It was hardly to be expected that the political excitement of Willoughby
would altogether disappear until the result of the election was made
known. And for some reason or other a whole day had to elapse before
the tidings found their way up to the school.
After what had happened no one had the hardihood to ask leave to go down
into the town, and none of the butcher's or baker's boys that Parson and
Telson intercepted in the grounds could give any information. The hopes
of Willoughby centred on Brown, the town boy, whose arrival the next
morning was awaited with as much excitement and impatience as if he had
been a general returning home from a victorious campaign.
Fully aware of his importance, and feeling popularity to be too unusual
a luxury to be lightly given up, he behaved himself at first with
aggravating reserve.
"Who's in!" shouted Parson from the school gate, the moment Brown
appeared about a quarter of a mile down the road.
Brown, of course, could not hear.
The question was repeated with greater vehemence as he approached, until
at last he had no excuse for not hearing.
"Do you hear, you old badger, who's in?" yelled Parson and Telson.
"Look here, you kids," said Brown, loftily, "who are you calling a
badger? I'll knock your cheeky heads together if you don't look out."
"Oh I say, who's in! can't you speak?" reiterated the youths, who at
this moment possessed only one idea between them.
"Who is it? Who's got in?" repeated some Limpets, who were as eager
every bit to hear as the juniors.
"In where?" replied the aggravating Brown, shouldering his way in at the
gate and intoxicated with his own importance. "What are you talking
about?"
"Why, who's been elected for Shellport? Is Pony in?" shouted the boys,
impatiently.
"Pony!" rejoined Brown, half-contemptuously, "do you suppose they'd have
an old stick like him!"
"What," exclaimed Merrison. "Is Cheeseman in after all, then?"
"Eh?"
"Is Cheeseman in, can't you hear?"
"I never said he was," replied Brown, majestically.
This was rather too much, and a simultaneous rush was made for the
pompous town boy, and the secret forcibly extracted in double quick
time.
"Now," cried one of the Limpets, giving his arm a premonitory screw,
"out with it, or I'm sorry for you."
"Here, let go my arm, you cad, I say; oh! you hurt! let go, I--oh! oh!
Cheeseman's in!"
The arm was flung away in disgust as a simultaneous groan greeted the
announcement.
"How much by?" demanded the inquisitors, once more preparing to apply
the screw.
But Brown had had quite enough of it, and answered glibly, "Eight
hundred and twenty-five majority!"
This was a terrible blow, and in the general dismay which followed,
Brown was temporarily overlooked.
"Eight hundred and twenty-five!" exclaimed Merrison. "Why, it's an
awful licking. Every one was sure Pony would be five hundred ahead."
"It's foul play and bribery, depend on it," said another.
"Or they've counted wrong."
"Or Brown is telling lies!"
Now, if Brown had been a wise boy he would have taken advantage of the
excitement which immediately followed his announcement to retreat
quietly and rapidly up to the school, and he reproached himself greatly
that he had not. For the ill-temper of the assembly was only too ready
to fix on some object upon which to vent itself, and this last
suggestion, coupled with the suspicion that Brown's father had been one
of the backers of the Radical candidate, brought the town boy once more
into most uncomfortable notoriety.
He was hunted almost for his life round the playground and up to the
school. It was no use for him to protest that he was out-and-out
yellow, that his father had been on Pony's committee. He was far too
valuable a scapegoat to be let off; and when at last he managed to bolt
headlong into the school and seek shelter in the master's cloak-room, it
is safe to say that though he himself felt rather the worse for the
adventure, Willoughby on the whole felt rather better.
In due time the news was confirmed, and the school settled rather
viciously down to its ordinary work. It was almost a relief when first
school was over, and all those who had impositions to write were ordered
to keep their places and begin their tasks.
What venom of wrath and disappointment could they not put into those
unlucky lines! If the paper had only been the skin of the Radical
Cheeseman, and the pens needles, _how_ they would have delighted in
their penalty!
