Bloomfield was beginning to discover already that the new dignity to
which he had been raised by his own partisans at Willoughby was anything
but a bed of roses. Vain and easily led as he was, he was not a bad
fellow by any means; and when the mutiny against the new captain first
began, he flattered himself that by allowing himself to be set up in
opposition he was really doing a service to Willoughby, and securing the
school against a great many disasters which were certain to ensue if
Riddell was left supreme.
But in these lofty hopes he was getting to be a trifle disappointed. In
his own house, of course, especially among those over whom he was wont
to rule in athletic sports, his authority was paramount. But these,
after all, constituted only a small section of Willoughby. Over the
rest of the school his influence was strangely overlooked, and even the
terrors of his arm failed to bring his subjects to obedience.
It was all very well at first, when the one idea was indignation against
the doctor's new appointment. But as soon as the malcontents discovered
that they had raised one more tyrant over their own heads, they began to
find out their mistake, and did their best to correct it. They argued
that as they had elected Bloomfield themselves they weren't bound to
obey him unless they chose; and when it came to the point of having to
give up their own will in obedience to his, they remembered he was not
the real captain of Willoughby and had no right to order them!
So poor Bloomfield did not find things quite as comfortable as he had
expected.
One of the first rebuffs he got was administered by no less stately a
hand than that of Master Telson of the schoolhouse.
This young gentleman ever since his last unfortunate expedition in
"Noah's Ark" had been somewhat under a cloud. His forced absence from
the river for a whole week had preyed upon his spirits. And when at the
end of that period he did revisit his old haunts, armed with a captain's
permit, it was only to discover that whatever small chance he ever had
of coxing his house's boat at the coming regatta, had vanished under the
new arrangement which had brought Riddell into the boat.
It is only fair to say that this disappointment, keen as it was, had no
effect on his loyalty. He was as ready as ever to fight any one who
spoke ill of the schoolhouse. But it certainly had given him a jar,
which resulted in rather strained relations with some of his old allies
in Parrett's.
Of course nothing could shake his devotion to Parson. That was secure
whatever happened, but towards the other heroes of Parrett's,
particularly the seniors, he felt unfriendly. He conceived he must have
been the victim of a plot to prevent his steering the schoolhouse boat.
It was the only reason he could think of for his ill-luck; and though he
never tried to argue it out, it was pretty clear to his own mind some
one was at the bottom of it. And if that was so, who more likely than
Bloomfield and Game and that lot, who had everything to gain by his
being turned out of the rival boat?
This was the state of mind of our aggrieved junior one afternoon not
long before the regatta, as he strolled dismally across the "Big" on his
way to the river. Parson was not with him. He was down coxing his
boat, and the thought of this only reminded Telson of his own bad luck,
and added to his ill-temper.
He was roused from his moody reflections by the approach of two boys,
who hailed him cheerily.
"What cheer, Telson, old man?" cried King. "How jolly blue you look!
What's the row?"
"Nothing," replied Telson.
"We've just been down to see the boats. Awful spree to see old Riddell
steering! isn't it, Bosher?"
"Yes," said Bosher; "but he's better than he was."
"Never mind, they won't lick us," said King. "You should have seen our
boat! Bless you, those schoolhouse louts--"
"King, I'll fight you!" said Telson, suddenly.
"Oh! beg pardon, old man, I didn't--eh--what?"
This last remark was caused by the fact that Telson was taking off his
coat. King, utterly taken aback by these ominous preparations,
protested his sorrow, apologised, and generally humiliated himself
before the offended schoolhouse junior.
But Telson had been looking out for a cause of quarrel, and now one had
come, he was just in the humour for going through with the business.
"Do you funk it?" he asked.
"Oh, no; not that, old man," said King, still friendly, and very slowly
unbuttoning his jacket; "but I'll apologise, Telson, you know."
"Don't want any apologising; I want to fight," said Telson. "I'll take
young Bosher too."
"Oh!" said Bosher, rather alarmed, "I don't want to fight."
"I knew you were a beastly funk!" said Telson, scornfully.
"No, I'm not," said Bosher, meekly.
