to be punished.  True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week,
but that was not what they were reported for now.  The question was,
were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?

"What did Mr Parrett do to you?" he asked presently.  "Oh," said
Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, "he was down on us
hot.  He's stopped our going on the river a week, and then we've got to
get a permit till the end of the term.  Jolly hard lines it is,
especially race term.  I shan't be able to cox.  Parrett's boat at the
regatta.  No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat.  You ask
Parrett," said he, in tones of manly appeal.

"Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?" asked Riddell.

"Rather," said Telson.  "I'd sooner have had a licking any day than get
stopped river-play.  Wouldn't you, Parson?"

"I should think I would," said Parson.

"Well," said Riddell, dubiously, "of course if Mr Parrett has already
punished you--"

"You ask him!" again said Parson.  "You ask him if he's not stopped our
river-play.  Ah five of us!  Mayn't go on at all for a week, and then
we've got to get your permit.  Isn't that what he said, you chaps?"

"Yes," chimed in the "chaps," in injured voices.

"Well, then," said Riddell, "as that is so, I think you can--that is, I
wish just to tell you--you--it mustn't occur again."

"Oh, all right," said Parson, making for the door.

"And I hope," began Riddell--

But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear.
They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked
pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily
down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning's adventures.

A moment's reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been "done" by these
unscrupulous youngsters.  He had let them off on their own
representations, and without taking due care to verify their story.  And
now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool,
and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had
the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported.  A nice
beginning this to his new reign!  Riddell saw it all clearly now, when
it was too late.  Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?

Was it too late?  Riddell went to the door again and looked down the
passage.  The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps
and voices were still audible.  Hadn't he better summon them back?  Had
not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a
mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?

He took a few hurried steps in the direction of the voices, and was even
making up his mind to run, when it suddenly occurred to him, "What if,
after all, their story _had_ been true, and the calling of them back
should be a greater mistake even than the letting of them off?"

This awkward doubt drove him back once more to his study, where,
shutting the door, he flung himself into his chair in a state of abject
despondency and shame.

Twenty times he determined to go to the doctor at once, and refuse for
an hour longer to play the farce of being captain of Willoughby.  And as
often another spirit kept him back, and whispered to him that it was
only the cowards who gave in at a single failure.

From these unpleasant reflections the summons to first school was a
welcome diversion, and he gladly shook off the captain for an hour, and
figured in his more congenial part of a scholar.  But even here he was
not allowed wholly to forget his new responsibilities.  Nearly all those
around him were fellow-monitors, who had just come smarting from the
doctor's summary rejection of their petition; and Riddell could tell by
their angry looks and ill-tempered words that he, however innocent, was
the object of their irritation.  He had never been a favourite before,
but it certainly was not pleasant to have to learn now by the most
unmistakable signs that he was downrightly unpopular and disliked by
those from whom he should have had his warmest backing up.

And yet, strange to say, it was this sense of his own unpopularity which
more than anything nerved him to a resolution to stick to his post, and,
come what would of it, do his best to discharge his new unwelcome tasks.
If only he could feel a little more sure of himself!  But how was it
likely he could feel sure of himself after his lamentable failure of the
morning?

But the lamentable failure of the morning, as it happened, was nothing
to other failures speedily to follow on this same unlucky day.

Scarcely was Riddell back in his study after first school, hoping for a
little breathing space in which to recover his fluttered spirits, when
Gilks entered and said, "I say, there's a row going on in the Fourth.
You'd better stop it, or the doctor will be down on us."

And so saying he vanished, leaving the captain about as comfortable with
this piece of intelligence as he would have been with a bombshell
suddenly pitched into his study.

A row in the Fourth! the headquarters of the Limpets, each one of whom
was a stronger man than he, and whom Wyndham himself had often been put
to it to keep within bounds!

With an ominous shiver Riddell put on his cap and sallied out in the
direction of the Fourth.  A man about to throw himself over a precipice
could hardly have looked less cheerful!

Gilks's report had certainly been well founded, for long before the
captain reached his destination the roar of battle sounded up the
passage.  It may have been an ordinary Limpet row, or it may have been a
special diversion got up (with the connivance of one or two unfriendly
monitors) for the special benefit of the new captain.  Be that as it
may, it was a disturbance calling for instant suppression, and the idea
of Riddell going to suppress it was ridiculous even to himself.

He opened the door, unnoticed by the combatants within both on account
of the noise and the dust.  It was impossible to tell what the fight was
about; the blood on both sides was evidently up, and the battle, it was
clear, was anything but a mock one.  Riddell stood there for some time a
bewildered and unrecognised spectator.  It would be useless for him to
attempt to make himself heard above all the din, and worse than useless
to attempt single-handed to interpose between the combatants.  The only
thing to do seemed to be to wait till the battle was over.  But then,
thought Riddell, what would be the use of interfering when it was all
over?  His duty was to stop it, and stop it he must!

With which resolve, and taking advantage of a momentary lull in the
conflict, he advanced with a desperate effort towards a boy who appeared
to be the leader of one of the two parties, and who was gesticulating
and shouting at the top of his voice to encourage his followers.  This
champion did not notice the captain as he approached, and when he did,
he mistook him for one of the enemy, and sprang at him like a young
tiger, knocking him over just as the ranks once more closed, and the
battle began again.

What might have been Riddell's fate it would be hard to say had not a
loud shout of, "Man down there!  Hold hard!" suddenly suspended
hostilities.

Such a cry was never disregarded at Willoughby, even by the most
desperate of combatants, and every one stood now impatiently where he
was, waiting for the obstruction to regain his feet.

The spectacle which the new captain of Willoughby presented, as with
scared face and dust-covered garment he rose slowly from the floor, was
strange indeed.  It was a second or two before any one recognised him,
and then the boys seemed not to be sure whether it was not his ghost, so
mysteriously had he appeared in their midst, coming from no one knew
where.

As, however, the true state of affairs gradually dawned on them, a loud
shout of laughter rose on every hand, and the quarrel was at once
forgotten in the merriment occasioned by this wonderful apparition.

Riddell, pale and agitated, stood where he was as one in a dream, from
which he was only aroused by voices shouting out amid the laughter,
"Hullo! where did you come from?  What's the row?  Look at him!"

At the same time fellows crowded round him and offered to brush him
down, accompanying their violent services with bursts of equally violent
merriment.

With a hard effort Riddell shook himself free and stepped out of the
crowd.

"Please let me go," he said.  "I just came to say there was too much
noise, and--"

But the laughter of the Limpets drowned the rest, in the midst of which
he retired miserably to the door and escaped.

In the passage outside he met Bloomfield, with Wibberly and Game,
hurrying to the scene of the riot.  They scarcely deigned to recognise
him with anything more than a half-curious, half-contemptuous glance.

"Some one must stop this row!" said Bloomfield to his companions as they
passed.  "The doctor will be down on us."

"You stop it, Bloomfield!" said Wibberly; "they'll shut up for _you_."

This was all the unfortunate Riddell heard, except that in a few moments
the uproar from the Fourth Form room suddenly ceased, and was not
renewed.

"What did Bloomfield do this morning when he came into your room?" asked
Riddell that evening of Wyndham junior, a Limpet in whom, for his
brother's sake, the new captain felt a special interest, and whom he
invited as often as he liked to come and prepare his lessons with him.

"Oh!" said Wyndham, who had been one of the combatants, "he gave Watkins
and Cattermole a hiding, and swore he'd allow no removes from the
Limpets' eleven to the school second this term if there was any more
row."

This reply by no means added to Riddell's comfort.

"Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding."  Fancy _his_ attempting to give
Cattermole and Watkins a hiding!  And not only that, he had held out
some awful threat about Limpets' cricket, which appeared to have a
magical effect.

Fancy the effect of _his_ threatening to exclude a Limpet from the
second-eleven--when it was all he knew that the school had a second-
eleven!

The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the
morning were closing around him now in grim earnest!  The worst he had
feared had happened, and more than the worst.  It was now proved beyond
all doubt that he was utterly incompetent.  Would it not be sheer
madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?

The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago.  Of _course_
it's madness of him to attempt it.  A muff like Riddell never _could_ be
captain of a school, and it's all bosh to suppose he could be.  But, my
dear reader, a muff like Riddell _was_ the captain of a school; and
what's more he didn't give it up even after the day's adventures just
described.

Riddell was not perfect.  I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good
boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which
convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one.  Riddell was
not perfect.  He had a fault.  Can you believe it--he had many faults?
He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride.  Not the
sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your
neighbours.  Riddell really couldn't think that even had he wished it.
But his pride was of that kind which won't admit of anybody to help it,
which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own
it can't get through it, and which can never bring itself to say "I am
beaten," even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.

Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more
stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most
unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever
to remain its captain.

Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have
convinced him he was attempting an impossibility.  But these must be
reserved for the next chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

THE WILLOUGHBY PARLIAMENT IN SESSION.

The "Parliament" at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of
the school.  Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their
remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits "on the floor of
the house," when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his
famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by
Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours
long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present
bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in
one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head
master to put more treacle into the suet puddings!  They were exciting
days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.

The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the
school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its
proceedings.  There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed
or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the
school were not infringed.  The management was entirely in the hands of
the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for
the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.

The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long
tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as
closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself.
Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous
was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover
constituencies for the young members.  There was a Government and an
Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the "Ministers"
were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of
each session.  They were designated by the titles of their office.
There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the
Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he
first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!

Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill
or a resolution.  Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was
nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked)
usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good
chance of getting a date for his discussion.  Later on, when more
subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the
order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the
business for the next evening.

Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions.  Any
one was entitled to question the "Government" on matters affecting the
school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the
most entertaining part of an evening's business.  Naturally enough, it
was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions
asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent.  The Home
Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of
the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about
fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first
asked of the Premier, who, if he didn't find it convenient to answer
them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the
Government.

It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament
were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a
certain sense of order and respect for the "authority of the House"
which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from
degenerating into riots.  Another reason for the same result existed in
the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was
conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of
the school.  And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact
that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally
obnoxious.

The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May
sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble
this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the
election of a Speaker and a Government.

The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an
unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting
of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall,
arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of
the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited
assembly of members.

Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the "order
paper," which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door.  It
was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of
the prospect of a lively evening.

1.  "That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House."
Proposed by T.  Fairbairn; seconded by E.  Coates.

2.  "That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House."  Proposed by
G.  Game; seconded by R.  Ashley.

3.  "That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be
elected Speaker of this House."  Proposed, A.  Pilbury, Esquire;
seconded, L.  Philpot, Esq.

The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the
other two.  It had always been taken for granted that the captain of
Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election
for that office was without precedent.  Now, however, the old rule was
to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six
they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity
which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.