Scarcely had they begun work, however, when the school messenger came
round unexpectedly to summon the whole school to assemble in the Great
Hall. What could it be? Was it another lecture? or had the doctor
repented of letting them off so easy? Or was there to be another change
in the captaincy? or what?
The hall soon filled, and every one waited impatiently for the doctor.
He arrived presently, with a letter in his hand and a somewhat important
look on his face.
"The last time I spoke in this room," said he, "I had to discharge the
painful duty of punishing the whole school for a serious and inexcusable
act of insubordination."
"Why do they always call it a _painful_ duty?" inquired the artless
Telson of his ally; "I'm sure it doesn't hurt _them_."
"Silence! whoever is speaking!" said the doctor, sternly. "I hope what
was said then will not be forgotten. An act of that kind could not
possibly be allowed to pass without punishment, and any repetition of it
would entail the severest measures. However, I say no more of that at
present. I have called you together to read to you a letter I have just
received from the newly-elected Member for Shellport, Mr Cheeseman."
As the doctor pronounced this unpopular name, one hardy junior, quite
mistaking the gravity of the occasion, began a low hiss.
Before the infection could spread the doctor suddenly laid down the
letter, and with a voice of thunder demanded, "Who is that? Stand up,
sir, in your place!"
The luckless form of the youthful Lawkins, pale and scared, rose from a
back bench.
"Leave the room, sir!" said the doctor, wrathfully, "and write out your
imposition double, and come to me after third school!"
Poor Lawkins retired, and the assembly, being warned by his awful
example, heard the doctor out without further interruption.
"Mr Cheeseman writes as follows:--
"`Dear Dr Patrick,--I hope I need no apology for writing to you on a
matter affecting the boys under your charge. A large number of these
young politicians, as you are aware, took a somewhat active part in the
recent election, in which it was not my good fortune to be their
favourite candidate. I understand that their crusade into the town was
not only without your permission, but in direct opposition to your
wishes; and I conclude, that being so, the offenders have merited the
punishment due for such escapades. The election, as you know, is now
decided, and I am anxious that one of my first acts in my new capacity
should be one of intercession with you to take as lenient a view as you
can of this schoolboy freak; and if you should find it consistent with
your duty to remit any penalty that may have been inflicted, I shall be
as grateful to you as no doubt your boys will be.'
"`I am, dear doctor,'
"`Yours faithfully,'
"`A. Cheeseman.'"
The doctor laid down the letter amidst ominous silence, which even the
feeble cheers of Bosher, Brown, and a few others barely disturbed.
"In consideration of this generous letter," he continued, "I have
decided to remit the impositions I gave on Saturday, and also to
withdraw the prohibition about the half-holiday. The matter of the
monitors I cannot reconsider. I may suggest that, after what has
happened, it would be a graceful act on the part of the boys to send Mr
Cheeseman a letter of thanks, at any rate, if not of apology. You are
now dismissed."
It was quite evident that the majority of the boys were at a loss how to
take this strange and unexpected announcement. True, they hated the
Radicals, but they also hated impositions and detention, and the
probability is that, if left to themselves, they would quietly have
availed themselves of Mr Cheeseman's clemency.
But to the small band of hot-headed enthusiasts the very notion of being
under an obligation to the Radical was repulsive. They could scarcely
wait till the doctor had departed before they vehemently denounced the
idea.
"Well," said Merrison, "if that's not what you call adding insult to
injury, I don't know what you do! I know _I_ mean to write every letter
of my impot if it was a thousand lines instead of a hundred!"
"So shall I; and I'll not stir out of doors all Wednesday afternoon
either," said another.
"Of course not; no honourable fellow would."
"I suppose he thinks he's going to bribe us, the cad. Perhaps he hopes
we'll give _him_ a leg-up next election?"
"I vote we put on a spurt with the impots and get them all done
together," said another. "Paddy shall see which way we go, at any
rate."
And so, sorely to the disappointment of some of the juniors, who had
been rejoicing prematurely in the removal of their penalties, the order
went round in all the houses that every boy was expected in honour to
finish his imposition by next day, and also to remain in on Wednesday
afternoon, as a protest against "Radical cheek," and this was an appeal
no loyal Whig could resist.
