The morning that witnessed the collapse of the famous Monitors' Petition
had not been idly spent by the new captain. He had made the worst
possible preparation for his new duties by lying awake half the night,
brooding over his difficulties and working himself into a state of
nervous misery very unlike what one would expect of the captain of a
great public school.
What worried him was not so much that he felt himself unpopular, or that
he knew all Willoughby was in arms against him. That wasn't cheerful,
certainly, or precisely solacing to a fellow's self-esteem; but it was
not nearly so disheartening as the feeling that he himself was unequal
to cope with the difficulties he would have to face. How could he cope
with them? He had never succeeded yet in keeping Telson, his own fag,
in order. How was he to expect to administer discipline to all the
scapegraces of Willoughby? It would be bad enough, even if the monitors
as a body were working with him, but when he was left almost single-
handed, as seemed probable, what chance was there? Whatever would he do
supposing a boy was reported to him for some offence, such as going out
of bounds or--
By the way! And here a horrible thought flashed across his mind. He
had been so flurried last night with one thing and another that he had
hardly noticed a message sent him after call-over by the Register Clerk.
But it occurred to him now that it was about some boys who had not
answered to their names.
He got out of bed with a groan and searched the mantelpiece for the
note. Ah! here it was:
"Co. Fr. p.m., Telson (S.H.), Bosher, King, Lawkins, Parson (P), Abs.
Go Capt. 8½ Sa. (Telson 2, Bosher 1, Parson 2.)"
After a great deal of puzzling and cogitation Riddell managed to
translate this lucid document into ordinary English as follows:
"Call-Over, Friday evening, Telson (schoolhouse), Bosher, King, Lawkins,
Parson (Parrett's), absent. To go to the captain at half-past eight on
Saturday. (Telson has already been absent twice this week, Bosher once,
Parson twice.)" And with the discovery the unhappy captain found his
worst fears realised.
Whatever would he do? It was now half-past five. In three hours they
would be here. What would Wyndham have done? Caned them, no doubt.
Riddell had no cane. Ruler? He might break one of their ringers, or
they might resist; or worse still baffle him with some ingenious excuse
which he would not know how to deal with.
He sat by his bed staring hopelessly at the paper and wishing himself
anywhere but head of the school--and then as no new light appeared to
dawn on the question, and as going back to bed would be a farce, he
proceeded to dress.
He had just completed his toilet when he heard some one moving in the
next study.
"There's Fairbairn getting up," he said to himself. "I wonder if he
could help me?"
He thought he could. And yet, under the nervous exterior of this boy
there lurked a certain pride which held him back from acting on the
impulse. After all, if he was to do the work, why should he try to
shunt part of his responsibility on to another?
So, though he went to his friend's study, he said nothing about the
batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.
Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his
friend cheerily.
"Hullo, Riddell, here's an early start for you!"
"Yes," said Riddell; "I couldn't sleep very well, so I thought I might
as well get up."
"Best thing for you. But why haven't you your flannels on?"
"I'm not going out," said Riddell. "Besides, I don't believe I have
flannels," added he.
"What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels! You'll have to get a suit
at once, do you hear? But, I say, why don't you come down to the river
with Porter and me? We're going to have a little practice spin, and you
could steer us. It would do you more good than sticking indoors. Come
along."
Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn't steer; but
Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man
to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the
schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among
the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the
Craydle.
Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he
was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other
boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the
exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of
the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.
But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal
began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.
As he stood during the service in his captain's place he could not
prevent his eye wandering hurriedly down the ranks of boys opposite and
wondering how many of them he would be called upon to interview in his
study before the term was over. As he reached the end of the array his
eye rested on Telson close to the door, talking and laughing behind his
hand with Parson, who listened in an unconcerned way, and looked about
him as if he felt himself to be the monarch of all he surveyed. These
were two of the boys who would wait upon him in his study immediately
after prayers! Riddell turned quite miserable at the idea.
