”
“Oh, please don’t lick me!” cried the unhappy author: “I’ll apologise, you know, Parson, Telson; please don’t!”
“‘Wednesday — rose at 8:13. Sang as I shaved the Vicar of Bray. I shall now describe my fellows which are all ugly and gross. Parson is the worst.’”
“Eh?” exclaimed the wrathful owner of that name.
“‘Parson is the worst,’” read Telson, with evident glee, “‘and — and—’ oh, let’s see,” he added, hurriedly turning over the page.
“No, no; read fair; do you hear?” cried Parson. “No skipping.”
“I’ll crack your skull, Bosher,” said Telson, indignantly, handing the diary across to Parson and pointing to the passage.
“‘—And Telson is the most conceited ignorant schoolhouse frog I ever saw at breakfast got thirty lines for gross conduct with the abominable King.’”
“There!” exclaimed Telson, in a red heat; “what does he mean by it? Of course, I don’t care for myself; it’s about the schoolhouse.”
“What’s that he says about me?” said King.
“‘The abominable King,’” cried Telson, reading with great relish; “‘thirty lines for gross conduct with the abominable King.’”
“Oh, I say, this is too much, you fellows,” cried King.
“Not a bit too much. Just finish that day, Telson,” said Parson, handing back the diary.
“Please give it up,” pleaded Bosher, but he was immediately sat upon by his outraged companions, and forced to listen to the rest of the chronicle.
“‘Wyndham hath not found his knife. I grieve for Wyndham thinking Cusack and the little Welchers to be the thiefs. I smile when Cusack goes to prison in the Parliament a gross speech is made by Riddell I reply in noble speech for the Radicals.’”
“That’ll do, that’s enough; he is a Radical then; he says so himself!” cried Telson, shutting up the book, and flinging it across the room at Bosher, who was standing near the door and just dodged it in time. A regular scramble ensued to secure the “gross” volume, in the midst of which the unhappy author, seeing his chance, slipped from the room, and bolted for his life down the passage.
His persecutors did not trouble to pursue him, and a sudden rumour shortly afterwards that Mr Parrett was prowling about sent Telson and the few Welchers slinking back to their quarters. And so ended the eve of the great election.
The next morning Riddell and those interested in the discipline of the school were surprised to see that the excitement was apparently abated, instead of, as might have been expected, increased. The attendance at morning chapel and call-over was most punctual, and between breakfast and first school only two boys came to him to ask for permits to go into town. One of these was young Wyndham, whom Riddell had seen very little of since leaving the schoolhouse.
Wyndham’s desire to go down into town had, as it happened, no connection at all with the election. He was as much interested in that, of course, as the rest of Willoughby, but the reason he wanted to go to Shellport this afternoon was to see an old home chum of his, from whom he had just heard that he would be passing in the train through Shellport that afternoon.
Great, therefore, was his disappointment when Riddell told him that no permits were allowed that afternoon.
“What?” exclaimed the boy. “I’ve not seen Evans for a year, and he’ll think it so awfully low, after writing to me, if I don’t show up at the station.”
“I’m awfully sorry, Wyndham,” said Riddell, who had heard so many wild pretexts for getting leave during the last two days that he even doubted how far Wyndham’s might be true or not; “the doctor says no one is to go down, and I can’t give any permits.”
“But I tell you all I want is to see Evans — there’s no harm in that.”
“Of course not, and you should get the permit at once if any were allowed.”
“You could give me one if you chose.”
“But if I gave to one I should have to give to all.”
“I don’t see that you need tell everybody,” said Wyndham, nettled.
“I’m sorry it can’t be done, Wyndham; I can’t make any exceptions,” said the captain, firmly.
“You could well enough if you chose,” said Wyndham, sorely disappointed and aggrieved. “The fact is, I don’t know why, I believe you’ve got a spite against me of late.”
“You know I haven’t, Wyndham,” said Riddell, kindly.
Wyndham did know, and at any other time would have felt reproached by the consciousness of his own injustice. But he was just now so bitterly disappointed that he smothered every other feeling, and answered angrily, “Yes, you have, and I don’t care if you have; I suppose it’s because I’m friends with Silk. I can tell you Silk’s a good deal more brickish to me than you are!”
Poor Riddell! This, then, was the end of his hopes of winning over his old friend’s brother. The words struck him like a knife. He would almost sooner break all the rules in the school, so he felt that moment, than drive this one boy to throw in his lot with fellows like Silk!
“Wyndham!” he said, almost appealingly.
But Wyndham was gone, and the chance was lost.
The rest of that day passed miserably for the captain. An ominous silence and order seemed to hang over morning school. No further applicants molested him. No case of disorder was reported during the morning, and at dinner the boys were so quiet they might have been in church.
