"Where are you?" said the voice.
"Here," replied Telson, shutting the door and resuming his work.
"Who's that?" asked Riddell of his fag.
"I don't know, unless it's Game," said Telson.
"Now then, Telson," cried the voice again, "come here."
"I can't--I'm busy!" shouted Telson back from where he sat. At the same
moment the door opened, and Game entered in a great state of wrath.
The appearance of a Parrett monitor "on duty" in the schoolhouse was
always a strange spectacle; and Game, when he discovered into whose
study he had marched, was a trifle embarrassed.
"What is it, Game?" asked Riddell, civilly.
"I want Telson," said Game, who, by the way, had scarcely spoken to the
new captain since his appointment.
"What do you want?" said Telson, boldly.
"Why didn't you come when you were sent for?" demanded Game.
"Who sent for me?"
"Bloomfield."
"I'm not Bloomfield's fag," retorted Telson. "I'm Riddell's."
"What did I tell you this afternoon?" said Game, beginning to suspect
that he had fallen into a trap.
"Told me to go to the captain after chapel."
"And what do you mean by not going?"
"I did go--I went to Riddell."
"I told you to go to Bloomfield," said Game, growing hot.
"Bloomfield's not the captain," retorted Telson, beginning to enjoy
himself. "Riddell's captain."
"You were fighting in the `Big,'" said Game, looking uneasily at Riddell
while he spoke.
"I know I was. Riddell's potted me for it, haven't you, Riddell?"
"I've given Telson fifty lines, and stopped his play two days," said
Riddell, quietly.
"Yes, and I'm writing the lines now," said Telson, dipping his pen in
the ink, and scarcely smothering a laugh.
Game, now fully aware of his rebuff, was glad of an opportunity of
covering his defeat by a diversion.
"Look here," said he, walking up to Telson, "I didn't come here to be
cheeked by you, I can tell you."
"Who's cheeking you?" said Telson. "I'm not."
"Yes, you are," said Game. "I'm not going to be humbugged about by
you."
"I don't want to humbug you about," replied the junior, defiantly.
"I think there's a mistake, you know," said Riddell, thinking it right
to interpose. "I've given him lines for fighting in the `Big,' and
there's really no reason for his going to Bloomfield."
"I told him to come to Bloomfield, and he ought to have come."
"I don't think you had any right to tell him to go to Bloomfield,"
replied Riddell, with a boldness which astonished himself. "I'm
responsible for stopping fights."
"I don't want you to tell me my business," retorted Game, hotly; "who
are you?"
Game could have thrashed the captain as easily as he could Telson, and
the thought flashed through Riddell's mind as he paused to reply. He
would much have preferred saying nothing, but somehow the present seemed
to be a sort of crisis in his life. If he gave in now, the chance of
asserting himself in Willoughby might never return.
"I'm the captain," he replied, steadily, "and as long as I am captain
I'm responsible for the order of the school, and I prefer to do my own
work!"
There was something in his look and tone as he uttered these inoffensive
words which took Game aback and even startled Telson. It was not at all
like what fellows had been used to from Riddell, certainly very unlike
the manner he was generally credited with. But neither Telson nor Game
were half so amazed at this little outburst as was the speaker himself.
He was half frightened the moment he had uttered it. Now he was in for
it with a vengeance! It would go out to all Willoughby, he knew, that
he meant to stand by his guns. What an awful failure, if, after all, he
should not be able to keep his word!
Game, with a forced smile which ill accorded with his inward
astonishment, left the study without another word, heedless even of the
laugh which Telson could no longer repress.
Of course many perverted stories of their adventure immediately got
abroad in Willoughby. Telson's highly-coloured version made it appear
that a pitched battle had been fought between Game and the new captain,
resulting in the defeat of the former chiefly through Telson's
instrumentality and assistance. As, however, this narrative did not
appear in the same dress two hours running, it was soon taken for what
it was worth, and most fellows preferred to believe the Parretts'
version of the story, which stated that Riddell had announced his
intention of keeping order in Willoughby without the help of the
monitors, and had had the cheek to tell Bloomfield to mind his own
business.
The indignation of Parrett's house on hearing such a story may be
imagined. It was even past a joke. Bloomfield seriously offered to
resign all pretensions to authority and let things take their course.
"It makes me seem," he said, "as if I wanted to stick myself up. If
he's so sure of keeping order by himself, I don't see what use it is my
pretending to do it too."
