Things did not mend all at once at Willoughby. No one expected they
would. And within a few days after the "debate in Parliament" it seemed
as if the school had finally abandoned all ideas of order and
discipline.
The reader will remember that more than once mention had been made of an
approaching election for the free and enlightened borough of Shellport,
which was occupying the attention not only of the town, and of the
doctor and his ladies, but also of the boys themselves. And the cheers
with which Morrison's notice of motion, mentioned in the last chapter,
was received, showed plainly enough how things were going.
By long tradition Willoughby had been a Whig school. Fellows did not
exactly know what Whig meant, but they knew it was the opposite of Tory
on one side and Radical on the other, and they went accordingly. On the
present occasion, moreover, they had a sort of personal interest in the
event, for the Whig candidate, Sir George Pony, had been discovered to
be a sort of second uncle a few times removed of Pringle, one of the
Parrett's fags, whereas the Radical, Mr Cheeseman, was a nobody!
For all these reasons Willoughby felt it had a great stake in the
contest, and tacitly determined to make its voice heard.
Small election meetings were held by the more enthusiastic politicians
of the school, for the purpose of giving vent to their anti-radical
sympathies. At these one boy was usually compelled to represent the
Whig and another to figure as the unpopular Radical. And the cheering
of the one and the hooting of the other was an immense consolation to
the young patriots; and when, as usually happened, the meeting proceeded
to poll for the candidates, and it was announced that the Whig had got
15,999 votes (there were just 16,000 inhabitants in Shellport), and the
Radical only one (polled by himself), the applause would become simply
deafening.
Even the seniors, in a more dignified way, took up the Whig cause, and
wore the Whig colours; and woe betide the rash boy who sported the
opposition badge!
The juniors were hardly the boys to let an occasion like this slip, and
many and glorious were the demonstrations in which they engaged. They
broke out into a blaze of yellow, and insisted on wearing their colours
even in bed. Pringle was a regular hero, and cheered whenever he showed
his face; whereas Brown, the town boy, whose father was suspected of
being a Radical, was daily and almost hourly mobbed till his life became
a burden to him. All other distinctions and quarrels were forgotten in
this enthusiastic and glorious outburst of patriotic feeling.
Two days before the election a mass meeting of juniors and Limpets of
all houses and ages, summoned by proclamation, was held in a corner of
the playground, "to hear addresses by the candidates, and elect a member
for Shellport." Pringle, of course, was to figure as his distant uncle,
and upon the unhappy Bosher had fallen the lot of assuming the unpopular
_role_ of Mr Cheeseman. The meeting, though only professing to be a
juniors' assembly, attracted a good many seniors also, whose curiosity
and sense of humour were by no means disappointed at the proceedings.
The chairman, Parson, standing on the top of two cricket-boxes, with a
yellow band round his hat, a yellow rosette on each side of his jacket,
and a yellow tie round his neck, said they were met to choose a member,
and knew who was their man. (Loud cheers for "Pringle.") "They didn't
want any Radical cads--(cheers)--and didn't know what they wanted down
here." (Cheers.) (Bosher: "_I_ don't want to be a Radical, you
know.")--(Loud cries of "Shut up!" "Turn him out!") He'd like to know
what that young ass Curtis was grinning at? He'd have him turned out if
he had any of his cheek. He always suspected Curtis was a Radical.
(Curtis: "No, I'm not--I'm for Pony.") There, he knew he was, because
Radicals always told crams! Whereat Parson resumed the level ground.
Pringle, who had about as much idea of public speaking as he had of
Chinese, was then hoisted up on to the platform amid terrific applause.
He smiled vacantly, and nodded his head, and waved his hand, and
occasionally, when he caught sight of some particularly familiar friend,
brought it up vertically near his nose.
"Silence! Shut up! Hold your row for Pony!" yelled the chairman.
"Go ahead, Pringle!" cried the candidate's supporters.
"Speak out!" shouted the crowd.
"All right," said the unhappy orator, "what have I got to say, though?"
"Oh, anything--fire ahead. Any bosh will do."
Pringle ruminated a bit, then, impelled to it by the cheers of his
audience, he shouted, for lack of anything better to say, all he could
remember of his English history lesson of that morning.
"Gentlemen--(cheers)--the first thing Edward III did on ascending the
crown--(terrific applause, in which the seniors present joined)--was to
behead the two favourite ministers--(prolonged cheers)--of his mother."
(Applause, amidst which Pringle suddenly disappeared from view, and
Morrison, the Limpet, mounted the cricket-box. Morrison was a
politician after Willoughby's own heart.)
"I beg to move that Sir George Pony is a fit and proper member for
Willoughby," he screamed. "I think the Radicals ought all to be hung.
(Cheers.) They're worse than the Tories. (Counter-cheers.) One's
about as bad as the other. (United cheers.) We're all Whigs here.