Just after morning school, and before dinner, as he crossed the playground, Wyndham passed him, talking and laughing with Silk; and neither of them noticed him.
The captain retired to his study, dejected and miserable, and, as his only comfort, buried himself in his books. For an hour at least before the early call-over he might forget his trouble in hard work.
But before that hour was half-over Riddell closed his book with a start and a sense of something unusual. This unearthly stillness all over the place — he never remembered anything of the sort before. Not a sound rose from the neighbouring studies, and when he looked out the playground was as deserted as if it had been the middle of the summer holidays. What did it all mean?
Then suddenly the truth flashed upon him. What could it mean, but that Willoughby had mutinied, and, in open defiance of his authority, gone down without leave to Shellport!
He hurried out of his room. There was scarcely a sound in the house. He went into the playground — only one boy, Gilks, was prowling about there, half-mad with toothache, and either unable or unwilling to give him any information. He looked in at Parrett’s, no one was there, and even the schoolhouse seemed desolate.
The captain returned to his study and waited in anything but a placid frame of mind. He felt utterly humbled and crestfallen. It had really seemed of late as if he was making some headway in his uphill task of ruling Willoughby, but this was a shock he had never expected. It seemed to point to a combination all over the school t
o thwart him, and in face of such a feeling further effort seemed hopeless.
Riddell imagined too much. Would it have pained him to know that three-quarters of those who, politics-mad, had thus broken bounds that afternoon had never so much as given him a thought in the matter, and in fact had gone off, not to defy him, but simply to please themselves?
The bell for call-over rang, and Riddell went despondingly to the big hall. Only about a score of fellows, including Bloomfield, Porter, Fairbairn, Coates, and Wibberly (who, by the way, always did as Bloomfield did), answered to their names amid a good deal of wonder and a little laughter.
Bloomfield, who had also regarded the afternoon’s business as a test of his authority, looked as crestfallen as the real captain, and for the first time that term he and Riddell approached one another with a common interest.
“There’ll be an awful row about this,” said he.
“There will,” said Riddell; “will you report your fellows, or shall I send up the whole list to the doctor?”
“You send up all the names,” said Bloomfield, “that is, unless Fairbairn wants to report the schoolhouse himself.”
“No,” said Fairbairn, “you send up the list, Riddell.”
And so Riddell’s captaincy received its first undisputed acknowledgment that term, and he sent up his formidable list to the doctor, and with mingled curiosity, impatience, and despondency waited the result.
Chapter Twenty One
The new Captain to the Rescue
There was something more than toothache the matter with Gilks that afternoon.
The fact was his spirits were a good deal worse than his teeth. Things had been going wrong with him for some time, ever since the day he was politely turned out of the schoolhouse boat. He had lost caste among his fellows, and what little influence he ever had among the juniors had also vanished.
Still, if that had been all, Gilks would scarcely have been moping up at Willoughby among the virtuous few that afternoon, while the rest of the school were running mad down in Shellport.
He had a greater trouble than this. Silk, in whose genial friendship he had basked for so many months, had not treated him well. Indeed, it was a well-known fact in Willoughby that between these two precious friends there had been some sort of unpleasantness bordering on a row; and it was also reported that Gilks had come off worst in the affair.
This was the secret of that unfortunate youth’s toothache — he had been jilted by his familiar friend. Who would not feel sad under the circumstances?
And yet Gilks’s frame of mind was, so to speak, a good deal more black than blue. As he paced up and down the playground, rather like a wolf in a cage waiting for dinner, he was far more exercised to devise some way of making his faithless friend smart for his cruelty than to win back his affection.
When two good fellows fall out it is bad enough, but when two bad fellows fall out it may be even worse, for whereas in the former case one of the two is probably in the right, in the latter both are pretty certain to be in the wrong.
No one knew exactly what the quarrel had been about, or what, if any, were its merits, or whether it was a breaking off of all friendship or merely a passing breeze. Whatever it was, it was enough to give Gilks the “toothache” on this particular afternoon and keep him at Willoughby.
The hour that elapsed after call-over dragged heavily for every one. The three heads of houses, after their brief consultation, went their several ways — at least Bloomfield went his, while Riddell and Fairbairn solaced themselves in one another’s society.
“What is the use of keeping up this farce?” exclaimed Riddell, when they were back in his study. “Isn’t it a farce?”
“Not a bit of it. I don’t think much of this affair at all. Of course there’ll be a row, but it seems to me a case of temporary lunacy that we can’t be responsible for.”
“But the doctor holds me responsible.”
“You may be sure he won’t be down on you for this.”