The clock sounded at last; every one was in his place.  The seniors sat
ranged on the front benches on either side of the table, and the others
crowded the benches behind them, impatiently waiting for the proceedings
to commence.

According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and
briefly proposed, "That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to
preside until after the election of a Speaker."

The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been
the signal for a loud ovation from the House.  But this year the cheers
were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away
languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere.  Riddell's
motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-
looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table
usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a
hammer once or twice, demanded silence.  This being secured, he called
out, "Mr Fairbairn!" and sat down.

Fairbairn's speech was brief and to the point.

"I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this
House.  I don't know that I need say anything in support of this."
("Oh, oh!" from a voice opposite.) "The captain always has been Speaker,
and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the
house and knows what the Speaker's duties are.  We all miss old
Wyndham,"--(loud cheers)--"but I'm sure Riddell will be a worthy
successor to him in the chair of this House."

Coates having said, "I beg to second the motion," Mr Isaacs put it to
the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment.  Whereupon Game rose,
amid loud cheers from all quarters.

Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow.  He meant what he
said, and generally said what he meant.  He was fully convinced in his
own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and
therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have
protested against him all the same.

"I beg to move an amendment," he said, "and it is this: That Mr
Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell."
(It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament
everybody was "Mr") "And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr
Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell.
(Loud Parrett cheers.)  I've nothing to say against Mr Riddell--(cheers
from the schoolhouse)--except that I don't consider he's the right man
in the right place.  (Great applause.)  He's been made captain against
our wishes,"--("Hear, hear," and "Oh, oh!")--"and we can't help it.  But
we're not obliged to have him captain here, and what's more, we don't
mean to!  (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.)  Mr
Bloomfield's our man.  Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two
minutes which Mr Riddell couldn't have stopped if he'd stayed till
now."  (Laughter, and cries of "Give him a clothes-brush!") "The fellows
all look up to Mr Bloomfield.  He ran grandly for the school at the
sports the other day, and licked the London fellow.  (Here the
enthusiasm became positively deafening.)  What's Mr Riddell done for
the school?  I should like to know.  We want a fellow who has done
something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield's our man, and I
hope you'll elect him Speaker."

Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of
pleasure even to his serious face.

Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this
uncomplimentary oration upon him.

At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered
to Fairbairn, who sat next him, "Don't you think I'd better go?"

"For goodness' sake, no!" exclaimed Fairbairn.  "Don't be a fool,
Riddell."

The caution had its weight.  Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that
being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the
unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly
perplexed his adversaries.

Ashley, who seconded Game's motion, was hardly so fortunate in his
remarks as his predecessor.

"I second the motion, gentlemen," he said.  "It's time we made a stand
against this sort of thing."  ("What sort of thing?" from voices on the
schoolhouse side.) "Why, schoolhouse tyranny.  (Frantic Parrett cheers.)
Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of
your precious schoolhouse?"  ("Question!"  "Order!" drowned by renewed
cheers.) "Why, just because he's a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be
stuck over us? and just because he's a Parrett's fellow, is a splendid
fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole
school?  (Loud cheers.)  It's time Willoughby found out that Parrett is
the cock house of the school."  ("Oh! oh!" from the Welchers.) "It's got
the best men in it.  (Parrett cheers.)  It's head of the river."  ("Oh
no, not yet," from Fairbairn.) "Well, it will be very soon.  It's ahead
in everything."  ("Except intelligence," from Crossfield.) "No, I don't
even except intelligence.  (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.)
And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion."

This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley's spirited address
did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own
partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the
schoolhouse boys.

The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet.  This was the
signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all
quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening
to.

"Mr Limpet, sir,"--(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers
on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself
thus appealed to)--"I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable
member who has just sat down for the `sign of intelligence' he has just
favoured us with.  (Laughter.)  We've been looking for it for a long
time--(laughter)--and it's come at last!  (Cheers and laughter.)  Sir,
it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice.
I'm not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday.  A
sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman!  And what is the sign,
sir?  (Laughter.)  The hon. member seconds the motion."  ("Hear, hear!"
from Parrett's.) "Gentlemen of the same party say `Hear, hear!' as much
as to say, `We, too, show signs of intelligence!'  Do you really,
gentlemen?  I could not have believed it.  (Loud laughter.)  Why does he
second the motion?  Because he's a Parrett's boy, and Mr Bloomfield is
a Parrett's boy, and all Parrett's boys say a Parrett's boy ought to be
the head of the school!  Gentlemen, parrots aren't always to be trusted,
even when they show signs of intelligence!  (Cheers and laughter.)
Don't you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots.  (Laughter.)  I
prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment.  He says
he doesn't think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain.  (Cheers.)  I agree
with him--(tremendous Parrett's cheers, and consternation of
schoolhouse)--I don't think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain.  He
doesn't think so himself."  ("Hear, hear!" from Riddell, and laughter.)
"But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man.  (Loud cheers.)  I
don't agree with that at all.  Mr Riddell knows very little about
sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this
morning.  (Derisive cheers.)  Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little
about classics!  (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.)  Why, gentlemen,
do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn't translate `Balbus
hopped over a wall' without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit
to be a Willoughby captain?"  (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of
"Time!" from Parretts.) "I say not.  Even though he's a Parrett's boy,
and therefore can show a sign of intelligence!  (Laughter.)  No; what I
say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and
until you can show me a less bad one, I'll vote for him."

This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant
laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except
the Parrett's fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.

However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill
voice was heard from the other end of the hall, "Sir!  It is time the
Welchers had a word!"

This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which
every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was
none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!

He stood surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared
defiantly out on the assembly generally, and "backed up their man" till
he could hardly breathe.

"It's all very well," screamed Pilbury.  (Loud cheers from Cusack and
Philpot.)  But here the chairman's hammer sounded and cries of "Order"
checked the orator's progress.

"The hon. member," said Isaacs, "cannot propose his motion till the
motion before the House is disposed of."

Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.

"I _shall_ propose it," he cried, "and you'd better shut up, old Ikey!"

Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions
were parliamentary?

Isaacs said, "Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them."

Mr Pilbury said "he'd withdraw his grandmother," and attempted to
continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon.
member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to
hear him.  After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled
down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game's amendment
continued.

It was hot and exciting.  The arguments were mostly on the side of the
schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett's.  Once or twice
a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice
a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett's boy
spoke in favour of Riddell.  At last, after about an hour's angry
debate, the House divided.  That is, all those in favour of Game's
amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to
the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in
the middle.

There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they
stood.  Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the
schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of
the room along which Game and his followers took their stand.  The
triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school
had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late
appointment.

Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own
accord rather than remain to be beaten.  But his friends had all opposed
the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them.  He now took his
defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr
Isaac's call.

"Now, Mr Pilbury!"

Mr Pilbury was "off his speech."  If he had been allowed to proceed
when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he
told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him.
However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, "Sir,
it is time the Welchers had a word."

He didn't mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.

"Why shouldn't old Cusack here--" ("Order, order")--"What's the row?"

Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were
always called "Mr"

"Mr Cusack, then," said Pilbury, "it's just a dodge of Ikey to floor me
in my speech.  Why shouldn't old Mr Cusack-- Eh, what say?"

This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his
ally.

"Go it, let out at them," he whispered.

"Why shouldn't old Mr Cusack go it and let out--that is--all right,
Philpot, you pig, I'll pay you out, see if I don't.  Why shouldn't old
Mr Cusack, gentlemen--er--"

"Do," suggested Cusack himself.

"Do," shouted Pilbury, "do, gentlemen--do?  Why shouldn't--(all right,
Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts)--why shouldn't old Mr Cusack--"

"Does any gentleman second the amendment?" asked Mr Isaacs, evidently
getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.

"Yes," shouted Philpot, "Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do--and--"

"Wait a bit, you howling cad," exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement.  "I've
not done yet!"

"Mr Philpot!" said Mr Isaacs.

"Philpot be blowed," cried the irate Pilbury, "wait till I'm done."

"Order, order," shouted members on all sides.

"Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot," began Isaacs.

"Easy all," cried Philpot, "I've not spoken yet."

"Order, order," cried Isaacs.

"Order yourself," retorted Philpot, "I've got a right to speak."

"So have I," said Pilbury, "and I was up first."

"Forge away," said Philpot, "you'll be all right."

"Nothing to do with you if I _am_ all right," snarled Pilbury.

"You seem to think you're the only fellow can talk."

"Ays to the right, noes to the left," said Isaacs, in a loud voice.

The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could
make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost
by a majority of three hundred odd to one.

In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as
much noise as they possibly could in doing so.

As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be
elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the
schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.

Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and
as soon as silence could be restored, said, "I'm much obliged to you all
for your vote.  I hope Willoughby won't go down.  I'll try to prevent it
for one.  (Loud cheers.)  I'm very proud to be elected your Speaker, and
feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school."  (Loud
cries of "So you are!"--from Parrett's.) "In reference to what one
gentleman said about me, I hope you won't believe it.  I'm twelfth in
classics.  (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from
Parrett's.)  That's all I have to say."

The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had
gone before.  The elections for the various posts in the Government did
not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who
deserted the meeting soon after they began.  After what had occurred it
is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the
Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to
their own advantage.  When the list was finally declared, it was found
that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the "Cabinet."
He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer.  Game was First Lord of
the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and
Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier.  All these, as well as
the other officers appointed, were Parrett's fellows, who may have
flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in
each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most
distinguished boys of Willoughby.

Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was
particularly sorry when it did.

CHAPTER NINE.

A SCIENTIFIC AFTERNOON IN WELCH'S.

"Pil," said Cusack, a few days after the unfortunate end to that
gentleman's "motion" in Parliament--"Pil, it strikes me we can do pretty
much as we like these times.  What do you think?"

"Well, I don't know," said Pil, meditatively; "I got a pot from Coates
to-day for playing fives against the schoolhouse door."

"Oh yes; of course, if you fool about out of doors you'll get potted.
What I mean is, indoors here there's no one to pull us up that I can
see."

"Oh!  I see what you mean," said Pil.  "Yes, you're about right there."

"Gully, you know," continued Cusack--"Gully's no good as master of a
house; he's always grubbing over his books.  Bless his heart! it doesn't
matter to him whether we cut one another's throats!"

"Not it!  I dare say he'd be rather glad if we did," replied Pilbury.

"Then there's Tucker.  No fear of his reporting us, eh!"

"Rather not! when he's always breaking rules himself, and slinking down
to Shellport, and kicking up rows with the other chaps.  What do you
think I found in his brush-and-comb bag the other day?  Thirteen cigar-
ends!  He goes about collecting them in Shellport, I suppose, and
finishes them up on the quiet."

"Oh, he's a beast!" said Cusack.  "And old Silk's about as bad.  He
doesn't care a bit what we do as long as he enjoys himself.  Don't
suppose he'd be down on us, do you?"