"Get out of the way!" cried the majestic Telson, brushing past him
towards King, who now stood with his coat off and a very apologetic
face, ready for the young bantam's disposal.
Telson and King fought there and then. It was not a very sanguinary
contest, nor was it particularly scientific. It did Telson good, and it
did not do King much harm. The only awkward thing about it was that
neither side knew exactly when to stop. Telson claimed the victory
after every round, and King respectfully disputed the statement. Telson
thereupon taunted his adversary with "funking it," and went at him
again, very showy in action, but decidedly feeble in execution. King,
by keeping one arm over his face and working the other gently up and
down in front of his body, was able to ward off most of the blows aimed,
and neither aspired nor aimed to hit out himself.
The "fight" might have lasted a week had not Game, coming up that way
from the boats, caught sight of it. As it was neither an exciting
combat nor a profitable one, the Parrett's monitor considered it a good
case for interfering, as well as for calling in the authority of the
popular captain.
"King and Telson," he said, stepping between the combatants, "stop it,
and come to Bloomfield's study after chapel. You know fighting in the
`Big' is against rules."
"What are we to go to Bloomfield for?" demanded Telson, whose temper was
still disturbed.
"For breaking rules," said Game, as he walked on.
"Shall you go?" said Telson to King as the two slowly put on their
coats.
"Yes, I suppose so, or he'll give us a licking."
"I shan't go; he's not the captain," said Telson.
"I say, you'll catch it if you don't," said King, with apprehension in
his looks. "They're always down on you if you don't go to the captain
when you're told."
"I tell you he's not the captain," replied Telson, testily, "and I
shan't go. If they want to report me they'll have to do it to Riddell."
With which virtuous decision he went his way, slightly solaced in his
mind by the fight, and still more consoled by the prospects of a row
ahead.
Telson was quite cute enough to see he had a strong position to start
with, and if only he played his cards well he might score off the enemy
with credit.
He therefore declined an invitation to Parson's to partake of shrimps
and jam at tea, and kept himself in his own house till the time
appointed for reporting himself to the captain. Then, instead of going
to Bloomfield, he presented himself before Riddell.
"Well?" said the captain, in his usual half-apologetic tone.
"Oh!" said Telson, "I'm reported, please, Riddell."
"What for? Who reported you?" asked Riddell.
"Game--for fighting," replied Telson.
"He hasn't told me of it. You'd better come in the morning."
"Oh! it's all right," said Telson. "I was fighting King in the `Big'
this afternoon."
Riddell looked perplexed. This was the first case of a boy voluntarily
delivering himself up to justice, and he hardly knew what to do.
However, he had found out thus much by this time--that it didn't so much
matter what he did as long as he did something.
"You know it's against rules," said he, as severely as he could, "and
it's not the first time you've done it. You must do fifty lines of
Virgil, and stop in the house on Monday and Tuesday."
"All right! Thanks," said Telson, rapidly departing, and leaving
Riddell quite bewildered by the apparent gratitude of his fag.
Telson betook himself quietly to his study and began to write his lines.
It was evident from the restless way in which he looked up at every
footstep outside he did not expect to remain long undisturbed at this
harmless occupation. Nor was he disappointed.
In about ten minutes King entered and said, "I say, Telson, you're in
for it! You're to go to Bloomfield directly."
"What's he given you?"
"A licking!" said King; "and stopped my play half a week. But I say,
you'd better go--sharp!"
"I'm not going," said Telson.
"What!" exclaimed King, in amazement.
"Cut it," said Telson; "I'm busy."
"He sent me to fetch you," said King.
"Don't I tell you I'm not coming? I'll lick you, King, if you don't cut
it!"
King did "cut it" in a considerable state of alarm at the foolhardiness
of his youthful comrade.
But Telson knew his business. No sooner had King gone than he took up
his Virgil and paper, and repaired once more to Riddell's study.
"Please, Riddell," said he, meekly, "do you mind me writing my lines
here?"
"Not a bit," said Riddell, whose study was always open house to his
youthful fag.
Telson said "Thank you," and immediately deposited himself at the table,
and quietly continued his work, awaiting the result of King's message.
The result was not long in coming.
"Telson!" shouted a voice down the passage in less than five minutes.