“And then, isn’t it just a proof to the whole school that I’ve no more authority than the smallest junior? Look at that miserable notice there on the door. Who has cared a rap about it?”
“My dear fellow, you’re always flying off to despair whenever you get the chance. The same thing might have happened to any captain.”
“I wish some one else was captain,” said Riddell. “The fellows will mind what I say less than ever now. I’m sure I would gladly give it up to Bloomfield.”
“All bosh. You know you wouldn’t. And when you’ve got your head back you’ll laugh at yourself for thinking it. Besides, wasn’t Bloomfield every bit as much cut up about it as you or me? But,” added Fairbairn, “to change the subject, do you see much of young Wyndham now you’ve left us?”
“Not much. What about him?” asked Riddell, eagerly.
“Only I fancy he’s not all straight,” said Fairbairn. “He’s fallen into bad hands I’m afraid.”
“That’s an old story,” said Riddell; “but what has he done?”
“Nothing particular. I caught him coming home one night late, long after call-over. I ought to have reported him for it, but I thought I’d tell you first. It’s a pity for him, for he’s not a bad fellow.”
“I’d give anything to get him away from Silk!” said Riddell. “It seems a sort of infatuation with him, for he knows well enough Silk means him no good, and yet he’s thick with him. And now I expect he’ll cut me altogether since I refused him a permit to the town this afternoon.”
“He’s gone down all the same,” said Fairbairn.
“Yes, and not alone either,” replied Riddell.
“Hullo!” exclaimed Fairbairn just then, as a sudden sound broke the unwonted stillness of the deserted school, “that sounds like some of the fellows coming back.”
He was right. As the two seniors stood leaning out of the window, the sounds which at first had been little more than a distant murmur increased to a roar.
Willoughby was evidently returning in force, and anything but peacefully.
Cries of “Now then, school!”
“Hack it through, there!”
“Down with the Radicals!”
“Pony for ever!” mingled with yells and cheers and coarser shouts of “Down with the schoolboys!” indicated clearly enough that a lively battle was in progress, and that Willoughby was fighting its way home.
The whole town seemed to be coming at their heels, and more than once a pitched battle had to be decided before any progress could be made. But slowly and surely the discipline of the schoolboys, animated by the familiar words of command of the football-field, asserted itself above the ill-conditioned force of their assailants, and at every forward step the triumphant shout of “Pony for ever!” rose with a mighty cheer, which deafened all opposition cries.
In due time the playground gate was reached, amid tremendous cheering, and next moment, driving before them some of their demoralised opponents, the vanguard of the school burst in.
Even Riddell and Fairbairn, as they looked down on the scene, could hardly forbear a little natural pride on witnessing this triumphant charge home of their truant schoolfellows.
That the battle had been sore and desperate was evident by the limping gait, the torn clothes, and the damaged faces of some of the combatants as they swarmed in in an irresistible tide, amid the applause of their comrades and the howls of the baffled enemy, who raged vainly without like so many wild beasts robbed of their prey.
Among the last to fight their way in were Game, Ashley, Tipper, and a few other seniors, who, truants as they were, had yet, to their credit, assumed the place of danger in the rear, where the crowd pressed thickest and with most violence. A sorry spectacle were some of these heroes when finally they plunged into the playground and then turned at bay at the gate.
“All in!” shouted a voice, and immediately a rush was made to close the gates and prevent further entrance, when a loud cry of “Hold on, Willoughby! Rescue here!”
held them back.
Riddell started at the sound, and next moment had vaulted from the low window to the ground, closely followed by Fairbairn.
“Rescue! rescue! Man down!” cried the school within.
“Keep them in! — shut them in!” cried the roughs without.
“It’s young Wyndham!” said Riddell, rushing wildly to the front; “he’ll be murdered!”
“Scrag him! — scrag the schoolboy!” yelled the roughs, making a rush in the direction of the cries.
Not a moment was to be lost; in another minute it might be too late to do any good, and, with a tremendous shout of “Rescue, Willoughby!” the school turned as wildly to get out of the playground as it had just now struggled to get in.
The captain and Fairbairn were the first to get through the gate, followed closely by the other seniors. Riddell was conscious of seeing young Wyndham lying a few yards off among the feet of the roughs, and of being himself carried forward to within reach of him; then of a blow from behind, which sent him forward, half-stunned, right on to the top of his young friend.
After that Riddell was only dimly conscious of what passed, and it was not until he found himself once more in the playground, being helped along by Fairbairn towards the house, that he took in the fact that the rescue had been accomplished, and that the battle was at an end.
“Did they get Wyndham in all right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Was he much damaged?”
“Very little. You got it worse than he did.”
“Some fellow got behind me and sent me over,” said Riddell.
The Willoughby Captains Page 23
