"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 know, when old Wyndham left. I say, ma'am, are you going to be at the race on Wednesday?"

Mrs Patrick looked somewhat baffled as she replied,—

"I think it very possible."

"It'll be a jolly good race," said Telson. "Old Parson is coxing Parrett's, and it looks like a win for them. Only we aren't so bad, and now Gilks is out of the boat and Riddell's settled as cox we ought to make a race of it. Fairbairn's quite as long a reach as Bloomfield, only he doesn't kick his stretcher so hard—does he, Parson?"

"Rather not," said Parson. "That's where we get the pull of you; besides, I'm a lighter weight than Riddell, though he's boiled down a good bit since he went into training."

"Good deal depends on who gets the inside berth," said Telson, delightfully oblivious of the bewildered Mrs Paddy's presence. "It's a jolly long swing round Willow Point for the outsiders—half a length at least."

"Yes; but it's just as bad round the corner at the finish the other way."

"Ah! talking about the race, I see," said the doctor, returning to the group at this point. "So, Telson, Riddell's to steer your boat after all."

"Yes, sir," said Telson; "it's settled now."

"So that the schoolhouse boat is still the captain's boat, eh? Ah! Parson, though, I suppose, wants the Parrett's boat to win."

"Parson coxes for Parrett's," said Telson.

"Parrett—I mean Mr Parrett—stopped my river-play a week, sir," said Parson, by way of explaining the circumstance; "but I've had captain's leave to row out since, so they kept me in the boat."

This sporting conversation went on for some time longer, Mrs Patrick not venturing again to join in. At last the doctor broke up the conference of his own accord, and our two heroes, once more adrift, went out for a lounge in the hall, as they explained, to cool themselves, but really to be at hand for a bolt into the supper-room whenever the happy moment should arrive.

It did arrive after what seemed to be a week's suspense and then the hardships and perils of the evening were fully compensated for. The two friends got into a snug corner, "far from the madding crowd," where, to put it mildly, they spent a very busy half-hour. They managed it well. Neither boy helped himself—he wouldn't be so greedy; but each helped the other. When Telson saw Parson's plate getting empty of sandwiches, he most attentively fetched him a clean one with a trifle on it; and when Telson had finally got through his jellies (for he had more than one) it was Parson's brotherly hand which assisted him to an ice!

As they sat there they positively wished Brown's "pa and ma" gave a party once a week!

But all good things come to an end, and so did this grand party. Guests began to depart, and among the earliest were the doctor and his ladies. The doctor came up to the boys, and said, kindly, "We're driving up; you two had better come with us, there's plenty of room on the box. Now, my love—now, Miss Stringer."

Miss Stringer! Telson nearly fainted as he saw who it was who answered to the name.

"Let's walk up," he said, entreatingly, to Parson.

"I don't mind, only Paddy—"

"Now then, boys," cried the doctor, "there's room for one inside. Telson, will you come?"

Telson bounded up on to the box without another word, and Parson beside him, and the fly drove off.

"Oh, Parson, old man, I'm a gone coon!" exclaimed Telson, in tones of abject misery, as soon as they were clear of the Browns' premises.

"Why, what's up?"

"Miss Stringer!"

"What about her? Isn't she a cad, eh?"

"Yes, and I told her so," groaned Telson; "I didn't know who she was, and I said—"

"Hullo, I say, look there!" exclaimed Parson, suddenly catching his friend by the arm.

They were passing the Aquarium, which at that moment was disgorging its visitors. Among those who emerged exactly as the doctor's fly passed were three boys, whom Telson and Parson recognised in a moment.

They were Silk and Gilks and another younger boy, who seemed to shrink from observation, and whose head was turned another way as the fly passed. The three, immediately on gaining the street, started to run towards Willoughby ahead of the fly.

The two boys on the box pulled their caps over their eyes, and said not a word till the truants were clear. Then Telson said, "That was young Wyndham!"

"I know. I wonder if Paddy saw them?"

"Shouldn't think so. And they didn't see us. I say, will they get in before us?"

"It'll be a shave if they do. What a row there'll be if they don't!"

It was a curious thing that almost immediately after this short dialogue Telson's cap fell off into the road, and the fly had to be pulled up while he and Parson got down and looked for it. It was a dark night, and the cap took some time to find. When finally it was recovered, and progress was resumed, full five minutes had been lost over the search, by which time the truants had got a clear half-mile to the good, and were safe.



CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

THE BOAT-RACE.

The few days that intervened between the Saturday of Brown's party and the Wednesday of the great race were days of restless suspense in Willoughby. Even Welch's caught the contagion, and regretted at the last hour that they had withdrawn from the all-important contest. As to the other two Houses, there never had been a year when the excitement ran so high or the rivalry grew so keen. Somehow the entire politics of Willoughby appeared to be mixed up in the contest, and it seemed as if the result of this one struggle was to decide everything.

The crews had worked hard up to the last, watched morning and evening by anxious spectators from the bank. The trials had been carefully noted and times compared, the variations in style had been eagerly criticised, the weights of the rowers had become public property, and in short every detail likely to influence the result was a subject of almost painful interest to the eager partisans on either side.

And every hour seemed to promise a closer race. Not that Parrett's had fallen off. On the contrary, they still remained what they had been all along, the smartest and strongest crew that Willoughby had ever put upon the river. But the schoolhouse boat had made wonderful strides. It was long since it had ceased to be the laughingstock of the hostile juniors, and it was some time since its appearance and work had begun to cause a shade of uneasiness in the minds of a few of the rival house. Fairbairn, far from Bloomfield's match in physique or style, had yet displayed an amount of steady, determined work which had astonished most fellows, and inspired with confidence not only his partisans on the bank, but the three oarsmen at his back. By dint of patient, untiring practice he had worked his crew up to a pitch of training scarcely hoped for, and every day the schoolhouse boat had gained in style and speed.

Had the race been a fortnight or three weeks later few boys would have cared to prophesy definitely as to the result. As it was, though Parrett's was morally bound to win, it was clear the race would be a fierce one, and hardly fought every foot.

Such was the general opinion in Willoughby that Tuesday evening after the last practice had come to an end, and when the boats were finally housed for the night only to reappear next day in racing trim.

Young Wyndham, as he sat in Riddell's study with his books before him, could as soon have done a stroke of work as fly over the schoolhouse elms. Indeed, it was such a farce for him even to make the attempt that he shut up his books and gave up the idea.

"I say, Riddell," he said, presently, addressing the captain, who, though excited too after his own fashion, was poring determinedly over his work.

"Well?" asked he, looking up.

"I say, do you think there's any chance of our boat winning?"

The boy asked the question so anxiously that one might have supposed his whole happiness in life depended on the answer.

"It's very hard to say," said Riddell. "I think we have some chance, at any rate."

"You did the course in as good time as Parrett's yesterday, didn't you?" said Wyndham.

"Yes, but we had a better tide," said Riddell.

Wyndham's face clouded, for he knew it was true.

"You must win, I say," said he, almost fiercely.

Riddell smiled.

"I mean to oblige you if I can, for one," said he.

"If they win," said Wyndham, "it'll be—"

But what it would be the youthful enthusiast lacked words to express.

Riddell turned again to his writing.

"Hadn't you better finish your work?" said he.

"Oh, I can't!" exclaimed Wyndham. "Who could work just before the race?"

So saying, he got up and gathered together his things.

Riddell was sorry for this. He had hoped the boy would stay. Amid all his fresh duties the new captain had kept his eye on his old friend's brother, and of late he had seen things which made him uneasy. Wyndham was on friendly terms again with his two undesirable patrons, and simultaneously his work in the library and his visits to Riddell's own study had become less regular. It all meant something, Riddell knew; and he knew, too, that that something was not any good. He made one attempt to detain the boy.

"You aren't going?" he said kindly.

"Yes. It's really no use grinding, to-night, Riddell."

"Won't you stop and keep me company, though?" asked the captain.

"You're working," said the boy. "I'll come to-morrow. Good-night."

And he went, leaving Riddell very uncomfortable. Why should he be so eager to go? Why should he always seem so restless now whenever he was in that study? Why should he always avoid any reference to—

Ah! here he was back again. A gleam of hope shot through Riddell's breast as he saw the door open and Wyndham re-enter. Perhaps, after all, the boy was going to stay and give him a chance. But no, Wyndham had come back for his knife, which Riddell had borrowed for sharpening a pencil. That was all he wanted; and having recovered it he departed quickly.