Prayers ended at last, and while the other monitors repaired to the
Sixth Form room to discuss the presentation of the petition as narrated
in our last chapter, Riddell walked dejectedly to his study and prepared
to receive company.
No one came for a long time, and Riddell was beginning to hope that,
after all, the dreaded interview was not to come off, or that there was
a mistake somewhere, and some one else was to deal with the culprits
instead of himself, when a scuttling of footsteps down the passage made
his blood run cold and his heart sink into his boots.
"I _must_ be cool," he said to himself, fiercely, as a knock sounded at
the door, "or I shall make a fool of myself. Come in."
In response to this somewhat tremulous invitation, Telson, Parson,
Bosher, Lawkins, King, trooped into his study, the picture of
satisfaction and assurance, and stood lounging about the room with their
hands in their pockets as though curiosity was the sole motive of their
visit.
Riddell, while waiting for them, had hastily considered what he ought to
say or do. But now, any ideas he ever had darted from his mind, and he
gazed nervously at the small company.
"Oh!" said he at length, breaking silence by a tremendous effort, and
conscious that he was looking as confused as he felt, "I suppose you are
the boy--"
"Yes," said Bosher, leaning complacently against the table and staring
at a picture over the mantelpiece.
"The boys who were late," said Riddell, stammering. "Let me see." Here
he took up the paper and began to read it over: "`Co. Pri. Telson
(S.H.).' Ah, yes! Telson. You were late, weren't you? Why were you
late?"
A question like this was decidedly a novelty; Wyndham's formula had
invariably been, "Telson, hold out your hand," and then if Telson had
anything to remark he was at liberty to do so. But to be thus invited
to make excuses was an unexpected treat which these cunning juniors were
quite sharp enough to jump at.
"Oh, you know," began Telson, "it wasn't our fault. We were up-stream
in the Ark, and meant to be back all right, only the schoolhouse boat
overhauled us, and we had to race them a bit--didn't we, you fellows?"
"Rather," said Parson; "and a spanking race it was. We held up to them
all down the Willow Reach, and were just collaring them for the finish
up to Balsham Weir, when the beasts pulled in and funked it."
"And then, of course, we couldn't get back in time," said Lawkins. "We
were jolly fagged--weren't we, you fellows?--and it was all a plant of
those schoolhouse cads."
"Fight you!" said Telson, menacingly.
"Oh, beg pardon, old man, didn't mean. They ran us up on purpose to
make us late. You ask them. It was a beastly low trick!"
"And then coming back," continued Telson, "we ran down old Parrett in
his skiff and spilt him, and we had to fish him out--didn't we, you
chaps?--and that made us late. You ask Parrett; he's potted us for it,
last night."
Riddell listened to all this in a bewildered way, not knowing what to
make of it. If the boys' story was correct, there certainly might be
some force in their excuse. It would hardly be fair to punish them if
they were decoyed out of their way by some seniors. And then, of
course, this story about Mr Parrett; they would never make up a story
like that. And if it was true--well, he did not see how they could have
done otherwise than stay and help him out of the water after capsizing
him into it. It really seemed to him as if these boys did not deserve
to be punished. True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week,
but that was not what they were reported for now. The question was,
were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?
"What did Mr Parrett do to you?" he asked presently. "Oh," said
Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, "he was down on us
hot. He's stopped our going on the river a week, and then we've got to
get a permit till the end of the term. Jolly hard lines it is,
especially race term. I shan't be able to cox. Parrett's boat at the
regatta. No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat. You ask
Parrett," said he, in tones of manly appeal.
"Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?" asked Riddell.
"Rather," said Telson. "I'd sooner have had a licking any day than get
stopped river-play. Wouldn't you, Parson?"
"I should think I would," said Parson.
"Well," said Riddell, dubiously, "of course if Mr Parrett has already
punished you--"
"You ask him!" again said Parson. "You ask him if he's not stopped our
river-play. Ah five of us! Mayn't go on at all for a week, and then
we've got to get your permit. Isn't that what he said, you chaps?"
