The fact was, Parson’s miraculous release from the hands of the law that morning, and the reason which led to it, had suggested both to himself and the faithful Telson that the present was rather a rare opportunity for them in the annals of Willoughby. If there was no captain, there was no one to give them a licking (for the worst an ordinary monitor could do was to give an imposition), and that being so, it would surely be a waste of precious opportunity if they failed to signalise the event by some little celebration. And, as it happened, there was a little celebration which badly wanted celebrating, and for which only a chance like the present could have been considered favourable. In other words, there was a rather long score which the juniors of Parrett’s were anxious to settle up with the juniors of Welch’s. The debt was of long standing, having begun as far back as the middle of the Lent term, when the Welchers had played upon some of Parrett’s with a hose from behind their own door, and culminating in the unprovoked outrage upon the luckless Parson on the river that very morning.
Now if there was one thing more than another the young Parretts prided themselves in, it was their punctuality in matters of business; and it had troubled them sorely that circumstances over which they had no control (in other words, the fear of Wyndham) should have prevented their settling scores with the Welchers at an earlier date.
Now, however, an opportunity was come, and, like all honest men, they determined at once to avail themselves of it.
So the reason why Bloomfield and Game could find no fags in Parrett’s house to steer for them was because all the fags of Parrett’s house, aided by Telson of the schoolhouse, were at that moment paying a business call at Welch’s, and having on the whole rather a lively time of it.
The juniors of Welch’s were, take them altogether, a rather more rowdy lot than the juniors of either of the two other houses, or, indeed, than those of both the other houses put together. Somehow Welch’s was always the rowdy house of Willoughby. The honours of the school, whether in class or in field, always seemed to go in any direction but their own, and as, for five or six years at any rate, they had been unable to claim any one distinguished Willoughbite as a member of their house, they had come to regard themselves somewhat in the light of Ishmaelites. Everybody’s hand seemed to be against them, and they therefore didn’t see why their hand shouldn’t be against every one.
It was this feeling which had prompted the assaults of which the youthful Parretts had come to complain, and which the Welchers distributed as impartially as possible among all their fellow Willoughbites.
The fact was, Welch’s was a bad house. The fellows there rarely made common cause for any lawful purpose, certainly never for the credit of the school. They were split up into cliques and sets of all sorts, and the rising generation among them were left to grow up pretty much as they liked.
On the afternoon in question an entertainment on a small scale was going on in the study jointly occupied by Cusack and Pilbury. Captain Cusack, R.N., when he had parted from his dutiful son the night before, had put five shillings into his hand as a pleasant memento of his visit; and Master Cusack, directly after second school that morning, had skulked down into Shellport with his hat-box, and returned in due time with the same receptacle packed almost to bursting with dough-nuts, herrings, peppermint-rock, and sherbet. With these dainties to recommend him (and his possession of them soon got wind) it need hardly be said he became all of a sudden the most popular youth in Welch’s. Fellows who would have liked to kick him yesterday now found themselves loving him like their own brother, and the enthusiasm felt for him grew to such a pitch that it really seemed as if not only his hat-box, but he himself, was in danger. However, by a little judicious manoeuvring he got safe into his study, and, after a hasty consultation with Pil, decided to ask Curtis, Philpot, Morrison, and Morgan, their four most intimate friends, to do them the pleasure of joining in a small “blow-out” after third school. These four worthies, who, by a most curious coincidence, happened to be loafing outside Cusack’s study-door at the very moment when Pilbury started off to find them, had much pleasure in accepting their friend’s kind invitation; and the rest, finding themselves out of it, yapped off disconsolately, agreeing inwardly that Cusack was the stingiest beast in all Willoughby.
If punctuality is a test of politeness, Curtis, Morgan, Philpot, and Morrison were that afternoon four of the politest young gentlemen in the land; for they were all inside Cusack’s study almost before the bell dismissing third school had ceased to sound.
“Jolly brickish of you, old man,” said Morrison, complacently regarding the unpacking of the magic hat-box. “I’ve not seen a dough-nut for years.”
“I got these at a new shop,” said Cusack, trying to rescue some of the sherbet which had fallen in among the herrings. “Gormon never has anything but red-currant jam in his. These are greengage.”
