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

“He caught out that best man of theirs,” said Bloomfield.

“Bah! I’d sooner have lost the match twice over,” exclaimed Game, “than win it with his help!”

And so these estimable young gentlemen, satisfied that they alone were the glory and support of Willoughby, disposed in their own minds of their wicked captain, and thanked their lucky stars they were made of nobler stuff and loftier principle.

Chapter Twenty Eight

Wyndham makes a final Venture

If any proof had been needed that young Wyndham was “down,” as the Parrett’s fellows termed it, the fact that he did not put in appearance at the second-eleven practice next day supplied it.

Bloomfield, who in ordinary course had strolled round to watch the play, noticed his absence, and drew his own conclusions from it.

To Bloomfield’s credit be it said that, whatever his own suspicions may have been, he had been as reluctant as Riddell himself, as long as any doubt existed, to name Wyndham publicly as the culprit for whom all Willoughby was on the lookout. He had been very angry with Riddell for his reserve, but when it came to the point of publishing his own suspicions or not, his better feeling prevented him, and led him to copy the captain’s example.

For Riddell’s reply to the suggestion of Wyndham’s name had neither confirmed or denied its correctness. He had merely declined to say anything about the matter, so that as far as Bloomfield was concerned it was no more than a guess, and that being so, he too was wise enough to keep it to himself.

However, now that he noticed Wyndham’s unwonted absence from the cricket practice, he felt more than ever convinced something was wrong in that quarter.

And so there was.

Wyndham, with a drawn sword, so to speak, over his head, was fit for nothing.

He dared not go back to Riddell. As long as his tongue was tied any explanation was impossible, and unless he could explain, it was worse than useless to talk to the captain.

Equally out of the question was a confession to the doctor, or a letter explaining all to his brother. The only thing was either to make up his mind to his fate, or else, by getting Silk and Gilks to release him from his promise, to get his tongue free to make a full confession of his own delinquencies, and throw himself entirely on the doctor’s mercy.

This last chance seemed feeble enough. But a drowning man will clutch at a straw, and so Wyndham, as his last hope, faced the unpromising task of working on the generosity of his two old patrons.

He began with Gilks. Gilks was in his own house, and had always seemed to be the least vicious, as he was also the least clever of the two. Besides, of late it was notorious Gilks and Silk were no longer the friends they had been. There was a mystery about their recent quarrel; but as Gilks had been down in the mouth ever since, while Silk showed no signs of dejection, it was safe to assume the former had come off second best.

Wyndham therefore selected Gilks for his first attempt as being on the whole the less formidable of the two.

He found him in his study listlessly turning over the pages of a novel, which evidently must either have been a very stupid one or else not nearly as engrossing as the reader’s own reflections.

He looked up with some surprise to see Wyndham, who since he had somewhat ostentatiously cut his and Silk’s acquaintance some weeks ago, had never been near him.

“What do you want here?” he demanded, not very encouragingly.

“I know you’ve not much reason to be friendly with me,” began the boy, “but I want to speak to you, if I may.”

“What about?” said Gilks, roughly.

The poor boy seemed suddenly to realise the hopeless nature of the task he had undertaken, and he nearly broke down completely as he answered, “I’m in awful trouble, Gilks.”

“What’s that to do with me?” asked Gilks.

Wyndham struggled hard to shake off the weakness that had come over him, and replied, “It’s about those visits to — to Beamish’s. They — that is, Riddell — I don’t know how or who told him — but he seems to have found out about it.”

“Riddell!” cried Gilks, scornfully; “who cares for him?”

“Oh, but,” continued Wyndham, tremulously, “he means to report me for it.”

“What? report you? I thought you and he were such dear pious friends,” sneered Gilks.

“We are friends; but he says it is his duty to do it.”

Gilks laughed scornfully.

“Of course, it is! It only needs for a thing to be mean and low, and it will always be his duty to do it. Bah! the hypocrite!”

Wyndham was proof against this invective. Nay, bitterly as the captain’s sense of duty affected him, he could not help a passing feeling of indignation on his friend’s behalf at Gilk’s words.

But he was prudent enough to keep his feelings to himself.

“Of course,” said he, “if he does report me for it, I shall be expelled.”

“You may be sure of that,” replied Gilks, “but what’s all this got to do with me?”

Wyndham looked up in surprise.

“Why,” said he rather nervously. “Of course you know, we, that is you and I and Silk, are all sort of in the same boat over this affair. That is, if it all came out. But I fancy Riddell only suspects me.”

“Well, if he does,” said Gilks, “it’s all the less any concern of mine.”

“I promised, you know,” said Wyndham, “to you and Silk to say nothing about it.”

“Of course you did,” said Gilks, “and you’d better stick to it, or it’ll be the worse for you!”

“I think,” continued the boy, “and Riddell says so — if I were to go and tell the Doctor about it, only about myself, you know, he might perhaps not expel me.”

“Well?” said Gilks.

“Well,” said Wyndham, “of course I couldn’t do it after promising you and Silk. But I thought if I promised not to say anything about you and make out that it was all my fault, you wouldn’t mind my telling Paddy.”

Gilks looked at the boy in perplexity. This was a code of morality decidedly beyond him, and for a moment he looked as if he half doubted whether it was not a jest.

“What on earth do you mean, you young muff?” he exclaimed. “I mean, may I go and tell him that I went those two times to Beamish’s? I promise to say nothing about you.” Gilks laughed once more.

“What do I care what you go and tell him?” he said. “If you want to get expelled as badly as all that I don’t want to prevent you, I’m sure.”

“Then I really may?” exclaimed poor Wyndham, scarcely believing his own ears.

“Of course, if you keep me out of it, what on earth do I care what you tell him? You may tell him you murdered somebody there for all I care.”

“Oh, thanks, thanks,” cried Wyndham with a positively beaming face. “I give you my word I won’t even mention you or Silk.”

“As long as you don’t mention me, that’s all I care for,” said Gilks; “and upon my word,” added he, with a sigh half to himself, “I don’t much care whether you do or not!”

Wyndham was too delighted and relieved to pay any heed to this last dreary remark, and gratefully took his leave, feeling that though the battle was anything but won yet he was at least a good deal nearer hope than he had been an hour ago.

But he very soon checked the reviving flow of his spirits as the prospect of an interview with Silk began to loom out ahead.

He had not seen Silk since the evening of the Rockshire match, when, as the reader will remember the meeting was anything but a pleasant one, and, but for the timely arrival of a third party, might have ended severely for the younger boy.

The recollection of this did not certainly add to the hopefulness of his present undertaking; but young Wyndham was a boy of such a sanguine temper, and such elastic spirits, that he could not help hoping something would turn up in his favour even now. He had got on far better than he had dared to hope with Gilks, why not also with Silk?