"Yes," chimed in the "chaps," in injured voices.
"Well, then," said Riddell, "as that is so, I think you can--that is, I
wish just to tell you--you--it mustn't occur again."
"Oh, all right," said Parson, making for the door.
"And I hope," began Riddell--
But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear.
They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked
pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily
down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning's adventures.
A moment's reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been "done" by these
unscrupulous youngsters. He had let them off on their own
representations, and without taking due care to verify their story. And
now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool,
and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had
the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported. A nice
beginning this to his new reign! Riddell saw it all clearly now, when
it was too late. Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?
Was it too late? Riddell went to the door again and looked down the
passage. The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps
and voices were still audible. Hadn't he better summon them back? Had
not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a
mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?
He took a few hurried steps in the direction of the voices, and was even
making up his mind to run, when it suddenly occurred to him, "What if,
after all, their story _had_ been true, and the calling of them back
should be a greater mistake even than the letting of them off?"
This awkward doubt drove him back once more to his study, where,
shutting the door, he flung himself into his chair in a state of abject
despondency and shame.
Twenty times he determined to go to the doctor at once, and refuse for
an hour longer to play the farce of being captain of Willoughby. And as
often another spirit kept him back, and whispered to him that it was
only the cowards who gave in at a single failure.
From these unpleasant reflections the summons to first school was a
welcome diversion, and he gladly shook off the captain for an hour, and
figured in his more congenial part of a scholar. But even here he was
not allowed wholly to forget his new responsibilities. Nearly all those
around him were fellow-monitors, who had just come smarting from the
doctor's summary rejection of their petition; and Riddell could tell by
their angry looks and ill-tempered words that he, however innocent, was
the object of their irritation. He had never been a favourite before,
but it certainly was not pleasant to have to learn now by the most
unmistakable signs that he was downrightly unpopular and disliked by
those from whom he should have had his warmest backing up.
And yet, strange to say, it was this sense of his own unpopularity which
more than anything nerved him to a resolution to stick to his post, and,
come what would of it, do his best to discharge his new unwelcome tasks.
If only he could feel a little more sure of himself! But how was it
likely he could feel sure of himself after his lamentable failure of the
morning?
But the lamentable failure of the morning, as it happened, was nothing
to other failures speedily to follow on this same unlucky day.
Scarcely was Riddell back in his study after first school, hoping for a
little breathing space in which to recover his fluttered spirits, when
Gilks entered and said, "I say, there's a row going on in the Fourth.
You'd better stop it, or the doctor will be down on us."
And so saying he vanished, leaving the captain about as comfortable with
this piece of intelligence as he would have been with a bombshell
suddenly pitched into his study.
A row in the Fourth! the headquarters of the Limpets, each one of whom
was a stronger man than he, and whom Wyndham himself had often been put
to it to keep within bounds!
With an ominous shiver Riddell put on his cap and sallied out in the
direction of the Fourth. A man about to throw himself over a precipice
could hardly have looked less cheerful!
Gilks's report had certainly been well founded, for long before the
captain reached his destination the roar of battle sounded up the
passage. It may have been an ordinary Limpet row, or it may have been a
special diversion got up (with the connivance of one or two unfriendly
monitors) for the special benefit of the new captain. Be that as it
may, it was a disturbance calling for instant suppression, and the idea
of Riddell going to suppress it was ridiculous even to himself.
He opened the door, unnoticed by the combatants within both on account
of the noise and the dust. It was impossible to tell what the fight was
about; the blood on both sides was evidently up, and the battle, it was
clear, was anything but a mock one. Riddell stood there for some time a
bewildered and unrecognised spectator. It would be useless for him to
attempt to make himself heard above all the din, and worse than useless
to attempt single-handed to interpose between the combatants. The only
thing to do seemed to be to wait till the battle was over. But then,
thought Riddell, what would be the use of interfering when it was all
over? His duty was to stop it, and stop it he must!