"No fear!  He might pot us now and then for appearances' sake, but he
wouldn't report us, I guess."

"And suppose he did," said Cusack; "the new captain's as big a muff as
all the lot of them put together.  He's afraid to look at a chap.
Didn't you hear what he did to the Parrett's kids the other day?"

"Yes; didn't I!" exclaimed Pilbury.  "He let them all off, and begged
their pardons or something.  But I'm jolly glad Parrett was down on
them.  He's stopped their river-play, and they won't be able to show up
at the regatta."

"I'm jolly glad!" said Cusack; "chaps like them deserve to catch it,
don't they, Pil?"

"Rather!" replied Pilbury.

A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating
upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.

Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, "Beastly slow, isn't it,
Cusack?"

"What's beastly slow?"

"Oh, everything!  No fun kicking up a row if there's no one to pull you
up.  I'm getting sick of rows."

Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks.  He could not
be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.

"Fact is," continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one
foot on the corner of the fender, "I've half a notion to go in for being
steady this term, old man, just for a change."

As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under
him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.

Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, "Rather a rum
start, isn't it?"

"Well," said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by
the treacherous fender, "I don't see what else there is to do.  Any chap
can fool about.  I'm fagged of fooling about; ain't you?"

"I don't know," said Cusack, doubtfully.  "It's not such a lark as it
used to be, certainly."

"What do you say to going it steady this term?" asked Pilbury.

"Depends on what you mean by `steady.'  If you mean never going out of
bounds or using cribs, I'm not game."

"Oh, I don't mean that, you know," said Pilbury.  "What I mean is,
shutting up rows, and that sort of thing."

"What can a fellow do?" asked Cusack, dubiously.

"Oh, lots to do, you know," said Pilbury--"dominoes, you know, or
spellicans.  I've got a box at home."

"Jolly slow always playing dominoes," said Cusack, "or spellicans."

"Well, then, there's--"

"Hold hard!" broke in Cusack, struck with a sudden idea.  "What's the
name of the thing old Philpot's always at?"

"What, chemistry?  Jolly good idea, old man!  Let's go in for that."

"Not a bad lark," said Cusack--"lots of explosions and things.  Philpot
told me he could make Pharaoh's serpents, and smells like rotten eggs.
We'll get him to coach us, eh, Pil?"

"I'm game," said Pil, no less delighted than his friend at this happy
thought.

And, full of their new idea of "going it steady," the two worthies
forthwith sallied out and made hue and cry for Philpot.

Unless Philpot in his leisure moments was engaged in some predatory
expedition, or happened to be serving a term of imprisonment in the
detention room, it was a pretty safe guess to look for him in the
laboratory, where as an ardent student of science he was permitted to
resort, and within certain limits practise for himself.  Philpot himself
bore the office of "second under bottle-washer" in Willoughby; that is,
he assisted the boy who assisted the chemistry fag who assisted the
assistant master to the science master; and _on_ the strength of this
distinction he was allowed some special privileges in the way of
improving himself in his favourite branch of study.  He was on the whole
rather a promising pupil, and had a very fair idea of the properties of
the several substances he was allowed to experiment with.  Indeed he had
had to pass an examination and perform some experiments in the presence
of the master before he was allowed to enter the laboratory as a private
student at all.  No one knew exactly how he distinguished himself on
that occasion, or how he succeeded with his experiments, but it was
well-known that, if he had succeeded then, he had never done so since;
that is, according to anybody's idea but his own.

Cusack and Pilbury found him busy blowing through a tube into a bottle
of water, looking very like a purple cherub bursting at the cheeks.  He
was so engrossed with his task that he did not even notice their entry,
indeed it was not till Pilbury had stepped behind him and clapped him
suddenly on either side of the face, making his cheeks explode like a
small balloon, and spilling the contents of his bottle all over the
table, that he became aware that he had visitors.  "What a frightful
idiot you are, Pilbury!" he exclaimed; "you've spoilt that whole
experiment.  I wish you'd shut up fooling and get out."

"Awfully sorry, old man," said Pilbury, "but you did look so jolly
puffed out, you know; didn't he, Cusack?"

"Now you've done, you'd better hook it," said Philpot, "you've not got
leave to come here."

"Oh, don't be riled," said Cusack; "the fact is, Pil and I came to see
if you'd put us up to a thing or two in this sort of business."

"We've gone on the steady, Phil, you know," explained Pilbury, in
conciliatory tones, "and thought it would be rather jolly if we three
worked up a little chemistry together."

"We'd watch you do the things at first, of course," said Cusack, "till
we twigged all the dodges."

"And it would be jolly good practice for you, you know, in case ever old
Mix-'em-up is laid up, and you have to lecture instead."

Philpot regarded his two would-be pupils doubtfully, but softened
considerably as they went on.

"You'll have to promise not to fool," said he, presently, "or there'll
be a row."

"Oh, rather; we won't touch anything without asking, will we, Pil?"
replied Cusack.  "Awfully brickish of you, Philpot."

Philpot took the compliment very complacently, and the two students
settled themselves one on either side of the table and waited for
operations to begin.

"Wire in, old man," said Pilbury, encouragingly; "cut all the jaw, you
know, and start with the experiments.  Can't you give us a jolly flare-
up to begin with?"

"All serene," said Philpot, who had now quite recovered his humour, and
was pleased to find himself in the position of an instructor of youth,
"wait a bit, then."

He reached down from a shelf a large saucer containing water, in which
lay a round substance rather like the end of a stick of peppermint-rock.
On this Philpot began to operate with a pair of scissors, greatly to
the amusement of his spectators, for try all he would he couldn't get
hold of it.

"What are you trying to do?" said Cusack.

"Cut a bit off," said Philpot, trying to stick the substance with a long
bodkin, in order to hold it steady.

"Why, that's not the way to cut it, you old dolt," said Pilbury.  "Here,
I'll do it," and he advanced to the saucer.

"What'll you do?"

"Why, fish it out, of course, and cut it then."

"You'd better not try.  It's phosphorus."

"Is it, though--and what does it do?"

"Burn you, rather, unless you keep it in water.  Ah, got him at last."

So saying Philpot triumphantly spiked the obstinate piece of phosphorus,
and succeeded in cutting off a small piece.

"Is that what makes the flare-up?" asked Cusack.

"Yes, wait a bit, till I get the jar."

"What jar?" asked Pilbury.  "Here's one; will this do?"

"Look out, I say!" exclaimed Philpot, in great excitement; "let it go,
will you?"

"What's the row?" asked Pilbury and Cusack, both in alarm.

"Why, that's got my oxygen in it," cried Philpot, securing the bottle
and gently lifting it on to the table, taking care to hold the glass
plate that covered the mouth in its place.

"Got his what in it?" asked Cusack.

"Oxygen.  It took me an hour to get."

"There's nothing in that empty jar," said Pilbury, laughing.  "Isn't
there, though?" said Philpot; "it's full."

"You mean to say that jar's full of something," said Cusack.  "Look
here, don't you try to stuff us up.  What's the use of saying it's full
when it's empty?"

"It's full of gas, I tell you," said Philpot.  "Don't you talk till you
know."

This rebuke somewhat silenced the two devotees of science, who, however,
continued to regard the jar sceptically and rather contemptuously.

Philpot next dived into a drawer and drew from it a large cork, through
which passed a long wire having a small cup at the lower end.

"Now look out," he said.

He proceeded to shovel the small piece of phosphorus into the little cup
under the cork, and drawing it out of the water, applied a light.  The
phosphorus lit up immediately, and at the same instant he slipped the
glass plate off the mouth of the oxygen jar, and clapped the cork, with
the wire and cup hanging down from it, in its place.  The effect was
magical.  The moment the phosphorus was introduced into the oxygen it
flared up with a brilliancy that perfectly dazzled the spectators, and
made the entire jar look like one mass of light.

The two pupils were delighted; Philpot was complacently triumphant; when
all of a sudden there was a loud report, the illumination suddenly
ceased, and the jar, broken to pieces, collapsed.

Pilbury and Cusack, who at the first alarm had retreated somewhat
suddenly to the door, returned as soon as they perceived there was no
danger, and were profuse in their praises of the experiment and the
experimenter.

"Awfully prime, that was!" cried Cusack; "wasn't it, Pil?"

"Stunning!" said Pilbury.

"Jolly grind that jar bursting up, though," said Philpot, with a
troubled countenance.

"Why, wasn't that part of the show-off?" asked Pilbury.  "Part of the
show-off!  No!" exclaimed Philpot.  "I thought it was the best part of
it all," said Cusack.  "So did I.  No end of a bust up it was."

"You see," said Philpot, solemnly, "what I ought to have done was to
dilute the oxygen with a little air first, but you fellows flurried me
so I forgot all about it."

"Jolly glad you did, or we'd have missed the bust up," said Cusack.  "I
say, can't we try now?  I know the way to do it quite well."

But this proposal Philpot flatly declined to accede to, and could only
appease their disappointment by promising to perform one other
experiment for their benefit.

This was of rather an elaborate nature.  The operator first placed in a
saucer some stuff which he explained was iodine.  On to this he poured
from a small bottle which smelt uncommonly like smelling-salts a small
quantity of liquid, and then proceeded to stir the concoction up.

The two students were not to be restrained from offering their services
at this point, and Philpot yielded.  After they had stirred to their
hearts' content, Philpot ordered them to desist and let it stand a bit.

This they consented to do, and occupied the interval in taking down and
smelling all the bottles within reach, with a hardihood that frightened
the wits out of poor Philpot.

"Look here," he said, when presently Pilbury suddenly dropped one bottle
with a crash to the floor, and began violently spitting and choking,
"you promised you wouldn't touch anything, and I'll shut up if you go on
fooling any more.  Serves you right, Pil, so it does."

It was some time before the unfortunate Pil recovered from the results
of his unlucky experiment, and even when he did, the odours from the
broken bottle were so offensive that the windows had to be opened wide
before the atmosphere of the room became tolerable.  It wouldn't have
taken so long, only it was deemed advisable to shut the door at the same
time to prevent the smell getting outside and telling tales to the
school at large.

By the time this pleasant diversion was disposed of the concoction in
the saucer had recovered from its stirring, and Philpot declared it was
ready to go ahead with.

He therefore placed another saucer upside down upon this one, and
carefully strained off between the two all the liquid, leaving only a
black powder in the saucer, which he announced was iodide of nitrogen.

"Jolly rum name," said Cusack, "what does it do?"

"You wait a bit," said Philpot, scooping the wet powder up with the end
of a knife and spreading it out on small separate pieces of paper.

"Fellow's born a chemist," said Pilbury, watching him admiringly;
"that's just what old Joram does at the dispensary.  What's all the
spread out for?"

"To dry it," said Philpot.

