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

(“We’re a lot of fools!” chimed in the chorus, by way of backing up their orator.)

“But we’re not as green as we look!”

(“Green as we look!”)

“You all seem to think it funny!”

(“Think it funny!”)

“But you needn’t think you’ll shut us up!”

(“Shut us up!”)

Here another attempt was made on the part of the chairman to reduce the meeting to order. Above the laughter and cheering and hooting he cried at the top of his voice, “Unless you stop your foolery, Parson, I’ll have you turned out!”

“Will you? Who’s going to stop my foolery?” yelled Parson.

(“Stop my foolery?”) howled the chorus.

“Try it on, that’s all! You don’t think we funk you!”

(“We funk you!”)

“Do you suppose we don’t know what we’re doing?”

(“We don’t know what we’re doing?”)

“Look out, you fellows! Hold on!”

This last remark was caused by a rush upon the devoted band, with a view to carry out the edict of the chairman.

Parson went on with his oration till he was secured, hand and foot, and carried forcibly to the door, and even then continued to address the house, struggling and kicking between every syllable. His backers, equally determined, clung on to the forms and desks, and continued to shout and scream and caterwaul till they were one by one ejected.

Even then they maintained their noble stand for freedom of speech by howling through the key-hole and kicking at the door, till finally a select band of volunteers was dispatched “to clear the approaches to the House” and drive the Skyrockets to their own distant studies, where they organised a few brawls on their own account, and ended the afternoon very hoarse, very tired, but by no means cast down.

“Jolly spree, wasn’t it?” said Parson, when it was all over, fanning himself with a copybook and readjusting his collar.

“Stunning!” said Telson; “never thought they’d stand it so long. No end of a speech, that of yours!”

“Yes,” said Parson, complacently; “most of it impromptu, too! Managed to spin it out, I fancy!”

“Rather,” said King, admiringly. “I began to make mine after you’d got kicked out, but couldn’t get out much of it.”

“Well, all I can say is it was a jolly lark. I feel quite hungry after it,” said Telson. “Any of that jam left, old man?”

And so these heroes appropriately celebrated their glorious field-day with a no less glorious banquet, which amply compensated for all the little inconveniences they had had to endure in the course of the afternoon’s entertainment.

Meanwhile, rather more serious work was going on in the Great Hall.

The Skyrockets being ejected, the house proceeded in a somewhat humdrum fashion to discuss the relative merits of classics and mathematics. Several of the seniors and a few Limpets had prepared speeches, which they duly delivered. Contrary to the expectation of most present, Riddell took no part in the discussion. As head classic, a speech from him had been quite counted on; but not even the calls of the one side or the taunts of the other could get him on to his feet.

The fact was, he only half heard what was going on. His thoughts were far away, busied with a far more serious inward debate than that on the notice-paper.

At length he could remain idle no longer. He must go and find out Wyndham, or see the doctor, or pay another visit to Tom the boat-boy — anything rather than this suspense and misery and inaction.

He took advantage of a more than ordinarily dreary speech from Tedbury to rise and make his retreat quietly from the room.

But before he had reached the door Tedbury’s voice abruptly ceased and Wibberly’s was heard saying, “Mr Chairman, I see Mr Riddell is leaving the meeting. Will you allow me to ask him a question before he goes?”

There was something strange about this interruption, and also in the manner in which the question was asked, which drew the sudden attention of the House, and all eyes were turned on the captain.

He stopped and turned in his usual nervous, half-inquiring way, apparently not quite sure what had been said or who had spoken.

“Mr Wibberly,” said Bloomfield, “wishes to ask a question of Mr Riddell.”

“It is merely this,” said Wibberly, rapidly, and giving no time for any objection to be raised on the point of order. “I wish to ask Mr Riddell whether he has found out yet who cut the rudder-line of Parrett’s boat at the boat-race, or whether he suspects anybody, and, if so, whom?”

At this unlooked-for question a hubbub immediately arose. Several schoolhouse fellows protested against the proceedings being interrupted in this way, and even Bloomfield exclaimed across the table, “For goodness’ sake, Wibberly, don’t bring up that wretched subject again.”

But those who had watched Riddell had seen him turn suddenly pale at the question, and for a moment make as though he would rush from the room. But he stopped himself, and turned like a hunted deer on the questioner.

A dead silence fell on the assembly, as Wibberly coolly said, “I will repeat the questions. Has Mr Riddell found out who cut the rudder-lines? or does he suspect any one? and, if so, who is it?”

Every eye turned on Riddell. The brief pause had given him time to collect himself and fight out the inward battle; and now he answered steadily, “I do suspect some one. But until I am perfectly sure I shall not say who it is.”

So saying, he quietly left the room.

Chapter Twenty Seven

Everything gone wrong

Riddell was fairly committed to his task now. Like the good old general who burned his ships when he landed on the enemy’s shores, he had cut off from himself the slightest possibility of a retreat, and must now either go right through with the matter or confess himself a miserable failure.

The consciousness of this nerved him with unlooked-for courage, and he walked from the Parliament that afternoon a very different being from the boy who had entered it. He had entered it cowed, irresolute, wretched; he left it indeed still wretched, but with his spirit roused and his mind made up. His duty lay clear before him, and whatever it cost he must do it.

Whether Wibberly was himself the writer of the mysterious letter, or whether some one had prompted him to ask the question, or whether his asking it just at this time was a mere coincidence, he did not trouble to decide.

He felt rather grateful to him than otherwise for having asked it, just as one is occasionally grateful to the thunder-clap for clearing the air.

The first thing without doubt was to find Wyndham, and come to a clear understanding as to whether or not he was the culprit; and the captain lost no time in attempting to put this resolve into practice.

It would not do, he knew, immediately after the scene in the Parliament, when everybody would be on the tip-toe of curiosity, to be seen holding a secret interview with any particular boy. He therefore decided wisely to wait till the usual time when Wyndham was in the habit of coming to his study to do his lessons. Meanwhile, to make sure of his coming, he sent him a message by Cusack to tell him to be sure and turn up.

Cusack, little suspecting the importance of this simple message, delivered it glibly, and being of course brimful of the excitement of the hour, he remained a little to regale Wyndham with a history of the afternoon’s events.

“Oh, I say,” said he, “you weren’t at Parliament this afternoon. There was no end of a shine on.”

“Was there?” asked Wyndham.

“Rather. What do you think, those young Parrett’s cads came down in a body and kicked up the biggest row you ever saw — said they were a club, and made no end of beasts of themselves, and got kicked out at last, and serve them right too.”

“They’re always fooling about at something,” said Wyndham.