Riddell spent the rest of that evening in low spirits. He had been baulked, and worse than that, he felt other hands were playing their game more successfully, and that amongst them all young Wyndham was going wrong.

So the eve of the great boat-race was anything but a cheerful evening for the new captain.

But with the morning even Riddell could hardly harbour any thoughts outside the event of the day. Morning school that Wednesday was a farce all over Willoughby. Even the doctor seemed absent-minded, while one or two of the junior masters gave up the attempt in despair.

The race was fixed for three o'clock, when the tide would be running up at its fastest, and long before that hour every advantageous point of view on the banks was secured by eager spectators. These were by no means all Willoughby boys, for the school boat-race was always more or less of an event in Shellport itself, whose inhabitants flocked in large numbers to the scene of the contest.

Carnages lined the banks on either side for a considerable distance, and as usual the doctor's party assembled in great force on Willow Point. The towing-path was jealously kept clear for the schoolboys, who trooped down in force the moment after lunch, and took possession of their places along the course. Some crowded at the starting-point. These were chiefly the more athletic heroes of the school, whose flannels and running-shoes bespoke their intention of following the race on foot. Others, less actively inclined, massed at various critical points along the course, some at the finish, but more opposite Willow Point, which being just three-quarters of the way down, and almost within view of the goal, was generally considered the most advantageous point of view of the whole race.

At this point, in a snug corner above the path, with a fine view of the sharp bend of the river, and of the reaches up and down stream which met there, sat Gilks and Silk. They knew probably as well as any one that the crisis of the race was pretty sure to be played out at Willow Corner, and not a few late comers looked up at their commanding perch with envy.

"Where's the young 'un?" said Silk.

"Running with the race," said Gilks. "I couldn't dissuade him. He's gone daft over the thing."

Silk laughed.

"I'm afraid it'll be a blow to him, then. Young fool. I say, he was at his father confessor's last night. I wonder if he'll let out about Saturday night?"

"Not he. That is," said Gilks, viciously, "I don't think he will."

"Well, it might be warmish for him if he did."

"Very warmish," said Gilks, with a scowl, which it was just as well for Wyndham's comfort he did not see.

There was a silence, during which Gilks whistled to himself, and Silk regarded his ally with a smile.

"You are a nice boy!" he broke out presently. And the laugh which greeted this very unoriginal observation closed the conversation for a time.

Meanwhile, down at the boat-house things were getting very lively.

Telson, Philpot, Pilbury, Cusack, King, and other of our juvenile friends, who, with their usual modesty, proposed to run along with the race, and now formed part of the crowd which awaited the start, kept up a boisterous chorus of shouts, some of defiance, some of derision, some of applause, addressed alternately to foe and friend.

The young Welchers especially, having no personal interest in the race, felt themselves delightfully free to make themselves objectionable to all parties, and took full advantage of the circumstance.

They howled at everybody and everything. Whenever King and Bosher greeted the appearance of the Parrett's boat with a friendly cheer they hooted; and no sooner did Telson sing out to welcome the crew of his house, but they caterwauled derisively in the same direction.

"Jolly lot they know about rowing!" yelled Cusack.

"Why don't you give them some lessons?" retorted Telson, hotly.

"Boo—hoo! Who got kicked out his boat! Young muller, couldn't steer a tub."

"I'll tub you, young Pilbury, see if I don't, presently," replied Telson.

"Never mind them," shouted King, "can't even make up a boat; pack of funks, all of them!"

"Hullo! who are you?" cried Philpot, rounding on these new assailants. "We'd have a boat, never fear, if there was any chance of fair play."

"Lot of fair play you'd want, to turn the boat round and round and catch crabs every other second!"

"There are our fellows!" cried Wyndham, raising a loud cheer as Fairbairn, Coates, Porter, Crossfield, and Riddell appeared on the landing stage.

"Hurrah! schoolhouse, hurrah!"

"Ye-ow, look at them—there's a lot!" hooted the Welchers.

"There's old Parson!" yelled Telson, Bosher, and King, as the youthful hero in question strutted magnificently down to the landing.

"What cheer, stuck-up jackass?" howled the Welchers, with an insulting laugh; "why don't you grin?"

This remark was suggested by Parson grandly waving his handkerchief and smiling to his admiring friends.

But it is time to quit these friends and make our way to the boats themselves, which now lie waiting for their crews to embark.