"Why don't you stick it on the shovel and hold it over the gas?"
suggested Cusack.  "Jolly fag waiting till it dries itself."

"Oh, it won't be long," said Philpot.

"And what's it going to do when it's done?" asked Cusack.

"Hope it'll flare-up like the other," said Pilbury.

"It ought to," said Philpot.

"Ought it?  Hurrah!  I say, Cusack, what a jolly clever beggar old Phil
is, isn't he?"

"Rather," said the admiring Cusack, perching himself on the side of the
table and swinging his legs to pass the time.

"Oh," said Philpot, condescendingly, "it only wants a little practice."

"Rather; I mean to practise hard, don't you, Cusack?"

Cusack said, Yes he did, and proceeded to prowl round the laboratory in
a manner that made Philpot very uncomfortable.

It was a relief to all parties when the powders were at last pronounced
to be dry.

"Now," said Philpot, taking up one of the small papers gently on the
flat of his hand, "we shall have to be careful."

"That little lot won't make half a flare," suggested Pilbury; "let's
have two or three at once."

So saying he lifted up one of the other papers and emptied its contents
into the paper on Philpot's hand.

"Look out," said Philpot, "it'll blow up."

"Eh, what?" cried Cusack, jumping off the table in his excitement at the
glorious news.

As he did so Philpot uttered a cry, which was accompanied by a loud
crackling explosion, and a dense volume of blue smoke, which made the
boys turn pale with terror.  For a moment neither of them could move or
utter a sound except Philpot, who danced round and round the room in the
smoke howling and wringing his hand.

When at last they did recover presence of mind enough to inquire of
their preceptor if he was injured, it was in tones of terrible alarm.

"Oh, Phil, old man, are you hurt?  What was it?  We're so awfully sorry.
Is your hand blown off?"

"No," said Philpot, continuing to wring his injured hand, but otherwise
considerably recovered, "it was your fault jumping off the table.  The
beastly stuff goes off almost if you look at it.  It's lucky it wasn't
all dry, or I might have had my eyes out!"

It was a great relief to find matters were no worse, and that in a very
few minutes Philpot's hand had recovered from the smart of the
explosion.  This accident, however, decided the young enthusiasts that
for the present they had perhaps had enough chemistry for one lesson.

In a few days, however, they had all sufficiently got over the shock of
the last afternoon's experiments to decide on a fresh venture, and these
lessons continued, on and off, during the rest of the term.  It can
hardly be said that by the end of the term Pilbury or Cusack knew any
more about chemistry than they had known this first day.  They
persistently refused to listen to any of Philpot's "jaw," as they rudely
termed his attempts at explanation, and confined themselves to the
experiments.  However, though in many respects they wasted their time
over their new pursuit, these volatile youths might have been a good
deal worse employed.

In fact, if every Welcher had been no worse employed that house would
not have brought all the discredit on Willoughby which it did.  As it
was, everybody there seemed to follow his own sweet will without a
single thought for the good of the school or the welfare of his fellows.
The heads of the house, Tucker and Silk, did not even attempt to set a
good example, and that being so, it was hardly to be expected those
below them would be much interested to supply the deficiencies.

On the very afternoon when Pilbury and Cusack had been sitting at the
feet of the learned Philpot in the laboratory, Silk, a monitor, had,
along with Gilks, of the schoolhouse, a monitor too, gone down to
Shellport, against all rules, taking Wyndham junior, one of their
special _proteges_, with them.

They appeared to be pretty familiar with the ins and outs of the big
town, and though on this occasion they occupied their time in no more
disgraceful a way than waiting on the harbour pier to see the mail
steamer come in, they yet felt, all three of them, as if they would by
no means like to be seen by any one who knew them.

And it appeared as if they were going to be spared this embarrassment,
for they encountered no one they knew till they were actually on their
way home.

Then, just as they were passing the station door, they met, to their
horror, a boy in a college cap just coming out with a parcel under his
arm.  To their astonishment, it proved to be no other than Riddell
himself.

Riddell, who had come down by a special "permit" from the doctor to get
a parcel--containing, by the way, his new boating flannels--at first
looked as astonished and uncomfortable as the three truants themselves.
He would sooner have had anything happen to him than such a meeting.
However, as usual, his sense of duty came to his rescue.

He advanced to the group in a nervous manner, and, addressing Wyndham,
said, hurriedly, "Please come to my room this evening, Wyndham," and
then, without waiting for a reply, or staying to notice the ominous
looks of the two monitors, he departed, and proceeded as fast as he
could back to Willoughby.

CHAPTER TEN.

WYNDHAM JUNIOR AND HIS FRIENDS.

Wyndham, the old captain, just before leaving Willoughby, had done his
best to interest Riddell in the welfare of his young brother, a Limpet
in the Fourth.

"I wish you'd look after him now and then, Riddell," he said; "he's not
a bad fellow, I fancy, but he's not got quite enough ballast on board,
and unless there's some one to look after him he's very likely to get
into bad hands."

Riddell promised he would do his best, and the elder brother was most
grateful.

"I shall be ever so much easier _now_," he said, "and it's awfully good
of you, Riddell.  I wouldn't care for the young 'un to go wrong, you
know.  Thanks very much, old man."

And so it came to pass that among the legacies which the old captain
left behind him at Willoughby, the one which fell to Riddell was a young
brother, slightly rickety in character and short of ballast.

A parting request like Wyndham's would have been very hard for any
friend to refuse; but to Riddell the promise "to look after young
Wyndham" meant a great deal more than it would have done to many other
fellows.  It was not enough for him to make occasional inquiries as to
his young _protege_, or even to try to shield him when he fell into
scrapes.  Riddell's idea of looking after a rickety youngster included a
good deal more than this, and from the moment the old captain had left,
amid all his _own_ tribulations and adversities, the thought of young
Wyndham had saddled itself on Riddell's conscience with an uncomfortable
weight.

This was the reason why he made the boy free of his study, and gave up a
good deal of his own time in helping him with his work.  And it was the
same reason which prompted him on the afternoon spoken of in the last
chapter, much against his inclination, to accost the three truants in
Shellport, and request Wyndham to come to his study.

"You're in for a nice sermon, my boy," said Gilks, as the three walked
home.

"I wish he hadn't seen us," said Wyndham, feeling uncomfortable.

"Why, you don't suppose he'll lick you?" said Silk, laughing.

"No, but he'll be awfully vexed."

"Vexed!" cried Gilks.  "Poor fellow!  How I'd like to comfort him!  Take
my advice and forget all about going to his study.  He'll not be sorry,
I can tell you."

"Oh, I must go," said Wyndham.  "I don't want to offend him."

"Kind of you," said Silk, laughing.  "Funny thing how considerate a
fellow can be to another fellow who does his lessons for him."

Wyndham blushed, but said nothing.  He knew these two companions were
not the sort of boys his brother would have cared to have him associate
with, nor did he particularly like them himself.  But when two senior
boys take the trouble to patronise a junior and make fun of his
"peculiarities," as they called his scruples, it is hardly surprising
that the youngster comes out a good way to meet his patrons.

Wyndham, by the way, was rather more than a youngster.  He was a Limpet,
and looked back on the days of fagging as a long-closed chapter of his
history.  Had he been a junior like Telson or Pilbury, it would have
been less likely either that Game and Silk would take such trouble to
cultivate his acquaintance, or that he would submit himself so easily to
their patronage.  As it was, he was his own master.  Nobody had a right
to demand his services, neither had he yet attained to the
responsibilities of a monitor.  He could please himself, and therefore
yielded himself unquestioningly to the somewhat flattering attentions of
the two seniors.

No, not quite unquestioningly.  Short as was the time since his brother
had left, it had been long enough for Riddell to let the boy see that he
wished to be his friend.  He had never told him so in words, but Wyndham
could guess what all the kind interest which the new captain evinced in
him meant.  And it was the thought of this that kept alive the one or
two scruples he still retained in joining himself to the society of
Gilks and Silk.

And so he declined the invitation of these two friends to defy the
captain's summons.

"Well," said Gilks, "if you must put your head into the lion's mouth,
you must, mustn't he, Silk?  But I say, as you _are_ to get pulled up, I
don't see why you shouldn't have all the fun you can for your money.
What do you say to a game of skittles at Beamish's?"

"_What_ a nice boy you are!" said Silk, laughing; "the young 'un doesn't
know Beamish's."

"Not know Beamish's!--at the Aquarium!" said Gilks.

"No.  What is he?" inquired Wyndham.

"He's the Aquarium!" said Gilks, laughing.

"And do they play skittles in the Aquarium?" asked the boy.

"Rather!" said Silk; "it amuses the fishes, you know."  Beamish's was,
as Gilks had said, another name for the Shellport Aquarium--a
disreputable place of resort, whose only title to the name of Aquarium
was that it had in it, in an obscure corner which nobody ever explored,
a small tank, which might have contained fishes if there had been any
put into it.  As it was, the last thing any one went to Beamish's for
was to study fishes, the other attractions of the place--the skittles,
bowls, and refreshment bars--being far more popular.  These things in
themselves, of course, were not enough to make Beamish's a bad place.
That character was supplied by the company that were mostly in the habit
of frequenting it, of which it is enough to say it was the very reverse
of select.

At this time of day, however, the place was almost empty, and when,
after a good deal of chaff and persuasion, Wyndham was induced to take a
little turn round the place, he was surprised to find it so quiet and
unobjectionable.  The boys had a short game at skittles and a short game
at bowls, and bought a few buns and an ice at the refreshment stall, and
then departed schoolwards.

They reached Willoughby in good time for call-over, no one except
Riddell being aware of their pleasant expedition.  Still Wyndham, when
it was all _over_, did not feel altogether comfortable.  Not that he
thought what he had done was very bad, or that he had sinned in
deceiving the masters and breaking the rules of the school.  What
troubled him was that he knew Riddell would be vexed.

He repaired to the captain's study with his books as usual after evening
chapel and found him busy over his work.

But as soon as the boy entered, Riddell pushed the papers away rather
nervously.

"Well, Wyndham," said he, "I'm glad you've come."

Wyndham deposited his books and looked rather uncomfortable.

Riddell had rather hoped the boy would refer to the subject first, but
he did not.  Riddell therefore said, "I was sorry to see you down in
Shellport this afternoon, Wyndham.  You hadn't a permit, had you?"

"No," said Wyndham.

"It's hardly the thing, is it?" said the captain, quietly, after a
pause.

His voice, devoid of all anger or self-importance, made Wyndham still
more uncomfortable.

"I'm awfully sorry," said he.  "I suppose I oughtn't to have gone.  I
beg your pardon, Riddell."

"Oh!" said Riddell, "don't do that, please."

"You know," said Wyndham, "as those two took me, it didn't seem to be
much harm.  We only went to see the steamer come in."

"The thing is," said Riddell, "it was against the rules."