(Applause.) I say down with everybody that isn't. (Cheers.) If the
Radical gets in I don't mind if the Constitution gets smashed." ("Nor
do we!") "It will serve them right for allowing the Radicals in."
(Mighty applause.)
I am not going to continue the report of this animated and intellectual
meeting. It lasted till call-over, was renewed again directly after
tea, and continued long after the speakers and audience were in bed.
Bosher got dreadfully mobbed, besides being hit on the ear with a stone
and hunted several times round the playground by the anti-Radicals.
Altogether Willoughby had gone a little "off its head," so to speak, on
the subject of the election. Riddell found himself powerless to control
the excitement, and the other monitors were most of them too much
interested in the event themselves to be of much service. The practice
for the Rockshire match, as well as the play of the newly-started
Welchers' club, was for the time completely suspended; and it was
evident that until the election was over there was no prospect of seeing
the school in its right mind again.
The day before the event was a busy and anxious one for the captain.
All day long fellows came applying to him on the wildest of pretexts for
"permits" the following afternoon to go into town. Pilbury, Cusack, and
Philpot wanted to get their hair cut. King and Wakefield had to get
measured for boots, and to-morrow afternoon was the only time they could
fix for the ceremony. Parson and Telson suddenly recollected that they
had never called to pay their respects at Brown's after the pleasant
evening they had spent there a few weeks ago. Strutter, Tedbury, and a
few other Limpets were anxious to study geology that afternoon at the
Town Museum, Pringle wanted to see how his "uncle" was getting on,
etcetera, etcetera.
All which ingenious pretexts the captain very naturally saw through and
firmly declined, much to the mortification of the applicants--who many
of them returned to the charge with fresh and still more ingenious
arguments for making an exception in their particular case. But all to
no effect. About midday the captain's study was empty, and the
following notice pasted on the door told its own story.
Notice.
_By the Doctor's order, no permits will be allowed to-morrow. Call-over
will be at four instead of five_.
A. Riddell, Capt.
In other words, the authorities were determined that Willoughby should
take no part in the election, and to make things quite sure had fixed
call-over for the very hour when the poll would be closing. Of course
poor Riddell came in for all the blame of this unpopular announcement,
and had a bad time of it in consequence. It was at first reported that
the captain was a Radical, and that that was the reason of the
prohibition, but this story was contradicted by his appearance that same
evening with a yellow ribbon in his buttonhole. It was next insinuated
that as he had not been allowed to go down himself he was determined no
one else should, and Willoughby, having once taken up the idea,
convinced itself this was the truth. However, when a good many of the
disappointed applicants went to Bloomfield, and were met by him with a
similar refusal, it began to dawn upon them that after all the doctor
might be at the bottom of this plot to thwart them of their patriotic
desires, and this discovery, though it by no means allayed their
discontent, appeared to keep their resentment within some sort of
bounds.
The juniors, disappointed in the hope of publicly displaying their anti-
radical sentiments before all Shellport, looked about for consolation
indoors that evening, and found it in a demonstration against the
unlucky Bosher, who, against his will, had been forced to personate the
Radical at the recent meeting, and now found it impossible to retrieve
his reputation. He was hissed all round the playground, and finally had
to barricade himself in his study to escape further persecution. But
even there he was not safe. The youthful Whigs forced their way into
his stronghold, and after much vituperation and reproach, proceeded to
still more violent measures. "Howling young Radical cad!" exclaimed
Telson, who, carried away by the excitement of the hour, had forgotten
all Mr Parrett's prohibitions, and had come to visit his old allies;
"you ought to be ashamed of yourself."
"Indeed, I'm Yellow," pleaded the unhappy Bosher. "They forced me to be
Cheeseman at the meeting, but it wasn't my fault."
"Don't tell crams," cried the others. "It's bad enough to be a Radical
without trying to deceive us."
"I'm not trying to deceive you, really I'm not," protested Bosher.
"I'll be anything you like. I hate the Radicals. Oh, I say, don't be
cads, you fellows. Let me be a Whig, do!"
"No," cried the virtuous Parson. "We'll have no Radical cads on our
side."
"But I'm not a Radical cad," cried Bosher; "at least not a Radical."
At that moment King made a sudden grab at a small black book which lay
on the mantelpiece.
"Oh, you fellows," cried he, "here's a lark. Here's his diary."
A mighty Whig cheer followed the discovery, amidst which Bosher's wild
protests and entreaties were quite drowned.
"His diary!" exclaimed Parson. "That'll show if he's a Radical or not.
Hand it over, King. That'll show up his jolly gross conduct, eh?"
"No, no!" cried Bosher. "Give it up, you fellows; it's mine. Don't be
cads, I say; it's private." And he made a wild dash for his treasure.