"It would serve him right if you did so," said Game. "But it would be
so awfully like giving in now, after you have once begun."
This view of the matter decided the question. But Bloomfield all the
same was considerably impressed by what had happened.
He knew in his heart that his only title to the position he assumed was
the whim of his schoolfellows. He was a usurper, in fact, and however
much he tried to persuade himself he was acting solely for the good of
Willoughby, he knew those motives were only half sincere. And in spite
of all his efforts, the school was as rowdy as ever. If he did thrash a
batch of juniors one day, or stop some disorderly Limpets of their play,
it never seemed to make much impression. Whereas the one or two rioters
whom Riddell had ventured to tackle had somehow distinctly reformed
their habits. How was it?
Bloomfield, as he thought the thing over, was not quite happy. He had
been happier far last term when, under old Wyndham, he had exerted
himself loyally for the good of the school. Was he not exerting himself
now? Why should he be unhappy? It was not because he felt himself
beaten--he scorned the idea--or that he felt unequal to the task before
him. That too was preposterous. And yet, he felt, he certainly needed
something. If only now he were first classic as well as captain of the
clubs, what a pull he would have!
And as this thought occurred to him, he also recalled Crossfield's
famous speech at the last Parliament and the laughter which had greeted
it. Could he translate "Balbus hopped over a wall" without the
dictionary? Ah! He thought sometimes he would try, just to prove how
slanderous Crossfield's insinuation had been. The result of all these
cogitations was that Bloomfield began to discover he was not quite such
an "all-round" man as his friends had told him. And that being so, had
not he better qualify himself like an honest man for his post?
He did not like to confide the idea to his friends for fear of their
laughter, but for a week or two at least he actually read rather hard on
the sly. The worst of it was, that till the examinations next term
there could be nothing to show for it. For the Sixth did not change
their places every day as the lower forms did. There was no chance of
leaping to the top at a bound by some lucky answer, or even of advancing
a single desk. And therefore, however hard he worked this term, he
would never rise above eighteenth classic in the eyes of the school, and
that was not--well, he would have liked to be a little higher for the
sake of Willoughby!
The outlook was not encouraging. Even Wibberly, the toady, and Silk,
the Welcher, were better men than he was at classics.
Suppose, instead of spending his energy over classics, he were to get up
one or two rousing speeches for the Parliament, which should take the
shine out of every one else and carry the school by storm? It was not a
bad idea. But the chance would not come. No one could get up a fine
speech on such a hackneyed subject as "That Rowing is a finer Sport than
Cricket," or that "The Study of Science in Public Schools should be
Abolished!" And when he did attempt to prepare an oration on the
subject of Compulsory Football, the first friend he showed it to pointed
out so many faults in the composition of the first sentence that
prudence prompted him to put the effusion in the fire.
Meanwhile his friends and admirers kept him busy. Their delight seemed
to be to seize on all the youngsters they could by any pretext lay hands
on and hale them to appear before him. By this means they imagined they
were making his authority known and dealing a serious blow at the less
obtrusive captain in the schoolhouse.
Poor Bloomfield had to administer justice right and left for every
imaginable offence, and was so watched and prompted by officious
admirers that he was constantly losing his head and making himself
ridiculous.
He gave one boy a thrashing for being found with a paper dart in his
hand, because Game had reported him; and to another, who had stolen a
book, he gave only twenty lines, because he was in the second-eleven.
Cusack and Welcher, who was caught climbing the schoolhouse elms one
Monday, he sentenced to an hour's detention; and Pilbury, whom he caught
in the same act on Tuesday, he deprived of play for a week--that is, he
said he was not to leave his house for a week. But Pilbury turned up
the very next day in the "Big," under the very nose of the Parrett
captain, who did not even observe his presence.
It was this sort of thing which, as the term dragged on, made Bloomfield
more and more uncomfortable with his position. It was all very well for
Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly to declare that but for him Willoughby
would have gone to the dogs--it was all very well of them to make game
of and caricature Riddell and his failures. Seeing is believing; and
Bloomfield, whose heart was honest, and whose common sense, when left to
itself, was not altogether feeble, could not help making the unpleasant
discovery that he was not doing very much after all for Willoughby.
But the boat-race was now coming on. There, at any rate, was a sphere
in which he need fear no rival. With Parrett's boat at the head of the
river, and he its stroke, he would at any rate have one claim on the
obedience of Willoughby which nobody could gainsay.