"But Gilks and Silk are both monitors, aren't they?"

"They are," said the captain, with a touch of bitterness in his tone.

There was another pause, this time a long one.  Neither boy seemed
inclined to return to the subject.  Wyndham opened his books and made a
pretence of beginning his work, and Riddell fidgeted with the papers
before him.  In the mind of the latter a hurried debate was going on.

"What had I better do?  I might send him up to the doctor and perhaps
get him expelled.  It might be the best thing for him too, for if those
two have got hold of him he's sure to go wrong.  I can't do anything to
keep him from them.  And yet, I promised old Wynd--I must try; I might
help to keep him straight.  God help me!"

Is the reader astonished that the captain of a great public school
should so far forget himself as to utter a secret prayer in his own
study about such a matter as the correction of a young scapegrace?  It
_was_ an unusual thing to do, certainly; and probably if Wyndham had
known what was passing in the captain's mind he would have thought more
poorly of his brother's friend than he did.  But I am not quite sure,
reader, whether Riddell was committing such an absurdity as some persons
might think; or whether you or I, or any other fellow in a similar
position, would be any the worse for forgetting ourselves in the same
way.  What do you think?  It is worth thinking over, when you have time.

"God help me," said Riddell to himself, and he felt his mind wonderfully
cleared already as he said it.

Clearer, that is, as to what he ought to do, but still rather
embarrassed as to how to do it.  But he meant to try.

"I say, Wyndham," he said, in his quiet way.  "I want to ask your
advice."

"What about?" asked Wyndham, looking up in surprise.  "About those
fellows?"

"Not exactly.  It's more about myself," said the captain.

"What about you?" asked Wyndham.

"Why, there's a fellow in the school I'm awfully anxious to do some good
to," began Riddell.

"Rather a common failing of yours," said Wyndham.

"Wanting to do it is more common than doing it," said Riddell; "but I
don't know how to tackle this fellow, Wyndham."

"Who is he?  Do I know him?" asked the boy.

"I'm not sure that you know him particularly well," said the captain.
"He's not a bad fellow; in fact he has a lot of good in him."

"Is he a Limpet?" asked Wyndham.

"But," continued Riddell, not noticing the question, "he's got a horrid
fault.  He won't stand up for himself, Wyndham."

"Oh," observed Wyndham, "there's a lot of them like that--regular
cowards they are."

"Exactly, this fellow's one of them.  He's always funking it."

Wyndham laughed.

"I know who you mean--Tedbury, isn't it?"

"No, that's not his name," said Riddell.  "He's a nicer sort of fellow
than Tedbury.  There are one or two fellows that are always down on him,
too.  They see he's no pluck, and so they think they can do what they
like with him."

"Meekins gets a good deal mauled about by some of the others," said
Wyndham.

"This fellow gets a good deal more damaged than Meekins," said the
captain.  "In fact he gets so mauled his friends will soon hardly be
able to recognise him."

Wyndham looked sharply at the speaker.  Riddell was quite grave and
serious, and proceeded quietly, "The worst of it is, this fellow's quite
well able to stick up for himself if he likes, and could easily hold his
own.  Only he's lazy, or else he likes getting damaged."

"Are you making all this up?" demanded Wyndham colouring.

Riddell took no notice of the inquiry, but continued rather more
earnestly, "Now I'd like your advice, Wyndham, old fellow.  I want to do
this fellow a good turn.  Which do you suppose would be the best turn to
do him; to pitch into the fellows that are always doing him harm? or to
try to persuade him to stick up for himself and not let them do just
what they like with him, eh?"

Wyndham had seen it all before the question was ended, and hung down his
head in silence.

Riddell did not disturb him, but waited quietly, and, if truth be told,
anxiously, till he should reply.

Presently the boy looked up with a troubled face, and said, "I know I'm
an awful fool, Riddell."

"But you're not obliged to be," said the captain, cheerily.

"I'll try not to be, I really will," said Wyndham.  "Only--"

"Only what?" asked Riddell, after a pause.

"Only somehow I never think of it at the time."

"I know," said Riddell, kindly.

"Why only this afternoon," said Wyndham, drawn out by the sympathy of
his companion, "I tried to object to going down to the town, and they
made up some excuse, so that I would have seemed like a regular prig to
hold out, and so I went.  I'm awfully sorry now.  I know I'm a coward,
Riddell; I ought to have stuck out."

"I think you ought," said Riddell; "they would probably have laughed at
you, and possibly tried to bully you a bit.  But you can take care of
yourself, I fancy, when it comes to that, eh?"

"I can about the bullying," said Wyndham.

"And so," said Riddell, "you really advise me to say to this fellow I
was telling you about, to stand up for himself and not let himself be
led about by any one?"

"Except you, Riddell," said the boy.

"No," said Riddell, "not even me.  _I_ can't profess to tell you all you
ought to do."

"I should like to know who can, if you can't?" said Wyndham.

"I think we both know," said Riddell, gravely.

The conversation ended here.  For an hour and a half after that each boy
was busy over his work, and neither spoke a word.  Their thoughts may
not all have been in the books before them; in fact it may safely be
said they were not.  But they were thoughts that did not require words.
Only when Wyndham rose to go, and wished his friend good-night, Riddell
indirectly referred to the subject of their talk.

"By the way, Wyndham, Isaacs has given up the school librarianship; I
suppose you know.  How would you like to take it?"

"What has a fellow got to do?" asked Wyndham.

"You have to issue the new books every Monday and collect the old ones
every Saturday.  There are about one hundred boys subscribe, and they
order the new book when they give up the old, so it's simple enough."

"Takes a lot of time, doesn't it?" said Wyndham.

"No, not very much, I believe.  Isaacs shirked it a good deal, and you'd
have to keep the lists rather better than he did.  But I fancy you'd
enjoy it rather; and," he added, "it will be an excuse for seeing less
of some not very nice friends."

Wyndham said he would take the post, and went off happier in his own
mind than he had been for a long time, and leaving Riddell happier too,
despite all his failures and vexations elsewhere, than he had been since
he became captain of Willoughby.

But, though happy, he could hardly be elated.  His effort that evening
had certainly been a success, but how long would its effects last?

Riddell was not fool enough to imagine that his promise to old Wyndham
was now discharged by that one evening's talk.  He knew the boy well
enough to be sure that the task was only just begun.  And his
thankfulness at having made a beginning was tempered with many anxieties
for the future.  And he might well be anxious!

For a day or two Wyndham was an altered boy.  He surprised his masters
by his attention in class, and his schoolfellows--all except Riddell--by
the steadiness of his behaviour.  He avoided his former companions, and
devoted himself with enthusiasm to his new duties as librarian, to which
the doctor, at Riddell's suggestion, had appointed him.

This alteration, approved of as it was in many quarters, was by no means
appreciated by two boys at Willoughby.  It was not that they cared
twopence about the society of their young Limpet, or that they had any
moral objection to good behaviour and steady work.  What irritated Gilks
and Silk over the business was that they saw in it the hand of an enemy,
and felt that the present change in their _protege_ was due to Riddell's
influence in opposition to their own.  The two monitors felt hurt at
this; it was like a direct snub aimed at them, and, considering the
quarter from which it came, they did not like it at all.

"This sort of thing won't do," said Gilks to his friend one day, shortly
after Riddell's talk with Wyndham.  "The young 'un's cut our
acquaintance."

"Hope we shall recover in time," said Silk, sneering.  "Yes; he's gone
decidedly `pi.' the last week."

"It's all that reverend prig's doing!" growled Gilks.  "I mean to spoil
his little game for him, though," added he.  "How'll you do it?" asked
Silk.  "That's just it!  I wish I knew," said Gilks.

"Oh! leave it to me, I'll get at him somehow.  I don't suppose he's too
far gone yet."

Accordingly Silk took an early opportunity of meeting his young friend.

"Ah!  Wyndham," said he, casually; "don't see much of you now."

"No," said Wyndham, shortly; "I'm busy with the library."

"Oh!  I'm afraid, though, you're rather glad of an excuse to cut Silks
and me after the row we got you into last week."

"You didn't get me into any row," said Wyndham.  "What! didn't he lick
you for it?  Ah!  I see how it is.  He's afraid you'd let out on him for
being down too.  Rather a good dodge too.  Gilks and I half thought of
reporting him, but we didn't."

"He had a permit, hadn't he?"

"Oh, yes--rather!  I don't doubt that.  Just like Brown's, the town
boy's excuses.  Writes them himself."

"I'm certain Riddell wouldn't do such a thing," said Wyndham, warming.

"I never said he would," replied Silk, seeing he was going a little too
far.  "You see, captains don't want permits.  There's no one to pull
them up.  But I say, I'm awfully sorry about last week."

"Oh! it doesn't matter," said Wyndham, who could not help being rather
gratified to hear a monitor making apologies to him; "only I don't mean
to go down again."

"No, of course not; and if Gilks suggests it I'll back you up.  By the
way," he added, in tones of feigned alarm, "I suppose you didn't tell
him about going to Beamish's, did you?"

"No," said Wyndham, whose conscience had already reproached him several
times for not having confessed the fact.

"I'm awfully glad of that," said Silk, apparently much relieved.
"Whatever you do, keep that quiet."

"Why?" said Wyndham, rather concerned.

"My dear fellow, if that got out--well, I don't know what would happen."

"Why, is it a bad place, then?"

"Oh, no, not at all," laughed Silk with a mysterious wink.  "All serene
for follows like Gilks; but if it was known we'd taken _you_ there, we'd
be done for."

Wyndham began to feel he had had a narrow escape of "doing" for his two
patrons without knowing it.

"Promise you won't tell anybody," said Silk.

"Of course I won't," said Wyndham, rather scornful at the idea of
telling tales of a schoolfellow.

"Thanks; and I'll take care and say nothing about you, and Gilks won't
either, I know.  So it'll be all right.  I don't know what possessed the
fellow to suggest going in there."

All this was somewhat perplexing to Wyndham.  He had never imagined
Beamish's was such a terrible place, or that the penalty of being found
there was so severe.  He felt that he had had a fortunate escape, and
was glad Silk had put him up to it before he had let it out.

He became more friendly with his ally after this.  There is always a
bond of attraction where a common danger threatens, and Wyndham felt
that, however determined he was not to be led away any more by these
friends of his, it was just as well to be civil to them.

So he even accepted an invitation to come and have tea in Silk's room
that evening, to look at a volume of "Punch" the latter had got from
home, and to talk over the coming boat-race.

Had he overheard a hurried conversation which took place between Silk
and Gilks shortly afterwards in the Sixth Form room he would have looked
forward to that evening with anything but eagerness.

"Well?" asked Gilks.

"Hooked him, I fancy," said Silk.  "He's coming to tea this evening."

"Good man.  How did you manage it?"

