The Willoughby Captains

by Talbot Baines Reed

  Dr Patrick, who, to tell the truth, seemed scarcely less relieved than his visitors, made no attempt to apologise for Miss Stringer’s sudden indisposition, and embarked at once on a friendly talk about school affairs.

  This had been his only object in inviting the boys. He had nothing momentous to say, and no important change to propose. Indeed, his object appeared to be more to get them to talk among themselves on matters of common interest to the school, and to let them see that his sympathy was with them in their efforts for the public good.

  No reference was made to the state of affairs in Parrett’s, or to the rivalries of the two captains. That the doctor knew all about these matters no one doubted, but he took the wise course of leaving them to right themselves, and at the same time of making it very clear what his opinions were of the effect of disunion and divided interest in a great public school.

  Altogether the evening was profitably and pleasantly spent, and when at length the boys took their leave it was with increased respect for the head master and one another.

  The ladies, greatly to their relief, did not return to the scene.

  “Miss Stringer,” said Fairbairn, as the three walked together across the quadrangle, “doesn’t seem to appreciate cricket.”

  The others laughed.

  “I say,” said Bloomfield, “you put your foot into it awfully! She thought you were chaffing her all the time.”

  “Did she? What a pity!” replied Fairbairn.

  “Of course, we were bound to help you out when you were once in,” continued Bloomfield. “But I don’t fancy we three will be asked up there again in a hurry.”

  They came to the schoolhouse gate, and Fairbairn said good-night. Riddell and Bloomfield walked on together towards Parrett’s.

  “Oh, Bloomfield!” said the captain, nervously, “I just wanted to tell you that I believe I have been all wrong in my guess about the boat-race affair. The boy I suspected, I now fancy, had nothing to do with it.”

  “You are still determined to keep it all to yourself, then?” asked Bloomfield, somewhat coldly.

  “Of course,” replied the captain.

  At this point they reached Parrett’s. Neither boy had any inclination to pursue the unpleasant topic — all the more unpleasant because it was the one bar to a friendship which both desired.

  “Good-night,” said Bloomfield, stiffly.

  “Good-night,” replied the captain.

  Chapter Thirty

  New Lights on old Questions

  Fairbairn was startled next morning while engaged over his toilet by a sudden visit from the captain.

  What could be wrong to bring him there at this hour, with a face full of anxiety and a voice full of concern, as he inquired, “Will you do me a favour, old man?”

  Fairbairn knew his friend had been in trouble for some time past, and was sore beset on many hands. He had not attempted to intrude into his secrets or to volunteer any aid. For he knew Riddell would ask him if he wanted it. In proof of which here he was.

  “Of course, I will,” replied he, “if I can.”

  “Do you happen to have a pot of jam you could lend me?”

  Fairbairn fairly staggered at this unexpected request. He had imagined he was to be asked at the very least to accompany his friend on some matter of moment to the doctor’s study, or to share some tremendous secret affecting the honour of Willoughby. And to be asked now for the loan of a pot of jam was too great a shock for his gravity, and he burst out laughing.

  “A pot of jam!” he exclaimed. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Oh, any sort you’ve got,” said the captain, eagerly; “and I suppose you haven’t got a pie of any sort, or some muffins?”

  Fairbairn gaped at his visitor with something like apprehension as he came out with this extraordinary request. The captain’s voice was grave, and no suspicion of a jest lurked in his face. Could he possibly have succumbed to the mental strain of the past term, and taken leave of his wits?

  “What are you talking about, Riddell?” asked Fairbairn, in tones almost of pity. “Has anything happened to you?”

  Riddell looked at the speaker inquisitively for a moment, then broke out into a laugh.

  “What an ass I am! I forgot to tell you what I wanted them for. The fact is, I asked two kids to breakfast this morning, and I just remembered I had nothing but tea and toast to offer them; and it’s too early to get anything in. I’d be awfully obliged if you could help me out with it.”