“How jolly prime!” was the delighted exclamation.
“Three-halfpence each, though,” said Cusack, laying the herrings out in a row on the table. “I say, I wish we’d got some forks or something to toast these with.”
“Wouldn’t the slate do to stick them on?” suggested Curtis.
“Might do, only Grange wrote out a lot of Euclid questions on it, and I’ve got to show them to him answered to-morrow, and I’d get in an awful row if it was rubbed out.”
“Rather a bore. I tell you what, though,” exclaimed Philpot, struck with the brilliant idea, “there’s the pan in the chemistry-room they mix up the sulphur and phosphorus and that sort of thing in. I’ll cut and get that. It’s just the thing.”
“All serene,” said Cusack; “better give it a rub over in case it blows up, you know.”
Philpot said “All right,” and went, leaving the others to poke up the fire and get all ready for the reception of the pan.
He was a long while about it, certainly, considering that the chemistry-room was only just at the end of the passage.
“I wonder what he’s up to?” said Pilbury, when after about three minutes he did not return.
“I wish he’d hurry up,” said Curtis, whose special attraction was towards the dough-nuts, which of course could not come on till after the herrings.
“I wonder if he’s larking about with some of the chemicals. I never knew such a fellow as he is for smells and blow-ups—”
“I’ll blow him up if he’s not sharp,” said Cusack, losing patience and looking mournfully at the row of herrings on the table.
“Let’s begin without him,” said Pilbury.
“So we would if we had anything to do them on.”
“I’ll go and see if I can get a fork or two,” said Morrison.
“Thanks, and wake up Philpot while you’re out.”
Morrison went, and the others kicked their heels impatiently and eyed the good things hungrily as they waited.
Cusack tried toasting a herring on one of the small forks, but the heat of the fire was too great for him to hold his hand at such close quarters, and he gave it up in disgust.
What was the matter with everybody this afternoon? Morrison was away ages and did not return.
“Oh, bother it all!” exclaimed Cusack, whose patience was now fairly exhausted, “if they don’t choose to come I’m hung if they’ll get anything now. I’ll go and get the pan myself.”
And off he went in high dudgeon, leaving his guests in charge of the feast.
“If he can’t get the pan or a toasting-fork,” said Curtis, disinterestedly, “wouldn’t it be as well to have the dough-nuts now, and leave the herrings till supper, eh, Pil? Pity for them to get stale.”
Pilbury said nothing, but broke off a little piece of the peppermint-rock in a meditative manner, and drummed his feet on the floor.
“Upon my word,” he broke out after a good three minutes’ waiting, “that blessed pan must be jolly heavy. There’s three of them sticking to it now!”
“Wait a bit, I hear him coming,” said Curtis, going to the door. He stepped out into the passage, Morgan following him.
Pilbury heard a sudden scuffling outside, and a sound of what did not seem like Welchers’ voices. He hurried to the door to ascertain the cause, and as he did so he found himself caught roughly by the arm and slung violently against the opposite wall, while at the same moment Telson, Parson, Bosher, and half a dozen Parrett juniors rushed past him into the empty study, slamming and locking and barricading the door behind them!
It was all so quickly done that the luckless Welchers could hardly believe their own senses. But when they heard the distant voice of Philpot shouting that he was locked up in the chemistry-room, and of Morrison complaining that he couldn’t get out of his own study, and of Cusack demanding to be released from the lavatory; and when their combined assault on the door produced nothing but defiant laughter mingled with the merry frizzing of the herrings before the fire, they knew it was no dream but a hideous fact. They had presence of mind enough to release their incarcerated comrades and attempt another assault in force on the door. But it came to nothing. In vain they shouted, threatened, entreated, kicked. They only received facetious answers from inside, which aggravated their misery.
“Go it, you fellows,” shouted one voice, very like Parson’s, only the mouth was so full that it was hard to say for certain. “Jolly good dough-nuts these; have another, Bosher, you’ve only had four. I say, Cusack, where did you catch these prime herrings? Best I’ve tasted since I came here. Afraid your slate’s a little damaged; awfully sorry, you ought to keep a toasting-fork — ha! ha!” and a chorus of laughter greeted the sally. Cusack groaned and fumed.