This is always a tedious process for onlookers. The shifting of stretchers, the getting-out of oars, the arrangement of rudder strings, and the delicate trimming of the boat, may be interesting enough to the crews themselves, but only feed the impatience of onlookers.

And as usual hitches are bound to occur. Coates has got the oar belonging to Crossfield. And when this mistake has been remedied, Bloomfield in the other boat suddenly discovers that his stretcher is a little weak, and insists on waiting till a new one is brought.

Finally everything is ready, and the two boats slowly swing out into mid-stream. The schoolhouse boat has won the toss, for it takes up the inside berth, amid the triumphant cheers of its partisans.

"Hurrah! you're inside," they cry.

"Mind you put them into the bank," is the derisive echo of the enemy.

"Now, Fairbairn; now, you fellows," cries Wyndham's voice.

"Now, boss Riddell—mind your eye. Pull your left when you want to go right," shout the facetious Welchers.

Riddell had long got past the stage of being flurried by shouts from the bank. He feels nervous undoubtedly, but he does not look it, as he quietly tries his rudder-lines and settles himself on his seat.

Fairbairn is as cool as ever. To look at him he might be just starting for a quiet saunter up-stream. And the crew behind him are equally composed, as they lie on their oars waiting for the start.

But the Parrett's crew, as they come smartly up and take their outside berth, receive an ovation far beyond that of their rivals. They are undoubtedly the popular crew, as well as the favourites.

Every man in the boat has done something for Willoughby in times past, and as the boys see their heroes ready now for a fresh triumph, they forget all about their little tyrannies indoors, and cheer them like mad.

"Bravo Parrett's. Bravo, Bloomfield! Hurrah, captain! You're to win."

Even the Welchers for the moment join in the popular clamour.

"Go it, you cripples!" cries Cusack, encouragingly; "no milksop captains. Two to one on Bloomfield!"

All this time the boats are lying in position. Mr Parrett on the little steam-launch behind surveys them critically, and satisfies himself that all is square. Then he advances to the prow of his boat and shouts the usual question.

The next moment he gives the word, and the two boats dart forward like arrows from a bow, and the race has begun.

Gilks and Silk up above Willow Corner heard the shout which greeted the start, and turned anxiously towards the direction from which it came.

"They're off now!" said Silk, trying to appear more unconcerned than he really was.

"Yes; no mistake about it!" said Gilks, whose anxiety was certainly not less than that of his friend.

"How long before we see them?"

"Three minutes; they ought to get into the School Reach by then."

Neither spoke for a minute. Then Silk said, "What a row the fellows are making!"

"Yes," said Gilks; "there's a bigger crowd than I ever saw down this year."

Another silence. And then presently in the far distance, at the end of the School Reach, they could see first the smoke of Mr Parrett's launch, then a black moving crowd on the bank, and finally two white specks on the water.

"There they are!" said Gilks.

"Can you tell which is which?" asked Silk.

"No, not yet."

An anxious minute followed. The doctor and his party on the point opposite left their tent and came down to the water's edge; spectators who had been getting tired of waiting now freshened up and made final and desperate attempts to improve their position, while those who meant to fall in with the runners buttoned their jackets and turned up their trouser ends.

"Schoolhouse inside!" exclaimed Gilks, suddenly, as the sun momentarily caught the blue oars of the inside boat.

This was all that could be ascertained for the moment. From where they sat the blue and the red flags seemed to be coming towards them exactly abreast.

The crowd advanced with a roar, above which it was impossible to hear the name of the leading crew. But presently, as the two boats approached the corner, a slight turn inwards enabled them to answer the question for themselves.

"We lead!" exclaimed Silk.

Silk was a Welcher and Gilks a schoolhouse boy, but "we" meant Parrett's.

Yes, the red flag was ahead, though only a little.

"How long before they're at the point?"

"Half a minute. I say, how splendidly the schoolhouse are steering, though!"

Silk laughed. "More than Parrett's are! Young Parson's taking them round rather sharp, isn't he?"

"No; he always turns in like that; it's better than the long sweep. Now look out!"

During this brief dialogue the two boats had come on towards the corner. As far as Gilks and Silk could see at present Parrett's led by about half a length, which advantage, however, it stood to lose owing to its outside position at the corner. Parson, however, knew what he was about even better than Riddell, who had kept a magnificent course down the reach, but who now seemed afraid to take full advantage of the sharp corner. The Parrett's coxswain, on the other hand, with his half-length to the good, began turning his boat's head early, even at the risk of running dangerously close on his rival's water, and so saved as much as possible of the lost ground.