It was at least an unusual spectacle in Willoughby to see nearly the
whole school insisting on performing a task which no one required of
them; each boy not only doing it himself, but seeing that his neighbour
did it too!
Several of the small boys and a few lazy seniors protested, but they
were coerced with most terrific threats.
The Wednesday half-holiday was spent in determined seclusion, scarcely a
boy showing his face in the playground. Even those who had not broken
bounds on election-day, and who, therefore, in no case came under the
penalty, felt quite out of it, and half ashamed of themselves in the
presence of this general burst of political devotion; and it was
rumoured that one or two of the weakest-minded of these actually stayed
in and wrote out the imposition too!
The following morning was an impressive one in the annals of Willoughby.
The doctor, as he stood in the Great Hall speaking to Mr Parrett after
morning prayers, was, much to his amazement, waylaid by the school in a
body. Every boy carried in his hand a sheet of paper, and wore on his
face a most self-satisfied expression.
"What is all this?" inquired the doctor, sharply, a little bit
frightened, perhaps, at this sudden and mysterious invasion of his
privacy.
Merrison was pushed forward by the crowd, and advancing paper in hand,
replied for the company generally.
"Please, sir," said he, "we've brought the impositions."
"Eh?" said the doctor.
"The impositions, sir. We didn't want to be let off, so we stayed in
yesterday afternoon, all of us, and wrote them."
From the tones in which Merrison uttered this explanation one might have
supposed he expected the doctor to fall on his neck and shed tears of
joy over the lofty virtue of his pupils.
Dr Patrick was quick enough to take in the state of affairs at once,
and was wise enough to make the best of the situation.
"Ah," said he, coolly, taking Morrison's proffered imposition and
glancing his eyes down it. "I am glad to see you desire to make amends
for what occurred on Saturday. You can leave the impositions on this
table."
"Please, sir, it's not that," said Merrison, hurriedly, alarmed at being
suspected of anything like contrition. "It's not that; we--"
"You can leave the impositions on the table," said the doctor, sternly,
turning at the same time to continue his conversation with Mr Parrett,
which the arrival of the visitors had interrupted.
It was a sad blow for Willoughby, this! They had expected better
things. They had meant their act of self-devotion to be a crushing
defiance to the Radical, and even a mild rebuke to the doctor himself.
But it had turned out neither.
Slowly and sorrowfully they filed past the table and laid their
sacrifices thereon, and then departed, dejected and crestfallen. The
doctor, with his back turned, never noticed them, and no one had the
hardihood to attempt further to attract his attention.
So ended the election episode at Willoughby.
"I hope you've enjoyed yourselves," said Crossfield to Tedbury the
Limpet, that afternoon. "Jolly time you've had of it."
"It's all that young ass Morrison's doing," growled Tedbury.
"Never mind," said Crossfield, laughing; "I'm sure it's done you all
good. You all wanted something of the sort, and you'll be better of
it."
"You're always trying to make a fool of me, Crossfield," said Tedbury,
wrathfully.
"My dear fellow, there's not much chance of that. You are far too good
a hand at making a fool of yourself to put any one else to the trouble.
Ta, ta. Shall you be down at the cricket practice again now?"
This last was a pertinent question. For in the midst of all the late
political excitement cricket had decidedly languished at the school, and
the Rockshire match as well as the house matches were getting alarmingly
near.
However, on the first afternoon after Willoughby had returned to its
senses a general rush took place once more to the Big, and it was
evident during the week which followed that the fellows intended to make
up for lost time.
Nowhere was this activity more observed than in the newly-revived
Welchers' club, presided over by the captain, and enlivened by the
countenances of that ardent trio, Cusack, Pilbury, and Philpot.