“You pack of young cads,” he howled through the key-hole. “Come out of there, do you hear? you thieves you. I’ll warm you, Parson, when I get hold of you.”
“Just what we’re doing to the bloaters,” cried Telson. There was a pause. Then Pilbury cried in tones of feigned warning, “Here comes the doctor! We’ll see what he says.”
“Won’t do,” shouted Parson from within. “Won’t wash, my boy. Paddy’s down at Shellport. Any more sherbet left, King?”
“I’ll go and tell the captain, that’s what I’ll do,” said Pilbury.
“Won’t wash again,” cried Parson. “There’s no captain to tell; I say, we’re leaving something for you, aren’t we, you fellows? There’ll be all the heads of the herrings and the greengage stones— jolly blow-out for you.”
It was no use attempting further parley, and the irate Welchers were compelled to lurk furiously outside the door while the feast proceeded, and console themselves with the prospect of paying the enemy out when it was all over.
But the skill which had accompanied the execution of the raid so far was not likely to omit all precautions possible to make good a retreat. While most of the party were making all the noise they could, and succeeding with jest and gibe in keeping the attention of those outside, the barricade against the door had been quietly removed, and decks cleared for the sortie.
“Now then, you fellows,” cried Parson to his men, in a voice which those outside were intended to hear, “make yourselves comfortable. Here’s a stunning lot of peppermint-rock here, pass it round. Needn’t go home for half an hour at least!”
The watchers outside groaned. There was no help at hand; and for one of them to go and seek it was only to increase the odds against them. The only thing was to wait patiently till the enemy did come out.
Chapter Four
The New Captain’s Introduction
Of course a row was made, or attempted to be made, about the daring exploit of the fags of Parrett’s House narrated in the last chapter. The matter was duly reported to the head monitor of Welch’s by the injured parties. But the result only proved how very cunning the offenders had been in choosing this particular time for the execution of their raid.
The head of Welch’s reported the matter to Bloomfield, as the head of Parrett’s. But Bloomfield, who had plenty to do to punish offences committed in his own House, replied that the head of Welch’s had better mention it to the captain of the school.
Bloomfield suggested that he had better “find out,” and there the matter ended. Wherever the head Welcher took his complaint he got the same answer; and it became perfectly clear that as long as Willoughby was without a captain, law and order was at a discount.
However, such a state of things was not destined long to last. A notice went round from the doctor to the monitors the next day asking them to assemble directly after chapel the following morning in the library. Every one knew what this meant; and when later on it was rumoured that Riddell had gone to the doctor’s that evening to tea, it became pretty evident in which direction things were going.
“Tea at the doctor’s” was always regarded as rather a terrible ordeal by those who occasionally came in for the honour. Some would infinitely have preferred a licking in the library, and others would have felt decidedly more comfortable in the dock of a police-court. Even the oldest boys, whose conduct was exemplary, and whose conscience had as little to make it uneasy in the head master’s presence as in the presence of the youngest fag in Willoughby, were always glad when the ceremony was over.
The reason of all this was not in the doctor. Dr Patrick was one of the kindest and pleasantest of men. He could not, perhaps, throw off the Dominie altogether on such occasions, but he always tried hard, and if there had been no one more formidable than “Paddy” to deal with the meal would have been comparatively pleasant and unalarming.
But there was a Mrs Patrick and a Mrs Patrick’s sister, and before these awful personages the boldest Willoughbite quailed and trembled. From the moment the unhappy guest entered the parlour these two (who were always there) fastened their eyes on him and withered him. They spoke ceremoniously in the language in which the grand old ladies used to speak in the old story-books. If he chanced to speak, they sat erect in their chairs listening to him with all their ears, looking at him with all their eyes, freezing him with all their faintest of smiles. No one could sit there under their inspection without feeling that every word and look and gesture was being observed, probably with a view to recording it in a letter home; and the idea of being at one’s ease with them in the room was about as preposterous as the idea of sleeping comfortably on a wasp’s nest!
And yet, if truth were known, these good females meant well. They had their own ideas of what boys should be (neither having any of their own), and fondly imagined that during these occasional ceremonies in the doctor’s parlour they were rendering valuable assistance in the “dear boy’s” education by giving him some idea of the manners and charms of polite society!