But it was no use. Parson gravely addressed his prisoner.
"Look here, young Bosher, it's no use making a row. We must look at the
diary to see if you're really a Radical or not. It's our painful duty,
so you'd better be quiet. We're sorry to have to do it, you know, but
it can't be helped. If we find nothing Radical in the diary we'll let
you off."
It was no use protesting, and poor Bosher had to submit with the best
grace he could to hear his inmost thoughts read out in public.
"Here, Telson, old man," said Parson, "you read it. Speak out, mind.
Better go backwards; start at yesterday."
Telson took the precious volume solemnly and began, frequently
interrupted by the protests of the author, and more frequently by the
laughter of his audience.
"`Thursday, the 4th day of the week.'" ("I always thought it was the
fifth," observed Cusack).--"Rose at 6:13. Time forbad to shave down in
the Big. N.B.--The world is big, I am small in the world, I sawest
Riddell who is now in Welch's playing cricket with the little boys.
Pilbury sported too, ugly in the face. (Here all but Pilbury seemed
greatly amused.) Also Cusack, who thinks a great deal,"--("Hear, hear,"
from Cusack)--"about himself. (Laughter.) I attend an election at 10:2
in the Big. Parson taketh the chair. Parson is a f--l and two
between."
"Oh!" broke in the outraged Parson. "I knew he was a Radical cad. All
right, Bosher, my boy; you'll catch it! Steam away, Telson!"
"`It was a gross meeting, Pringle being much stuck-up. He maketh a
speech. Meditations while Pringle is making a speech. The grass is
very green. (Great laughter at Pringle's expense.) I will aspire up
Telson thinketh he is much, but thou ist not oh, Telson, much at all I
spoke boldly and to the point. I am the Radical.'"
"There you are!" exclaimed Parson, triumphantly: "didn't I tell you so?
Bosher! What do you mean by telling such howling crams, Bosher?"
"I only meant--"
"Shut up! Fire away, Telson!"
"`I am the Radical. I desire to smash everything the little Welchers
make noises. Meditations: let me be noble dinner at 3:1 stew. The
turnips are gross. I request leave of Riddell to go to the town to-
morrow but he sayeth no. I am roused'--that's all of yesterday."
"About enough too!" exclaimed the wrathful Parson. "Just read the day
before, before we start hiding him."
"Oh, please don't lick me!" cried the unhappy author: "I'll apologise,
you know, Parson, Telson; please don't!"
"`Wednesday--rose at 8:13. Sang as I shaved the Vicar of Bray. I shall
now describe my fellows which are all ugly and gross. Parson is the
worst.'"
"Eh?" exclaimed the wrathful owner of that name.
"`Parson is the worst,'" read Telson, with evident glee, "`and--and--'
oh, let's see," he added, hurriedly turning over the page.
"No, no; read fair; do you hear?" cried Parson. "No skipping."
"I'll crack your skull, Bosher," said Telson, indignantly, handing the
diary across to Parson and pointing to the passage.
"`--And Telson is the most conceited ignorant schoolhouse frog I ever
saw at breakfast got thirty lines for gross conduct with the abominable
King.'"
"There!" exclaimed Telson, in a red heat; "what does he mean by it? Of
course, I don't care for myself; it's about the schoolhouse."
"What's that he says about me?" said King.
"`The abominable King,'" cried Telson, reading with great relish;
"`thirty lines for gross conduct with the abominable King.'"
"Oh, I say, this is too much, you fellows," cried King.
"Not a bit too much. Just finish that day, Telson," said Parson,
handing back the diary.
"Please give it up," pleaded Bosher, but he was immediately sat upon by
his outraged companions, and forced to listen to the rest of the
chronicle.
"`Wyndham hath not found his knife. I grieve for Wyndham thinking
Cusack and the little Welchers to be the thiefs. I smile when Cusack
goes to prison in the Parliament a gross speech is made by Riddell I
reply in noble speech for the Radicals.'"
"That'll do, that's enough; he _is_ a Radical then; he says so himself!"
cried Telson, shutting up the book, and flinging it across the room at
Bosher, who was standing near the door and just dodged it in time. A
regular scramble ensued to secure the "gross" volume, in the midst of
which the unhappy author, seeing his chance, slipped from the room, and
bolted for his life down the passage.
His persecutors did not trouble to pursue him, and a sudden rumour
shortly afterwards that Mr Parrett was prowling about sent Telson and
the few Welchers slinking back to their quarters. And so ended the eve
of the great election.
The next morning Riddell and those interested in the discipline of the
school were surprised to see that the excitement was apparently abated,
instead of, as might have been expected, increased. The attendance at
morning chapel and call-over was most punctual, and between breakfast
and first school only two boys came to him to ask for permits to go into
town. One of these was young Wyndham, whom Riddell had seen very little
of since leaving the schoolhouse.