"Oh, and by the way," said Silk, "that going to Beamish's last week was
no end of a crime.  If it's found out it's expulsion, remember.  He
believes it all.  I've told him we won't let out on him, and he's
promised not to say a word about it.  Fancy we've rather a pull on him
there."

"You're a jolly clever fellow, Silk," said Gilks, admiringly.

"May be, but I'm not such a nice boy as you are, Gilks."

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE SCHOOLHOUSE BOAT AT WORK.

Giles and his ally knew their business well enough to see that they must
go to work "gingerly" to recover their lost Limpet.  Consequently when
Wyndham, according to promise, turned up to tea in Silk's study, nothing
was said or done in any way likely to offend his lately awakened
scruples.

The tea was a good one, the volume of "Punch" was amusing, and the talk
confined itself almost altogether to school affairs, and chiefly to the
coming boat-race.

This last subject was one of intense interest to young Wyndham.  As
brother to the old captain, he was naturally eager to see his brother's
boat retain its old position on the river; and as an ardent schoolhouse
boy himself, he had a further reason for wishing the same result.

"You know," said he, "I think our fellows are looking up, don't you,
Gilks?"

"So fellows say," replied Gilks; "of course, being in the boat myself,
it's hard to tell."

"But doesn't the boat seem to be going better?" asked Wyndham.  "It
looks to be going a lot better from the bank."

"But you don't mean to say, young un," said Silk, "you ever expect the
schoolhouse will beat Parrett's?"

"I'm afraid they are rather strong," said Wyndham, regretfully.

"Strong!" said Silk; "they're the finest crew Willoughby's turned out
for years.  Better even than the one your brother stroked last races."

"And they mean winning, too," said Gilks, "from all I hear.  They're
specially set on it because they think they've been snubbed over the
captaincy, and mean to show they _are_ the cock house, though the doctor
won't own it."

"Well," said Silk, "as I've not much faith in the Welchers' boat--in
fact, I'm not sure if they'll be able to get up a crew at all--I feel
delightfully impartial."

"I hope you'll back us," said Wyndham, earnestly.

"Of course, old Gilks is one of your crew," said Silk.

"You know," said the boy, "I'd give anything for our boat to win.  It
would be such a score for us, after all that has been said, wouldn't it,
Gilks?"

"Well, fellows haven't been very complimentary about the schoolhouse
lately, certainly," said Gilks.

"No, they certainly haven't," replied Wyndham.  "By the way, Gilks, what
sort of cox does Riddell make?"

"Rather an amusing one, from all I can hear," said Gilks.  "He's not
steered the four yet; but he's had some tub practice, and is beginning
to find out that the natural place for a boat is between the banks
instead of on them."

"Oh," said Wyndham, "I heard Fairbairn say he promised very well.  He's
a light-weight, you know, and as the juniors are all stopped river-play,
we shall have to get a cox.  And if Riddell will do, it won't be a bad
thing any way."

"I'm rather surprised they didn't try you for it," said Gilks.  "You're
well-known, you know, and used to the river."

"Oh, I'd rather Riddell did it if he can," said Wyndham.  "I know he's
awfully anxious to get it up."

The talk went on like this, and trenched on no uncomfortable topic.  The
only reference to anything of the sort was when Silk said, just as
Wyndham was going, "Oh, Wyndham, I've told Gilks here that you've
promised not to let out about Beamish's--"

"Yes," said Gilks, "I wouldn't care for that to get about, young un."

"Oh, of course I won't say anything," said Wyndham.

"Thanks, no more will we; will we, Silk?" replied Gilks.

Silk assented and their visitor departed.

"Young fool!" said Gilks, when he and his friend were left alone.  "He's
not worth bothering about."

"If it weren't for the other prig I'd agree with you," said Silk.  "But
don't you think we can hit at his reverence occasionally through his
disciple?"

"I dare say," said Gilks.  "The young prig had an innocent enough time
of it to-night to suit even him.  How he does talk!"

"Yes, and isn't he hot about the race?  I say, Gilks, I hope there'll be
no mistake about Parrett's winning.  I've a lot of money on them."

"Never fear," said Gilks.  "It'll be rather a rum thing if I, rowing in
the schoolhouse boat, can't put the drag on them somehow.  I don't
expect for a moment it will be wanted; but if it is, Gilks will be under
the painful necessity of catching a crab!"

"I don't mind how you do it as long as there's no mistake about it,"
said Silk.  With which ungenerous admission Gilks produced a couple of
cigar-ends from his pocket, and these two nice boys proceeded to spend a
dissipated evening.

The reader will have guessed from what has already been said that the
coming boat-race was every day becoming a more and more exciting topic
in Willoughby.  Under any circumstances the race was, along with the May
sports and the cricket-match against Rockshire, one of the events of the
year.  But this year, ever since it had come somehow to be mixed up with
the squabble about the captaincy, and the jealousy between Parrett's and
the schoolhouse, it had become more important than ever.

Old Wyndham had, of course, left the schoolhouse boat at the head of the
river, but there was scarcely a boy (even in the schoolhouse itself) who
seriously expected it would remain there over the coming regatta.

The Parrett's fellows were already crowing in anticipation, and the
victory of Bloomfield's boat was only waited for as a final ground for
resisting the authority of any captain but their own.  Their boat was
certainly one of the best which the school had turned out, and compared
with their competitors' it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could
prevent its triumph.

But the schoolhouse fellows, little as they expected to win, were
meaning to make a hot fight of it.  They were on their mettle quite as
much as their rivals.  Ever since Wyndham had left, the schoolhouse had
been sneered at as having no pretensions left to any athletic
distinction.  They meant to put themselves right in this particular--if
not in victory, at any rate in a gallant attempt.

And so the schoolhouse boat might be seen out early and late, doing
honest hard work, and doing it well too.  Strict training was the order
of the day, and scarcely a day passed without some one of the crew
adding to his usual labours a cross-country run, or a hard grind in the
big tub, to better his form.  These extraordinary exertions were a
source of amusement to their opponents, who felt their own superiority
all the more by witnessing the efforts put forth to cope with it; and
even in the schoolhouse there were not a few who regarded all the work
as labour thrown away, and as only adding in prospect to the
glorification of the enemy.

However, Fairbairn was not the man to be moved by small considerations
such as these.  He did not care what fellows said, or how much they
laughed, as long as Porter swung out well at the reach forward, and
Coates straightened his back, and Gilks pulled his oar better through
from beginning to end.  To secure these ends he himself was game for any
amount of work and trouble, and no cold water could damp either his
ardour or his hopefulness.

But the chief sensation with regard to the training of the schoolhouse
boat was the sudden appearance of Riddell as its coxswain.  As the
reader has heard, the new captain had already been out once or twice "on
the quiet" in the pair-oar, and during these expeditions he had learned
all he knew of the art of navigation.  The idea of his steering the
schoolhouse boat had never occurred either to himself or Fairbairn when
he first undertook these practices at the solicitation of his friend.
But after a lesson or two he showed such promise that the idea did
strike Fairbairn, who mentioned it to one or two of his set and asked
their advice.

These judges were horrified naturally at the idea.  Riddell was too
heavy, too clumsy, too nervous.  But Fairbairn was loth to give up his
idea; so he went to Mr Parrett, and asked him if he would mind running
with the schoolhouse pair-oar during the next morning's spin, and
watching the steering of the new captain.  Mr Parrett did so; and was
not a little pleased with the performance, but advised Fairbairn to try
him in the four-oar before deciding.

Fairbairn, delighted, immediately broached the subject to his friend.
Poor Riddell was astounded at such a notion.

_He_ cox the schoolhouse boat in the regatta!

"My dear fellow," said he to Fairbairn.  "I'm not a very exalted
personage in Willoughby as it is--but this would be the finishing
stroke!"

"What do you mean--that it's _infra dig._ to cox the boat?"

"Oh no!" said Riddell, "anything but that.  But it might be _infra dig._
for the boat to be steered into the bank in the middle of the race."

"Humbug, if that's your only reason.  Anyhow, old man, come down and try
your hand in the four to-morrow morning."

Riddell protested that the idea was absurd, and that he wouldn't hear of
it.  But Fairbairn reasoned him down.  He hadn't steered them into the
bank since the second morning--he hadn't tried steering the four-oar,
how did he know he couldn't do it?  Mr Parrett had advised the trial
strongly, and so on.

"No," said he, "the only question is your weight.  You'd have to run off
a bit of that, you know."

"Oh," said Riddell, "as to that, you can take as many pounds off me as
you like; but--"

"None of your buts, old man," said Fairbairn.  "I say, if we only were
to win, with you as cox, what a score it would be!"

"None of your `ifs,' old man," said Riddell, laughing.  "But I'll come
to-morrow, if you are determined to have your way."

"Of course I am," said Fairbairn.

This conversation took place the evening that young Wyndham was taking
tea with Silk and Gilks in the study of the former.

The intelligence that the new captain was to be taken out to steer the
schoolhouse boat mysteriously got wind before the evening was over, and
spread over the school like wildfire.  Consequently, when Riddell
arrived at the boat-house in the morning, he was surprised and horrified
to find that nearly all Willoughby was awake and down at the river banks
to see him.

It was embarrassing certainly, and when presently the crew got into
their seats and a start was made, it became evident the new coxswain was
anything but at home in his new position.  The boat was a long time
getting clear of the landing stage owing to his persistently mistaking
in his flurry his right hand for his left, and then when it did get out
into mid-stream the same reason prevented him from discovering that the
reason why the boat would turn round instead of going straight was
because he had his right cord pulled hard the whole time.

This spectacle, as may be imagined, afforded intense gratification to
the curious onlookers, and many and hilarious were the shouts which fell
on the ears of the unlucky captain.

"Oh, well coxed there!" one voice cried.

"Well steered in a circle!" shouted another.

"Mind you don't knock the bank down," yelled a third.

"Pull your right there!"

"Try him without the rudder.  See if he don't steer better that way."

In the midst of these uncomplimentary shouts the boat slowly wended its
erratic course up the river, amidst crowds of boys on either bank.

"Riddell, old man," said Fairbairn, leaning forward from his place at
stroke, "what's the row?"

It only needed a friendly voice to recall the captain to himself.  By an
effort he forgot about the crowds and turned a deaf ear to the shouts,
and straightening himself, and taking the lines steadily in his hands,
looked up quietly at his friend.  Richard was himself again.

"Now then!" cried Fairbairn to his men behind, "row all!" and he led
them off with a long steady stroke.

For a little distance the boat travelled well.  Riddell kept a good
course, and the whole crew worked steadily.  The scoffers on the bank
were perplexed, and their jeers died away feebly.  This was not a crew
of muffs assuredly.  Those first twenty or thirty yards were rowed in a
style not very far short of the Parrett's standard, and Parson himself,
the best cox of Parrett's house, could hardly have taken the boat down
that reach in a better course.