  Fairbairn’s merriment broke out afresh as the truth revealed itself, and it was some time before he could attend to business. He then offered Riddell anything he could find in his cupboard, and the captain thereupon gratefully availed himself of the offer to secure a pot of red-currant jam, a small pot of potted meat, two or three apples, and a considerable section of a plum cake. All these he promised to replace without delay, and triumphantly hurried back with them in his pocket and under his jacket, in time to deposit them on his table before the bell began to ring for chapel. He also sent Cusack round to the school larder to order three new laid eggs and some extra butter to be delivered at once.

  These grand preparations being duly made, he breathed again, and went hopefully to chapel.

  As it happened, he had been very near reckoning without his host, or I should say his guests. For Parson and Telson had been some time before they could make up their minds to accept the hurried invitation of the previous evening.

  “It’s a row,” Telson had said, as the captain disappeared.

  “Of course it is. I’m not going,” said Parson.

  “Wonder what about?”

  “Oh, that Skyrocket affair, I suppose.”

  “Do you think he’ll give us impots if we don’t go?”

  “Don’t know — most likely.”

  “Rum, his asking us to breakfast, though,” said Telson.

  “All a dodge, I expect,” said Parson. “By the way, what sort of breakfasts does he go in for?”

  “Not bad when he likes,” said Telson, with the authority of an old fag.

  “Bacon?” asked Parson.

  “Sometimes,” said Telson.

  “Jam?” inquired Parson.

  “Generally,” replied Telson.

  There was a pause. Then Parson said, “Fancy we’d better turn up. It’s only civil, when he asked us.”

  “All serene,” said Telson; “if it is a row, of course it will come off in any case. And we may as well get our breakfast somewhere.”

  With which philosophical resolve the matter had been settled, and the amiable pair parted to meet next morning after chapel.

  Riddell spared himself the embarrassment of waiting to escort his guests to the festive board, and hurried off in advance to see that the preparations were duly made in their honour.

  He caught Cusack wistfully eyeing the unwonted array of good things on the table, and evidently speculating as to who the favoured guests were to be. It was with some difficulty that the captain got him sent off to his own breakfast in the big hall, half bribed thereto by the promise of a reversion of the coming feast.

  Then, feeling quite exhausted by his morning’s excitement, he sat down and awaited his visitors.

  They arrived in due time; still, to judge of their leisurely approach and their languid knock, a little suspicious of the whole affair. But the moment the door opened, and their eyes fell on the table, their manner changed to one of the most amiable briskness.

  “Good-morning,” said Riddell, who, in the presence of the greater attractions on the table, ran considerable risk of being overlooked altogether.

  “Good-morning,” cried the boys, suddenly roused by his voice to a sense of their social duty.

  “Awfully brickish of you to ask us round,” said Telson.

  “Rather,” chimed in Parson.

  “I’m glad you came,” said the captain. “We may as well have breakfast. Telson, have you forgotten how to boil eggs?”

  Telson said emphatically he
had not, and proceeded forthwith to give practical proof of his cunning, while Parson volunteered his aid in cutting up the bread, and buttering the toast.

  In due time the preliminaries were all got through, and the trio sat down to partake of the reward of their toil.

  Riddell could not thank his stars sufficiently that he had thought of embellishing his feast with the few luxuries from Fairbairn’s cupboard. Nothing could exceed the good-humour of the two juniors as one delicacy after another unfolded its charms and invited their attention. They accompanied their exertions with a running fire of chat and chaff, which left Riddell very little to do except gently to steer the conversation round towards the point for which this merry meeting was designed.

  “Frightful job to get old Parson to turn up,” said Telson, taking his fourth go-in of potted meat; “he thought you were going to row him about that shindy in the Parliament!”

  “No, I didn’t,” rejoined Parson, pushing up his cup for more tea. “It was you said that about blowing up us Skyrockets.”

  “What a howling cram,” said Telson. “I never make bad jokes. You know, Riddell, it was Parson stuck us up to that business. He’s always at the bottom of the rows.”