Wyndham's desire to go down into town had, as it happened, no connection
at all with the election. He was as much interested in that, of course,
as the rest of Willoughby, but the reason he wanted to go to Shellport
this afternoon was to see an old home chum of his, from whom he had just
heard that he would be passing in the train through Shellport that
afternoon.
Great, therefore, was his disappointment when Riddell told him that no
permits were allowed that afternoon.
"What?" exclaimed the boy. "I've not seen Evans for a year, and he'll
think it so awfully low, after writing to me, if I don't show up at the
station."
"I'm awfully sorry, Wyndham," said Riddell, who had heard so many wild
pretexts for getting leave during the last two days that he even doubted
how far Wyndham's might be true or not; "the doctor says no one is to go
down, and I can't give any permits."
"But I tell you all I want is to see Evans--there's no harm in that."
"Of course not, and you should get the permit at once if any were
allowed."
"You could give me one if you chose."
"But if I gave to one I should have to give to all."
"I don't see that you need tell everybody," said Wyndham, nettled.
"I'm sorry it can't be done, Wyndham; I can't make any exceptions," said
the captain, firmly.
"You could well enough if you chose," said Wyndham, sorely disappointed
and aggrieved. "The fact is, I don't know why, I believe you've got a
spite against me of late."
"You know I haven't, Wyndham," said Riddell, kindly.
Wyndham did know, and at any other time would have felt reproached by
the consciousness of his own injustice. But he was just now so bitterly
disappointed that he smothered every other feeling, and answered
angrily, "Yes, you have, and I don't care if you have; I suppose it's
because I'm friends with Silk. I can tell you Silk's a good deal more
brickish to me than you are!"
Poor Riddell! This, then, was the end of his hopes of winning over his
old friend's brother. The words struck him like a knife. He would
almost sooner break all the rules in the school, so he felt that moment,
than drive this one boy to throw in his lot with fellows like Silk!
"Wyndham!" he said, almost appealingly.
But Wyndham was gone, and the chance was lost.
The rest of that day passed miserably for the captain. An ominous
silence and order seemed to hang over morning school. No further
applicants molested him. No case of disorder was reported during the
morning, and at dinner the boys were so quiet they might have been in
church.
Just after morning school, and before dinner, as he crossed the
playground, Wyndham passed him, talking and laughing with Silk; and
neither of them noticed him.
The captain retired to his study, dejected and miserable, and, as his
only comfort, buried himself in his books. For an hour at least before
the early call-over he might forget his trouble in hard work.
But before that hour was half-over Riddell closed his book with a start
and a sense of something unusual. This unearthly stillness all over the
place--he never remembered anything of the sort before. Not a sound
rose from the neighbouring studies, and when he looked out the
playground was as deserted as if it had been the middle of the summer
holidays. What did it all mean?
Then suddenly the truth flashed upon him. What could it mean, but that
Willoughby had mutinied, and, in open defiance of his authority, gone
down without leave to Shellport!
He hurried out of his room. There was scarcely a sound in the house.
He went into the playground--only one boy, Gilks, was prowling about
there, half-mad with toothache, and either unable or unwilling to give
him any information. He looked in at Parrett's, no one was there, and
even the schoolhouse seemed desolate.
The captain returned to his study and waited in anything but a placid
frame of mind. He felt utterly humbled and crestfallen. It had really
seemed of late as if he was making some headway in his uphill task of
ruling Willoughby, but this was a shock he had never expected. It
seemed to point to a combination all over the school to thwart him, and
in face of such a feeling further effort seemed hopeless.
Riddell imagined too much. Would it have pained him to know that three-
quarters of those who, politics-mad, had thus broken bounds that
afternoon had never so much as given him a thought in the matter, and in
fact had gone off, not to defy him, but simply to please themselves?
The bell for call-over rang, and Riddell went despondingly to the big
hall. Only about a score of fellows, including Bloomfield, Porter,
Fairbairn, Coates, and Wibberly (who, by the way, always did as
Bloomfield did), answered to their names amid a good deal of wonder and
a little laughter.
Bloomfield, who had also regarded the afternoon's business as a test of
his authority, looked as crestfallen as the real captain, and for the
first time that term he and Riddell approached one another with a common
interest.
"There'll be an awful row about this," said he.
"There will," said Riddell; "will you report your fellows, or shall I
send up the whole list to the doctor?"
"You send up all the names," said Bloomfield, "that is, unless Fairbairn
wants to report the schoolhouse himself."
"No," said Fairbairn, "you send up the list, Riddell."
And so Riddell's captaincy received its first undisputed acknowledgment
that term, and he sent up his formidable list to the doctor, and with
mingled curiosity, impatience, and despondency waited the result.