It was an anxious moment, for as the boats came round that corner so the race usually depended. The crowd on the banks well knew the crisis, and shouted out their warnings and encouragements to the rival coxswains with redoubled eagerness.

"Now then, Riddell! round you go! Pull your right!"

"Steered indeed, Parrett's! Bravo, Parson!"

The corner was half-turned, the boats lay nearly level, each coxswain pulling hard with his right line, when suddenly there was a shock in the Parrett's boat, followed by a loud shout from Parson, and next moment the boat was shooting helplessly straight towards the bank, from which it was only saved by a prompt order to "Backwater all!" from Bloomfield.

What could it be? The shouts on the bank died away into sudden stillness, and fellows forgot even to keep up with the schoolhouse boat, which, followed by the steam-launch, rowed steadily on towards the winning-post.

What was it? The answer soon became known, when Parson, standing in his boat, waved the broken end of a rudder-line above his head. At the critical point of the race this had failed, and in consequence all the efforts of the rowers were useless, and—and the schoolhouse boat was Head of the River!

The rage, excitement, and disappointment at such an unlooked-for termination to the great struggle was beyond description, as the reader may imagine. A general rush was made for the unlucky boat, and shouts and recriminations and taunts and condolences bore witness to the mixed feelings of the spectators.

Some demanded a fresh race there and then, some suggested foul play, others urged the boat to row on and make the best race they could of it, others boldly claimed the victory for Parrett's, since they led at the moment of the accident.

Amidst all this tumult the unlucky boat slowly backed into mid-stream, and turned towards home, Parson steering no longer by rudder but by word of mouth. As it did so, a distant report announced that the schoolhouse boat had reached the winning-post; whereat the Parrett partisans set up a loud defiant shout, which they maintained during the entire homeward progress of their ill-starred boat.

Among the few who remained on the scene of the accident were Gilks and Silk, both pale and agitated.

The latter, as has been said, was painfully interested in the result of the race. To him the defeat of Parrett's meant more than the mere disappointment of a hope or the humiliation by a rival. It meant the loss of a good deal more money than he possessed, and the miscarriage of a good deal which he had expected with absolute confidence to win. No wonder then that his face was white and his voice trembling as he rounded on his friend.

"You fool!" exclaimed he, with an oath.

It was rather hard surely on Gilks, who may have encouraged his friend to rely on the victory of the Parrett's boat, but who certainly was as much astounded and mortified by the accident as he was.

"There must be another race," said he, hurriedly. "They can't take this as decisive, I tell you. They must have another."

"You wouldn't have said so if the right boat had won," said Silk, with a sneer.

"I can't make it out," said Gilks, looking very miserable.

"Fools never can," snarled Silk, turning on his heel.



CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

FOUL PLAY.

Willoughby reassembled after the eventful boat-race in a state of fever. The great event which was to settle everything had settled nothing, and the suspense and excitement which was to have been set at rest remained still as unsatisfied as ever, and intensified by a feeling of rage and disappointment.

As boys dropped in in groups from the course, and clustered round the school gate, one might have supposed by their troubled faces that instead of a rudder-line having broken both crews had been capsized and drowned.

The Parrett's partisans particularly were loud in their clamour for a new race, and many of them freely insinuated foul play as the cause of the accident.

The schoolhouse, on the other hand, indignantly repelled the charge, and dared their opponents defiantly to meet them again. And amidst all this wrangling and bickering, the Welchers dispensed their taunts and invectives with even-handed impartiality, and filled in just what was wanted to make the scene one of utter confusion and Babel.

"I tell you we'd have beaten them hollow," shouted Wibberly to the company in general.

"No you wouldn't!" retorted Wyndham; "we were ahead and our men were as fresh as yours, every bit!"

"Ya—boo—cheats! Told you there'd be no fair play with such a pack," shouted the Welchers.

"Look here, who are you calling a cheat?" said Wyndham, very red in the face, edging up to the speaker.

"You, if you like," shouted Pilbury and Cusack.

"I'll knock your heads together when I catch you," said Wyndham, with lofty disgust, not intending to put himself out for two juniors.