During the week preceding the election they had worked with unabated
enthusiasm. You might have seen practice going on any morning at half-
past six in the Welchers' corner of the Big. The other houses at first
regarded it as a good joke, and the earliest practices of the new club
were usually performed in the presence of a large and facetious
audience, who appeared to derive infinite delight from every ball that
was bowled and every run that was made. But the Welchers were not to be
snuffed out. Riddell watched over the fortunes of the new club with
most paternal interest, losing no opportunity of firing its enthusiasm,
and throwing himself heart and soul into its work. Indeed, as a
cricketer the captain came out in quite a new light, which astonished
even himself.
He had always taken for granted he was utterly incapable of any athletic
achievement, but, with the steady practice now entailed upon him, it
began to dawn, not only upon himself, but other people, that as a
fielder--at slip or cover-slip--he was decidedly useful, while as a
batsman he exhibited a certain style of his own that usually brought
together a few runs for his side.
But even his own success was less than that of the club generally.
Every member of that small fraternity was intent on the glory of the
club, and worked hammer and tongs to secure it. Mr Parrett, kindly
jack-of-all-trades as he was, was easily persuaded by Riddell to come
down occasionally and bowl them a few balls, and give them a few hints
as to style generally. And every time he came down he was more
encouraging. Even Bloomfield and a few of the First Eleven magnates
thought it worth their while to saunter round once or twice and watch
the practice of this promising club.
It may be judged that, in proportion as the young Welchers found
themselves succeeding, their enthusiasm for their club and its president
increased. The club grew daily. Some Limpets joined it, and even a few
seniors. There was some talk of a first eleven to play in the house
matches, while by this time the second-eleven was an accomplished fact,
its members thirsting for the day when they should match their prowess
against the Parretts or schoolhouse juniors.
The election, as I have said, had rudely interrupted all this healthy
preparation, and for a moment it seemed to Riddell as if all his new
hold on his boys had disappeared. But that event once over, great was
his relief to find that they returned to the sport with unabated and
even increased ardour.
That week Welch's had out for the first time two sets of wickets, and
even thus could hardly keep going all who wanted to play.
"I tell you what," said Bloomfield, one afternoon, as, with his friend
Ashley, he was quietly looking on, while pretending not to do so, "say
what you will, Riddell doesn't do badly at slip. Watch this over."
As it happened, Mr Parrett was bowling down some rather swift balls to
the boy who was batting, with a little break from the off, which the
batsman seemed unable to play in any manner but by sending them among
the slips. So that, during the over, Riddell, blissfully unconscious of
the critical eyes that were upon him, had a busy time of it. And so
well did he pick the balls up that the two spies stayed to watch another
over, and after that another, at the close of which Bloomfield said,
"Upon my word, it's not half bad. And a slip's the very man we want to
make up the eleven for Rockshire."
"My dear fellow," said Ashley, in tones almost of alarm, "you're surely
not thinking of putting a fellow like that into the eleven."
"I don't care much who goes in so long as he can play," said Bloomfield.
"But fancy the fellow's bumptiousness if he gets stuck into the team!
He's bad enough as it is," said Ashley.
"We've got the schoolhouse fellows to look at," said Bloomfield, "_come_
along. If they've any one better we'll take him, but we _must_ get hold
of the best man."
So off they went, and the Welchers' practice continued gaily till the
bell for call-over sounded.
"Riddell," said Cusack, who had become captain's fag since the migration
to Welch's, "there's a letter for you."
"Where?" asked the captain.
"On your table. I saw it there when I was sticking away your pens just
now."
"You may as well bring it," said Riddell; "I am going to the library."
So Cusack went off, and presently reappeared in the library with the
letter.
Riddell was busy at the moment searching through the catalogue, and
consequently let the letter lie unopened for some little time beside
him. In due time, however, he turned and took it up.
It was a strangely directed letter, at any rate--not in ordinary
handwriting, but in printed characters, evidently to disguise the
authorship.
Riddell hastily tore open the envelope of this mysterious missive and
read the contents, which were also written like printing, in characters
quite unrecognisable.
The letter was as follows:
"Riddel,--If you want to get to the bottom of that boat-race affair, you
had better see what Tom the boat-boy has to say. That's all."