Young Wyndham, had he only known what was in the captain's mind as he
walked that afternoon across the Big, would probably have thought twice
before he went such a long way round to avoid him.
Silk's little piece of pantomime had not had the effect the author
intended. In the quick glance which Riddell had given towards the bench
and its occupants he had taken in pretty accurately the real state of
the case.
"Poor fellow!" said he to himself; "he's surely in trouble enough
without being laid hold of by that cad. Silk thinks I shall fancy he
has captured my old favourite. Let him! But if he has captured him he
doesn't seem very sure of him, or he wouldn't hold him down on the seat
like that. I wonder what brings them together here? and I wonder if I
had better go and interfere? No, I think I won't just now."
And so he walked on, troubled enough to be sure, but not concluding
quite as much from what he saw as Wyndham feared or Silk hoped.
As he walked on fellows glared at him from a distance, and others
passing closer cut him dead. A few of the most ardent Parrett's juniors
took the liberty of hissing him and one ventured to call out, pointedly,
"Who cut the rudder-lines?"
Riddell, however, though he winced under these insults, took little
notice of them. He was as determined as ever to wait the confirmation
of his suspicions before he unmasked the culprit, and equally convinced
that duty and honour both demanded that he should lose not a moment in
coming to a conclusion.
It was in the midst of these reflections that the small book which
Wyndham had seen him pick up caught his eye. He picked it up
mechanically, and after noticing that it appeared to be a notebook, and
had no owner's name in the beginning, carried it with him, and forgot
all about it till he reached his study.
Even here it was some time before it again attracted his attention, as
its importance was wholly eclipsed by the contents of a note which he
found lying on his table, and which ran as follows:
"Dear Riddell,--Will you join us at tea this evening at seven? I expect
Fairbairn and Bloomfield.
"Yours faithfully,--
"R. Patrick."
Riddell groaned. Had he not had trouble, and humiliation, and misery
enough? What had he done to deserve this crowning torture? Tea with
the Griffins!
He sat down and wrote, as in politeness bound, that he would have much
pleasure in accepting the doctor's kind invitation, and, sending the
note off by Cusack, resigned himself to the awful prospect, which for a
time shut out everything else.
However, he had no right, he felt, to be idle. He must finish his work
now, so as to be free for the evening's "entertainment," and for the
other equally grave duties which lay before him.
But somehow he could not work; his mind was too full to be able to
settle steadily on any one thing, and finally he pushed away the books
and gave up the attempt.
It was at that moment that the small black book he had found caught his
eye.
He took it up, intending, if possible, to ascertain whose property it
was, and, failing that, to send Cusack to "cry" it round the school.
But the first thing that met his eye on the front page roused his
curiosity. It was evidently a quotation:
"Pass me not, oh! reader, by,
Read my pages tenderly (`tenderly' altered to `on the sly');
All that's writ is writ for thee,
Open now and you shall see."
After such a cordial invitation, even Riddell could hardly feel much
qualm about dipping farther into this mysterious manuscript.
It appeared to be a diary, which, but for the announcement at the
beginning, one would have been inclined to regard as a private document.
And the first entry Riddell encountered was certainly of that
character:
"Friday, the fifth day of the week.--My birthday. Rose at 6:59½. I am
old. I am 24 (and ten off) some one had taken my soap. Meditations As
I dressed me. The world is very large I am small in the world I will
aspire as I go to chapel I view Riddell who toucheth his hat. Gross
conduct of my father sending me only half a crown breakfast at 7:33.
Disturbance with the evil Telson whereby I obtained lines."
This was quite enough for one day, and Riddell, greatly mystified,
turned a few pages farther on to see if the narrative became more lucid
as it progressed.
"I am now a skyrocket. Meditations on being a skyrocket. The world is
very large, etcetera. Gross meeting of Parliament Riddell the little
captain sitteth on his seat. I made a noble speech gross conduct of
Parson, who is kicked out. Eloquence of Bloomfield who crieth Order
under the form I see Telson hanging on. I hang too and am removed
speaking nobly. Large tea at Parson's the cake being beastly. Riddell
it seems hath cut the rudder-lines. I indignate and cut him with a
razor I remove two corns from my nether foot."
More in this strain followed, and lower down the diary proceeded:
"Wyndham the junior thinketh much of himself he is ugly in the face and
in the second-eleven. I have writ a poem on Wyndham.
"`I do not like thee, Dr Fell (altered to "Wyndham junior")
The reason why I cannot tell (altered to "say");
But this I know, and know full well (altered to "ill")
I do not like thee, Dr Fell (altered to "Wyndham junior").'
"I over hear much of Wyndham the gross Telson and the evil Parson not
knowing I am by the little boys say they have seen the ugly Wyndham come
from Beamish's. Oh evil Wyndham being taken by Silk and Gilks. No one
knows and Wyndham is to be expelled. I joy much Riddell knoweth it.
Telson telleth Parson that Riddell is gross expelling for Beamish's and
Wyndham weepeth in private. I smile at the practice Mr Parrett bowleth
me balls. I taketh them and am out."
If Bosher could have seen the effect of this elegant extract upon the
captain he would probably have "joyed" with infinite self-satisfaction.
Riddell's colour changed as he read and re-read and re-read again these
few lines of idiotic jargon.
He lay down the book half a dozen times, and as often took it up again,
and scrutinised the entry, and as he did so quick looks of perplexity,
or joy, or shame, even of humour, chased one another across his face.
The truth with all its new meaning slowly dawned upon him. It had been
reserved to Bosher's diary, of all agencies in the world, to explain
everything, and cast a flood of light upon what had hitherto been
incomprehensible!