  Parson laughed at this compliment.

  “You mean I always get into the rows,” said he.

  “Anyhow, I don’t suppose the Skyrockets will show up again this term,” said Telson.

  “They certainly did not get much encouragement last time,” said Riddell, laughing. “You know I don’t think you fellows do yourselves justice in things like that. Fellows get to think the only thing you’re good at is a row.”

  “Fact is,” said Parson, “Telson thought we’d been so frightfully snubbed this term, we kids, that he said we ought to stick up for ourselves.”

  “I said that?” cried Telson. “Why, you know it was you said it!”

  “By the way,” said Parson, “wasn’t there to be a special meeting of the House to-day, for something or other?”

  Telson looked rather uncomfortable, and then said, “Yes, I heard so. I fancy it’s about you, somehow,” added he, addressing Riddell.

  “About me?” asked the captain.

  “Yes — to kick you out, or something,” said Telson; “but Parson and I mean to go and vote against it.”

  This was news to Riddell, and rather astonishing news too.

  “To kick me out?” he asked. “What for?”

  “Oh, you know,” said Parson. “It’s some bosh about that boat-race affair. Some of the chaps think you are mixed up in it, but of course it’s all a cram. I’ve told them so more than once.”

  “It’s all those Parrett’s cads,” said Telson, taking up the matter from a schoolhouse point of view. “They’re riled about the race, and about the cricket-match, and everything else, and try to make out every one’s cheating.”

  “Well, some one must have been cheating,” said Parson, a trifle warmly, “when he cut my rudder-lines; and he’s not likely to be one of our fellows — much more likely to be a schoolhouse cad!”

  “I’ll fight you, you know, Parson!” put in Telson.

  Riddell saw it was time to interfere. The conversation was drifting into an unprofitable channel, from which it would scarcely work its way out unassisted.

  What he wanted was to find out whether there was any truth in the explanation which the diary afforded of young Wyndham’s conduct, and he was a long way from that yet.

  “Have some more cake, Telson,” said he, by way of changing the subject.

  Telson cheerfully accepted the invitation, while Parson, to spare his host the trouble of pressing him to take an apple, helped himself.

  Then when they were well started once more the captain said, “Who’s going to win the juniors’ match, Parson? Our fellows quite think they are.”

  “Yes,” said Parson, contemptuously; “I heard they had cheek enough to say so. But they’ll be disappointed for once.”

  “Well,” said Riddell, “they’ve been practising pretty steadily of late. They’re not to be despised. Whatever has become of the juniors’ eleven in the schoolhouse, Telson?”

  “Can’t make out,” replied Telson; “they’re an awful set of louts this year; only one or two good men in the lot. I don’t think they can scrape up an eleven.”

  “Ah!” said the captain, seeing his chance; “you’ve lost a good many good fellows. Wyndham, for one, has got up into the second-eleven, I hear.”

  “Yes,” said Parson; “and jolly cocky he is about it, too!”

  “He’s not been down at the practices lately, though,” said Telson, colouring slightly, and for no apparent reason.

  “Why? Is he seedy?” said the captain.

  “Eh! No; I don’t think so. Wyndham’s not seedy, is he, should you think, Parson?”

  “No,” said Parson, exchanging uncomfortable glances with his ally; “not exactly seedy.”

  “It’ll be a pity if he doesn’t get playing in the Templeton match,” said Riddell.

  Would the fish bite? If the diary had spoken true, these two boys were at present very full of Wyndham’s affair, and a trifle indignant with the captain himself for his supposed intention of reporting that youth’s transgression at headquarters. If that were so, Riddell considered it possible that, after their honest fashion, they might take upon themselves to give him a piece of their mind, which was exactly what he wanted.

  “The fact is,” said Telson, “Parson and I both think he’s down in the mouth.”

  “Indeed?” asked the captain, busily buttering a fresh slice of toast.

  “Yes. Haven’t you seen it?” asked Parson.