There was something ominous in this.  But, to the great relief of the
unfriendly critics, this showy lead was not maintained.  Before a
hundred yards were completed something seemed to go wrong in the boat.
It rolled heavily and wavered in its course.  What was wrong?

The fault was certainly not in Fairbairn, who kept doggedly to work in
perfectly even style.  Nor, to all appearance, was it in Riddell.  He
was evidently puzzled by the sudden unsteadiness of the boat, but no one
could lay it to his charge.

"Who's that digging behind?" cried Fairbairn over his shoulder.

None of the other three owned the soft impeachment, and the boat seemed
to right itself of its own accord.

Fairbairn, whose temper was never improved by perplexities, quickened
his stroke, and gave his men a spell of hard work for a bit to punish
them.

This seemed to have a good effect, and once again the onlookers were
startled to see how steadily and fast the boat was travelling.  But once
again the mysterious disturbance interrupted their progress.

This time Fairbairn stopped short, and turning round demanded angrily
who it was who was playing the fool, for an effect like this could only
be put down to such a course.  Porter, Coates, and Gilks all repudiated
the suggestion, and once more, amid the ironical cheers of the
onlookers, Fairbairn resumed his work and lashed viciously out with his
oar.

This last protest of his seemed to have had the desired effect, for
during the rest of the journey up to the Willows the boat travelled
fairly well, though it was evident plenty of work was needed before the
crew could be considered in proper racing trim.  But no sooner had they
turned and started for the home journey than once again the rolling
suddenly became manifest.  Fairbairn rowed on a stroke or two without
apparently noticing it, then turning sharply round in the middle of a
stroke he discovered the reason.

The blade of Gilks's oar was about a foot under the surface, and he
himself was lurching over his seat, with the handle of the oar up to
about his chin.

"What on earth do you mean by it?" demanded Fairbairn, angrily.

"Mean by what?" asked Gilks.

"By playing the fool like that; that's what I mean," retorted Fairbairn.

"Who was playing the fool?" snarled Gilks.  "How can I help catching a
crab when he's constantly turning the boat's head in the middle of a
stroke?"

"All rot!" said Fairbairn.

"All very well for you at stroke," said Gilks, viciously.  "You come and
row bow and see if you don't feel it.  I'd like to know who could keep
his oar straight with such steering."

"If you'd row half as well as he steers," said Fairbairn, "you'd row a
precious sight better than you do!  You'd better take care, Gilks."

"Take care of what, you fool?" demanded Gilks, whose temper was now
fairly gone.

"Ready all, you fellows!" cried Fairbairn, stretching forward.

This brief conversation had been heard only by those in the boat, but
its purport had been gathered by those on the bank who had watched the
angry looks and heard the angry voices of the speakers.

"Bravo! fight it out!" cried some one, and the news that there was a
quarrel in the schoolhouse boat added greatly to the zest of the
critics' enjoyment.

Fairbairn's caution--whether purposely, or because he could not help
it--was lost upon the offending bow oar.  The boat had scarcely started
again when Gilks caught another crab, which for the moment nearly upset
the crew.  Fairbairn rowed on, with thunder in his face, regardless of
the incident, and Riddell kept as straight a course as he could, despite
the unsteadiness.  In due time the unsatisfactory practice came to an
end, and the crew stood together again on the steps of the boat-house.

Gilks seemed to expect, and every one else expected, that Fairbairn
would once more take the defaulter to task for his performance that
morning, and Fairbairn did not disappoint him; though he dealt with the
matter in a rather unexpected manner.

"I shall want the tub-pair after third school," said he to the boatman.
"Riddell, will you come and cox.  Crossfield and me?"

"Who--Crossfield?" asked Coates.

"Yes; I shall try him for bow."

"You mean to say," exclaimed Gilks, taking the matter in, "you're going
to turn me out of the boat?"

"Certainly," said Fairbairn, coolly.

"What for?" demanded Gilks, threateningly.

"Because," replied Fairbairn, taking Riddell's arm and walking slowly
off--"because we can do better without you."

Gilks stared at him a moment as though he meditated flying at him.  If
he did, he thought better of it, and turned away, muttering to himself
that he would pay them all out, let them see if he did not.

Threats of this sort were not unheard-of things from Gilks, and no one
was greatly disturbed by them.  On the whole, Fairbairn's decision was
approved of by most of the schoolhouse partisans, particularly those who
had watched the proceedings of the morning.  A few thought Gilks might
have been accorded a second chance, but the majority argued that if a
fellow caught crabs like that in a practice he would probably do it in
the race, and they did not want the risk of that.

As to his excuse about the steering, every one who knew anything about
that knew it meant nothing, and Gilks did not repeat it.

As he reached the school Silk met him with angry looks.

"Is it true what I hear," said he, "that you're out of the boat?"

"Yes, it is," growled Gilks.

"Why, you idiot! whatever have you done this for?"

"I did nothing.  They wanted to get rid of me, and they did."

"Yes, because you hadn't the ordinary sense to keep up appearances till
the race, and must begin to practise your tricks a month beforehand!"
said Silk, greatly enraged, for him.

"All very well," said Gilks, sullenly.  "I should have liked to see you
rowing your best with that puppy steering; thinking he's doing it so
wonderfully, the prig!"

"And just because you hadn't the patience to hold out a week or two you
go and spoil everything.  I didn't think you were such a fool, upon my
word."

Gilks was cowed by the wrath of his friend.

"I couldn't help it," he said.  "I'm awfully sorry."

"It's done us completely now," said Silk.  "For all we know they may
win.  Who's to take your place?"

"Crossfield."

"Just the man I was afraid.  He's the best man they could have picked
out.  I tell you what, Gilks, you'd better go and apologise and see if
you can't get back into the boat.  Who could have believed you'd be such
a fool!  Go at once, for goodness' sake."

Gilks, who saw his own mistake fully as well as his friend, obeyed.  He
found Fairbairn in his study with Riddell.  The former seemed not at all
surprised to see him.

"Fairbairn," said Gilks, "I hope you'll let me stay in the boat.  I'm
sorry I played the fool this morning."

"Then you _were_ playing the fool?" demanded Fairbairn, to whom Riddell
had just been confiding that perhaps, after all, there had been some
fault in the steering to account for it.

"Yes," said Gilks, sullenly.

"Then," said Fairbairn, hotly, "you may be a fool, but I won't be such a
big one as to let you stay in the boat another day!"

Gilks glared a moment at the speaker.  Evidently it would be no use to
argue or plead further; and, smarting with rage and humiliation, none
the less keen that Riddell had been present and heard all, he turned
away.

"You'll be sorry for this, you two," he growled.  "Humbugs!"

"Well rid of him," said Fairbairn, as soon as he had gone.

"Yes.  I don't think much of him," said Riddell, thinking as much of
young Wyndham and his temptations as of the schoolhouse boat.

"Well, old man," said Fairbairn, after a pause, "you steered awfully
well when you once began.  Whatever made you so shaky at first?"

"My usual complaint," said Riddell, smiling.  "I was thinking what other
people were thinking."

"Oh," said Fairbairn, "unless you can give that up you may as well shut
up shop altogether."

"Well, if I must do one or the other, I think I'll keep the shop open,"
said Riddell, cheerily.  "By the way," added he, looking at his watch
and sighing, "I have to see some juniors in my study in two minutes.
Good-bye."

"Be sure you're down for the tub practice this afternoon."

"I'll be there," said Riddell.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

BLOOMFIELD IN TRIBULATION.

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.

Telson went to the door and shouted back, "What's the row?"

"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.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

TELSON AND PARSON GO TO AN EVENING PARTY.

It was the Saturday before the boat-race, and the excitement of
Willoughby was working up every hour.  Boys who were generally in the
habit of lying in bed till the chapel bell began to ring had been up at
six for a week past, to look at the practices on the river.  Parliament
had adjourned till after the event, and even the doings of the rival
captains indoors were forgotten for a while in prospect of the still
more exciting contest out of doors.

Everybody--even the Welchers, who at the last moment had given up any
attempt to form a crew, and "scratched"--found it hard to think or talk
of any other subject, and beyond the school bounds, in Shellport itself,
a rumour of the coming race had got wind and attracted many outsiders to
the river banks.

But it was not the prospect of the coming race which this Saturday
afternoon was agitating the mind of Master Henry Brown.

Brown was a Limpet, belonging to the schoolhouse, who occupied the
distinguished position of being the only day-boarder in Willoughby.  His
parents lived in Shellport, and thus had the benefit of the constant
society of their dear Harry; while the school, on the other hand, was
deprived of that advantage for a portion of every day in the term.

It was probably to make up for this deprivation that Mr and Mrs Brown
made it a practice of giving an evening party once a term, to which the
doctor and his ladies were always invited, and also any two of dear
Harry's friends he liked to name.

In this way the fond parents not only felt they were doing a polite and
neighbourly act to their son's schoolmaster and schoolfellows, but that
they were also the means of bringing together teacher and pupil in an
easy unconstrained manner which would hardly be possible within the
walls of the school itself.

It was the prospect of one of these delightful entertainments that was
exhilarating Brown this Saturday afternoon.

And it must be confessed the excitement was due to very opposite
emotions in the breast of the day-boarder.  The doctor and his ladies
were coming!  On the last two occasions they had been unfortunately
prevented, which had been a great blow to Brown's "pa and ma" but a
relief to Brown himself.  And now the prospect of meeting these awful
dignitaries face to face in his own house put him in a small panic.  But
on the other hand, he knew there would be jellies, and savoury pie, and
strawberries, and tipsy-cake, at home that night.  He had seen them
arrive from the confectioner's that morning, and, Limpet as he was,
Brown smiled inwardly as he meditated thereon.  This was a second ground
for excitement.  And a third, equal to either of the other two, was that
Parson and Telson were invited and were coming!

He had tried one or two other fellows first.  He had sounded Coates on
the subject, but he unfortunately was engaged.  He had pressed Wyndham
to come, but Wyndham was busy that evening with the library.  He had
appealed to one or two other schoolhouse Limpets, but all, on hearing
that the doctor and Co. were to be present, respectfully declined.

Finally Brown dropped upon Telson, and condescendingly proposed to him
to be present as one of his two friends.

Telson thought the matter over and fancied it promised well.  He liked
the sound of the jellies and the tipsy-cake, and just at present he knew
of no special reason for "funking" the doctor.  As for the doctor's
ladies, Telson had never seen them, so they did not weigh particularly
with him.

"Who else is going?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know yet," said Brown, rather grandly.  "I've one or two
fellows in my mind."

"Why don't you ask young Parson?" suggested Telson, innocently.

"Parson? he's not a schoolhouse kid."

"I know he's not, but he and I are very chummy, you know.  I wouldn't
mind coming if he went."