Of course he could see it all now. If this diary was to be believed--
but was it? Might it not be a hoax purposely put in his way to delude
him?
Yet he could not believe that this laboriously written record could have
been compiled for his sole benefit; and this one entry which he had lit
upon by mere chance was only one of hundreds of stupid, absurd entries,
most of which meant nothing at all, and which seemed more like the
symptoms of a disease than the healthy productions of a sane boy.
In this one case, however, there seemed to be some method in the
author's madness, and he had given a clue so important that Riddell, in
pondering over it that evening and calculating its true value, was very
nearly being late for the doctor's tea at seven o'clock.
However, he came to himself just in time to decorate his person, and
hurry across the quadrangle before the clock struck.
On his way over he met Parson and Telson, walking arm-in-arm. Although
the same spectacle had met his eyes on an average twice every day that
term, and was about the commonest "show" in Willoughby, the sight of the
faithful pair at this particular time when the revelations of Bosher's
diary were tingling in his ears impressed the captain. Indeed, it
impressed him so much that, at the imminent risk of being late for the
doctor's tea, he pulled up to speak to them.
Parson, as became a loyal Parrett, made as though he would pass on, but
Telson held him back.
"I say, you two," said Riddell, "will you come to breakfast with me to-
morrow morning after chapel?"
And without so much as waiting for a reply, he bolted off, leaving his
two would-be guests a trifle concerned as to his sanity.
The clock was beginning to strike as Riddell knocked at the doctor's
door, and began at length to realise what he was in for.
He did not know whether to be thankful or not that Bloomfield and
Fairbairn would be there to share his misery. They would be but two
extra witnesses to his sufferings, and their tribulations were hardly
likely to relieve his.
However, there was one comfort. He might have a chance before the
evening was over of telling Bloomfield that he now had every reason to
believe his suspicions about the culprit had been wrong.
How thankful he was he had held out against the temptation to name poor
Wyndham two days ago!
"Well, Riddell, how are you?" said the doctor, in his usual genial
fashion. "I think you have met these ladies before. Mr Riddell--my
dear--Miss Stringer. These gentlemen you have probably seen before
also. Ha! ha!"
Riddell saluted the ladies very much as he would have saluted two mad
dogs, and nodded the usual Willoughby nod to his two fellow-monitors,
who having already got over the introductions had retreated to a safe
distance.
A common suffering is the surest bond of sympathy, and Riddell
positively beamed on his rival in recognition of his salute.
"I trust your mother," said Mrs Patrick, "whose indisposition we were
regretting on the last occasion when you were here, is now better?"
"Very well indeed, I hope," replied the captain, hardly knowing what he
said. "Thank you."
"And I trust, Mr Riddell," chimed in Miss Stringer, "that you were
gratified by the result of the election."
"No, thank you," replied Riddell, beginning to shake in his shoes.
"Indeed? If I remember right you professed yourself to be a Liberal?"
"Yes--that is--the Radical got in," faltered Riddell, wondering why in
common charity no one came to his rescue.
"And pray, Mr Riddell," continued Miss Stringer, ruthlessly, "can you
tell us the difference between a Liberal and a Radical? I have often
longed to know--and you I have no doubt are an authority?"
Riddell at this point seriously meditated a forced retreat, and there is
no saying what desperate act he might have committed had not the doctor
providentially come to the rescue.
"The election altogether," said he, laughing, "is rather a sore point in
the school. I told you, my dear, about the manner in which Mr
Cheeseman's letter was received?"
"You did," replied Mrs Patrick, who for some few moments had had her
eyes upon Bloomfield, with a view to draw him out.
"Now do you really suppose, Mr Bloomfield, that the boys in your house,
for instance, attached any true importance at all to the issue of the
contest?"
Bloomfield, who had not been aware till this question was half over that
it had been addressed to him, started and said--the most fatal
observation he could have made--
"Eh? I beg your pardon, that is."
"I inquired," said Mrs Patrick, fixing him with her eye, "whether you
really supposed that the boys in your house, for instance, attached any
true importance at all to the issue of the contest?"
Bloomfield received this ponderous question meekly, and made a feeble
effort to turn it over in his mind, and then dreading to hear it
repeated once more, answered, "Oh, decidedly, ma'am."
"In what respect?" inquired the lady, settling herself down on the
settee, and awaiting, with raised eyebrows, her victim's answer.
Poor Bloomfield was no match for this deliberate style of tactics.
"They were all yellow," he replied, feebly.
"All what, sir?" demanded Mrs Patrick.
"All Whig, I mean," he said.
"Exactly. What I mean to know is, do they any of them appreciate the
distinction between a Whig (or, as Mr Riddell terms it, a Liberal)--"
Riddell winced.
"--Between a Whig and a Radical?"
"Oh, certainly not," replied Bloomfield, wildly. "And yet you say that
they decidedly attached a true importance to the issue of the contest?
That is very extraordinary!"
And Mrs Patrick rose majestically to take her seat at the table,
leaving Bloomfield writhing and turned mentally inside out, to recover
as best he could from this interesting political discussion!
"The Rockshire match was a great triumph," said the doctor, cheerily, as
the company established itself at the festive board--"and a surprise
too, surely--was it not?"
"Yes, sir," said Fairbairn, who, seeing that Bloomfield was not yet in a
condition to discourse, felt it incumbent on him to reply--"we never
expected to win by so much."
"It was quite an event," said the doctor, "the heads of the three houses
all playing together in the same eleven."
"Yes, sir," replied Fairbairn, "Bloomfield here was most impartial."