  “He’s in a funk about something or other,” said Telson.

  It was getting near now!

  “What about, do you know?” asked the captain.

  “Why, you know,” said Telson. “About being expelled, you know.”

  “Expelled! What for?” asked Riddell; and the boy’s reply gave him a satisfaction quite out of proportion to its merits.

  “About Beamish’s, you know,” said Telson, confidentially; “he thinks you’re going to report him.”

  “And he’s bound to get expelled if you do,” said Parson.

  “And how do you know about it?” asked the captain, quietly.

  “Oh! you know, Parson and I spotted them — that is, Gilks and Silk and him — that night of Brown’s party. But we never told anybody, and don’t mean to, so I don’t know how it came out.”

  “Anyhow,” said Parson, “if he’s to be expelled, Silk and Gilks ought to catch it too. I bet anything they took him there. Thanks! a little piece.”

  This last sentence was in reply to an invitation to take some more cake.

  Under cover of this diversion, Riddell, with thankful heart, continued to steer the talk out again into the main channel of school affairs, of which the affair of Wyndham junior was but one of many.

  Before the meal was over it had got as far Eutropius, and he fairly won his guests’ hearts by announcing that he did not consider that historian’s Latin nearly as good as Caesar’s, an opinion which they endorsed with considerable heat.

  All good things come to an end at last, and so did this breakfast, the end of which found the boys in as great good-humour as at the beginning. They thanked the captain most profusely for his hospitality, which they never doubted was meant as a recognition of their own sterling merits, and of the few attempts they had lately made to behave themselves; and, after inviting him to come to a concert they were about to give on the evening of the juniors’ match, took their departure.

  “By the way,” said Riddell, as they were going, “do either of you know to whom this book belongs? I found it in the playground yesterday.”

  A merry laugh greeted the appearance of Bosher’s diary, which the pair recognised as a very old friend.

  “It’s old Bosher’s diary,” said Telson. “He’s always dropping it about. I believe he does it on purpose. I say, isn’t it frightful b
osh?”

  “It isn’t very clear in parts,” said the captain.

  “Did he call you ‘evil,’ or ‘gross,’ or ‘ugly in the face,’ in the part you looked at?” asked Telson; “because, if so, we may as well lick him for you.”

  “No, don’t do that,” said Riddell; “you had better give it him back, though, and advise him from me not to drop it about more than he can help. Good-bye.”

  With a great weight off his mind, Riddell went down to first school that day a thankful though a humbled man.

  What a narrow escape he had had of doing the boy he cared for most in Willoughby a grievous injustice. Indeed, by suspecting him privately he had done him injustice enough as it was, for which he could not too soon atone.

  In the midst of his relief about the boat-race he could scarcely bring himself to regard seriously the boy’s real offence, bad as that had been; and, indeed, it was not until Wyndham himself referred to it that afternoon that its gravity occurred to him.

  Just as the special meeting of the Parliament (convened by private invitation of Game and Ashley to a select few of their own way of thinking) was assembling, Wyndham, in compliance with a message from the captain, strolled out into the Big towards the very bench where yesterday he had had his memorable talk with Silk.

  Riddell was waiting there for him, and as the boy approached, his wretched, haggard looks smote the captain’s heart with remorse.

  He had scarcely the spirit to return Riddell’s salute as he seated himself beside him on the bench and waited for what was to come.

  “Old fellow,” said Riddell, “don’t look so wretched. Things mayn’t be so bad as you think.”

  “How could they be anything else?” said Wyndham, dolefully.

  “If you’ll listen to me, and not look so frightfully down,” said the captain, “I’ll tell you.”

  Wyndham made a feeble attempt to rouse himself, and turned to hear what the captain had to say.

  “You wonder,” said Riddell, “how I came to know about that visit to Beamish’s. Would it astonish you to hear that till this time yesterday I never knew about it at all?”

  “What!” exclaimed Wyndham, incredulously; “you were talking to me about it two or three days before.”