"I'll see," said Brown, mightily, but secretly relieved to know of some
one likely to come as his second "friend."

"All right," said Telson.  "I've not promised, mind, if he can't come."

"Oh, yes, you have!" replied Brown, severely, as he left the room.

In due time he found Parson and broached the subject to him.

Parson viewed the matter in very much the same light as Telson had.  He
liked the "tuck-in" better than the company.

It never occurred to him it was odd that Brown should come all the way
from the schoolhouse to invite him, a Parrett's junior, to his feast;
nor did it occur to him either that the invitation put him under any
obligation to his would-be host.

"I tell you what I'll do," said he, in a business-like manner, much as
if Brown had asked him to clean out his study for him, "if you ask
Telson to come too, I'm game."

Brown half doubted whether these two allies had not been consulting
together on the subject, so startling was the similarity of their
conditions.

"Oh!  Telson's coming," he said, in as offhand a way as he could.

"He is!  Then I'm on, old man; rather!" exclaimed the delighted Parson.

"All right!  Six-thirty, mind, and chokers!" said Brown, not a little
relieved to have scraped up two friends for the festive occasion.  At
the appointed time--or rather before the appointed time, for they
arrived at twenty minutes past six--our two heroes, arrayed in their
Sunday jackets and white ties, presented themselves at the house of
their host.  They had "put it on" considerably in order to get ahead of
the doctor's party; for they considered that--as Parson expressed
it--"it would be a jolly lot less blushy work" to be there before the
head master arrived.  There was no doubt about their success in this
little manoeuvre, for when the servant opened the door the hall was full
of rout seats, and a man, uncommonly like the greengrocer, in a dress
coat, was busily unpacking plates out of a small hamper.

Into this scene of confusion Parson and Telson were ushered, and here
they were left standing for about five minutes, interested spectators,
till the hall was cleared and the domestic had leisure to go and tell
Master Harry of their arrival.

Master Harry was dressing, and sent down word they had better go into
the shoe-room till he came down.  Which they did, and amused themselves
during the interval with trying on Mr Brown's Wellingtons, and tying
together the laces of all Harry's boots they could discover.

In due time Harry appeared in grand array.  "How jolly early you are!"
was his hospitable greeting.  "You said six-thirty, didn't you?" said
Telson.  "Yes; it's only just that now.  Nobody will be here for a
quarter of an hour yet.  You had better come in and see ma."

The two guests obeyed cheerfully.  Ma was in the drawing-room, busily
adjusting the sashes of the three juvenile Misses Brown, with her mouth
full of pins.  So all she could do was to smile pleasantly at her two
visitors and nod her head as they each came up and held out their hands
to be shaken.

"Better sit down," suggested Brown.

Parson and Telson thereupon retreated to the sofa, on the edge of which
they sat for another five or ten minutes, looking about them
complacently, and not attempting to break the silence of the scene.

The silence, however, was soon broken by a loud double knock at the hall
door, which was the signal for Mr Brown, senior, to bolt into the room
in a guilty way with one cuff not quite buttoned, and stand on the
hearthrug with as free-and-easy an air as if he had been waiting there a
quarter of an hour at least.  Knock followed knock in quick succession,
and after the usual amount of fluttering in the hall, the greengrocer
flung open the drawing-room door and ushered in Dr and Mrs Patrick,
Miss Stringer, and half a dozen other arrivals.

Our two heroes, sitting side by side, unnoticed on the edge of the sofa,
had full opportunity to take stock of the various guests, most of whom
were strangers to them.

As every one appeared to be about the doctor's age, things promised
slowly for Parson and Telson, whose interest in Brown's party decidedly
languished when finally they found themselves swept off their perch and
helplessly wedged into a corner by an impenetrable phalanx of skirts.

But this was nothing compared with a discovery they made at the same
time that they had missed their tea!  There was a merry rattle of cups
and spoons in a room far off, through the half-open door of which they
could catch glimpses of persons drinking tea, and of Brown handing round
biscuits and cake.  The sight of this was too much to be borne.  It was
at least worth an effort to retrieve their fatal mistake.

"I say," said Telson, looking for his friend round the skirts of a
stately female, "hadn't we better go and help Brown, Parson?"

Luckless youth!  The lady in question, hearing the unexpected voice at
her side, backed a little and caught sight of the speaker.

"What, dear?" she said, benevolently, taking his hand and sitting down
on the sofa; "and who are you, my little man?"

"My little man" was fairly trapped; there was no escaping this seizure.
Parson got away safely to the tea-room, and the sight of him dodging
about among the cakes and cups only added to the misery of the hapless
Telson.

"Who are you, my little dear?" said the lady, who was no other than Miss
Stringer herself.

Telson, fortunately for him, was ignorant of the fact--as ignorant,
indeed, as Miss Stringer was of the fact that the little dear she was
addressing was a Willoughbite.

"Telson, ma'am," said Telson, following Parson with longing eyes.

"Johnny?" said the lady.

"No--Augustus," replied the proud bearer of the name.

Miss Stringer surveyed him benevolently.  He was a nice-looking boy, was
Telson--and the lady thought so too.

"And will you give me a kiss, Augustus dear?" she said, with her most
winning smile.

What could Augustus do?  A hundred desperate alternatives darted through
his mind.  He would bolt into the tea-room; he would shout for help; he
would show fight; he would-- But while he was making up his mind what he
would do, he found himself being kissed on the cheek in the most
barefaced manner, before everybody, by this extraordinary female; and,
more than that, being actually set down on the sofa beside her!  He only
hoped Parson or Brown had not seen it.

Well for Miss Stringer she did not guess the wrath that boiled in the
bosom of her small companion!

"And do you live here, dear?" inquired she, pleased to have this
opportunity of studying the juvenile human nature in which she was so
much interested.

"No, I don't," said Telson, surlily; then, suddenly recollecting he was
in polite though disagreeable company, he added, "ma'am."

"And where do you go to school, pray?" inquired the spinster.

"Oh, Willoughby," replied Telson, who had gradually given up all hope of
tea, and was making up his mind to his fate.

Miss Stringer gave a little start at this piece of information, and was
on the point of betraying her identity, but she forbore.  "After all,"
thought she, "he might be more constrained if I were to enlighten him on
that subject."

"So you go to Willoughby," she said, with interest.  "And how do you
like it?"

"Oh, well enough," said Telson, relenting somewhat towards his companion
as she showed no further signs of kissing him.  "Nice lot of fellows,
you know, on the whole."

"Indeed?  Let me see, who is the head master?" inquired the lady.

"Oh, Paddy--that old boy there by the fire.  And that's Mrs Paddy there
with the curls."

Miss Stringer appeared to receive another shock at this piece of
information, which, however, Telson, flattered by her evident interest
in his remarks, did not take to heart.

"And," said she, presently, with a slight nervousness in her voice, "I
hope you like them?"

"Oh," blurted out Telson, "Paddy's not so bad, but the dame's an old
beast, you know--at least, so fellows say.  I say," added he, "don't you
tell her I said so!"

Miss Stringer regarded him with a peculiar smile, which the boy at once
took to mean a promise.  So he rattled on.  "And she's got a sister, or
somebody hangs about the place, worse than any of them.  Why, when old
Wynd--"

"And," said Miss Stringer, suddenly--"and which house are you in--in the
schoolhouse?"

"Hullo, then! you know Willoughby?" demanded Telson sharply.

Miss Stringer looked confused, as well she might, but replied, "Ah! all
public schools have a schoolhouse, have they not?"

"I suppose so," said Telson.  "Yes, I'm a schoolhouse fellow.  I'm the
captain's fag, you know--old Riddell."

"Mr Riddell is the captain, then?"

"Rather!  Do you know him?"

Poor Miss Stringer!  How sad it is, to be sure, when once we go astray.
She, the Griffin of Willoughby, was as much at the mercy of this honest
unconscious fag as if he had caught her in the act of picking a pocket.
For how could she reveal herself now?

"I--I think I met him once," she said.

"Where? at his home, was it?" asked Telson, who seemed to be urged by a
most fiendish curiosity on the subject.

"No," faltered the lady; "it was--er--I think it was at Dr Patrick's."

"Very likely," said Telson.  "He was up there to tea, I know, just
before he was made captain.  But I didn't know any one else was there
except Paddy and his hyenas."

"His what, sir!" exclaimed Miss Stringer, in a voice which nearly
startled Telson off the sofa.

"I mean, you know, the fellows--?"

"And where do you live at home?" asked Miss Stringer, determined to
steer clear of this awkward topic.

"Oh, London," said Telson; "do you know London?"

"Yes--it is indeed a wonderful place," said Miss Stringer, "and
whereabouts does your father live?"

"Oh, my governor's in India," began Telson.

"Your who?" said Miss Stringer, with a feeble attempt at severity.

"My dad, you know; and I live with my grandfather.  Jolly old boy.  He
was at Willoughby when he was a boy.  Did you know him then?  I expect
he'll recollect you, you know."

"I do not think," said Miss Stringer, with a very ruffled countenance,
"that your grandfather and I ever met."

"Oh, I don't know.  He recollects most of the old people down here, you
know.  I say, there's Parson beckoning; he's my chum, you know.  I
expect he wants me to help with some of the things."

And so saying off he went, leaving Miss Stringer, so to speak, fairly
doubled up, and in a state of mind which may be more easily imagined
than described.

Every one observed how singularly silent and retiring Miss Stringer was
all that evening.  Some attributed it to the heat of the room, others
feared she might not be well, others guessed she found the Browns'
entertainment very slow; but no one, least of all Telson himself, had a
suspicion of the true reason.

That young gentleman and his ally, after finding out that there was not
much chance of their services being required to "look after the
things"--the greengrocer being quite able to deal with the business
single-handed--found themselves once more stranded in the drawing-room,
and gradually getting edged back by the skirts, when an unlooked-for
distinction rescued them from their perilous situation.

The distinction was none other than a sign of recognition from the
doctor and a friendly signal to approach.

Like a pair of small well-trained circus ponies the two friends obeyed
the summons and climbed over the intervening skirts.

"Well, Telson and Parson," said the doctor, shaking hands, "I'd no idea
you were here--how are you?"

"We got a captain's permit.  Quite well, thank you, sir."

"My dear, these are two of our boys, Telson and Parson."

Mrs Patrick regarded the two boys in her usual precise way, and said,--

"Among so many boys under our roof, I find it impossible to remember
every face.  And which is Master Telson?"

"This is Telson," said Parson.  "He's in the schoolhouse, you know--"

"I do not know," said Mrs Patrick, severely.

"Don't you?" said Parson, with genuine astonishment.  "He's captain's
fag, you know."

"I must repeat I do not know," reiterated Mrs Patrick.

"Oh, well, he's only been that a little time, since the sports, you