With which resolve, and taking advantage of a momentary lull in the
conflict, he advanced with a desperate effort towards a boy who appeared
to be the leader of one of the two parties, and who was gesticulating
and shouting at the top of his voice to encourage his followers. This
champion did not notice the captain as he approached, and when he did,
he mistook him for one of the enemy, and sprang at him like a young
tiger, knocking him over just as the ranks once more closed, and the
battle began again.
What might have been Riddell's fate it would be hard to say had not a
loud shout of, "Man down there! Hold hard!" suddenly suspended
hostilities.
Such a cry was never disregarded at Willoughby, even by the most
desperate of combatants, and every one stood now impatiently where he
was, waiting for the obstruction to regain his feet.
The spectacle which the new captain of Willoughby presented, as with
scared face and dust-covered garment he rose slowly from the floor, was
strange indeed. It was a second or two before any one recognised him,
and then the boys seemed not to be sure whether it was not his ghost, so
mysteriously had he appeared in their midst, coming from no one knew
where.
As, however, the true state of affairs gradually dawned on them, a loud
shout of laughter rose on every hand, and the quarrel was at once
forgotten in the merriment occasioned by this wonderful apparition.
Riddell, pale and agitated, stood where he was as one in a dream, from
which he was only aroused by voices shouting out amid the laughter,
"Hullo! where did you come from? What's the row? Look at him!"
At the same time fellows crowded round him and offered to brush him
down, accompanying their violent services with bursts of equally violent
merriment.
With a hard effort Riddell shook himself free and stepped out of the
crowd.
"Please let me go," he said. "I just came to say there was too much
noise, and--"
But the laughter of the Limpets drowned the rest, in the midst of which
he retired miserably to the door and escaped.
In the passage outside he met Bloomfield, with Wibberly and Game,
hurrying to the scene of the riot. They scarcely deigned to recognise
him with anything more than a half-curious, half-contemptuous glance.
"Some one must stop this row!" said Bloomfield to his companions as they
passed. "The doctor will be down on us."
"You stop it, Bloomfield!" said Wibberly; "they'll shut up for _you_."
This was all the unfortunate Riddell heard, except that in a few moments
the uproar from the Fourth Form room suddenly ceased, and was not
renewed.
"What did Bloomfield do this morning when he came into your room?" asked
Riddell that evening of Wyndham junior, a Limpet in whom, for his
brother's sake, the new captain felt a special interest, and whom he
invited as often as he liked to come and prepare his lessons with him.
"Oh!" said Wyndham, who had been one of the combatants, "he gave Watkins
and Cattermole a hiding, and swore he'd allow no removes from the
Limpets' eleven to the school second this term if there was any more
row."
This reply by no means added to Riddell's comfort.
"Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding." Fancy _his_ attempting to give
Cattermole and Watkins a hiding! And not only that, he had held out
some awful threat about Limpets' cricket, which appeared to have a
magical effect.
Fancy the effect of _his_ threatening to exclude a Limpet from the
second-eleven--when it was all he knew that the school had a second-
eleven!
The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the
morning were closing around him now in grim earnest! The worst he had
feared had happened, and more than the worst. It was now proved beyond
all doubt that he was utterly incompetent. Would it not be sheer
madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?
The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago. Of _course_
it's madness of him to attempt it. A muff like Riddell never _could_ be
captain of a school, and it's all bosh to suppose he could be. But, my
dear reader, a muff like Riddell _was_ the captain of a school; and
what's more he didn't give it up even after the day's adventures just
described.
Riddell was not perfect. I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good
boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which
convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one. Riddell was
not perfect. He had a fault. Can you believe it--he had many faults?
He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride. Not the
sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your
neighbours. Riddell really couldn't think that even had he wished it.
But his pride was of that kind which won't admit of anybody to help it,
which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own
it can't get through it, and which can never bring itself to say "I am
beaten," even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.
Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more
stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most
unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever
to remain its captain.
Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have
convinced him he was attempting an impossibility. But these must be
reserved for the next chapter.