The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines (книги бесплатно без регистрации TXT) 📗

“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 as 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.)