A loud laugh greeted the threat.

Meanwhile, fellows were running up every moment. Some who had been waiting for the boats at the winning-post had only just heard the news, and came in red-hot with excitement to learn particulars.

"It's all a vile dodge," howled Wibberly, "to get their boat to the head of the river."

"I'll bet anything the precious captain's at the bottom of it," shouted another. "He'd stick at nothing, I know."

"Yes, and you'll see, now they'll funk another race!"

"Who'll funk another race?" roared the hot-headed Wyndham. "I'll row you myself, you asses, the lot of you."

Another derisive laugh followed at the speaker's expense.

"It's not our fault if your line broke," cried a schoolhouse boy. "It's your lookout. You should have seen it was right before you started."

"Yes. You wouldn't have been so anxious for a new race if it was our line had broken," said Wyndham.

"Yes, we would. We're not afraid of you!"

"Yes, you are."

"No, we aren't. You're a set of cheats. Couldn't win by fair means, so you've tried foul."

"I'll fight any one who says so," retorted Wyndham.

How long the wrangle might have gone on, and to what riot it might have led, cannot be told. It was at its hottest, and a general fight seemed imminent, when a diversion was caused by the sudden appearance of Parson running at full speed up the path from the river.

There was something unusual in the looks and manner of the Parretts' coxswain, which even his misadventure that afternoon was not sufficient to account for. He bore tidings of some sort, it was evident, and by common consent the clamour of the crowd was suspended as he approached.

Among the first to hail him at shouting distance was Telson.

"What's up, old man?" he cried.

Parson rushed on a dozen yards or so before he answered. Then he yelled, in a voice half-choked with excitement, "The line was cut! It's foul play!"

The howl which arose from the agitated crowd at this amazing piece of news—amazing even to those who had most freely raised the cry of foul play—was one the like of which Willoughby never heard before or since. Mingled rage, scorn, incredulity, derision, all found vent in that one shout—and then suddenly died into silence as Parson began again.

"They've looked at the place where it broke," he gasped. "It's a clean cut half-way through. I knew it was foul play!"

Once again the shout drowned his voice.

"Who did it?" shrieked a voice, before Parson could resume.

Parson glared round wrathfully for the speaker.

"I don't know," he replied. "Sorry for him if I did!"

This valiant invective from the honest little fag failed even to appear ludicrous in the midst of the general excitement. Further words were now interrupted by the appearance of the Parretts' crew coming slowly up the walk.

This was the signal for a general cheer and rush in their direction, in the midst of which the defeated heroes with difficulty struggled up to the school. Wrath and indignation were on all their faces. In reply to the hundred inquiries showered upon them they said nothing, but forced their way through the press sullenly, heedless of the cheers of their sympathisers or the silence of their opponents.

The crowd slowly fell back to let them pass, and watched them disappear into the school. Then they turned again towards the path from the river, and waited with grim purpose.

The news announced by Parson and confirmed by the black looks of the injured crew had fallen like a thunderbolt, and for the moment Willoughby was stunned. The boys could not—would not—believe that one of their number could be guilty of such an act. And yet, how could they disbelieve it?

In a few minutes there was a cry of "Here they are!" and at the same moment the schoolhouse crew appeared on the walk. They, victors though they were, looked troubled and dispirited as they approached, talking eagerly among themselves, and unconcerned apparently about the crowd which in ominous silence awaited them.

They certainly did not look like guilty persons, and it is most probable not even the wildest libeller in Willoughby would have cared positively to charge any one of them with the dishonourable deed.

But for all that, they had won in consequence of that deed, and that was quite sufficient to set three-fourths of the crowd against them.

As they came up a loud groan and cries of "Cheats! Foul play!" suddenly arose. Startled by the unexpected demonstration, the five heroes looked up with flushed faces.

"Cheats! Cowards!" reiterated the hostile section, beginning at the same time to surge towards them.

Foremost among these was Tucker of Welch's house and Wibberly of Parrett's, who, as the crowd behind pressed forward, were carried with their abusive taunts on their lips into the midst of the schoolhouse group. The latter, as may be imagined, were in anything but the humour for an assault of this sort, and their leaders instantly resented it in a very practical manner.

"Where are you coming to?" demanded Fairbairn, flinging Wibberly from him into the arms of his followers.

Before Wibberly could recover his balance the crowd had closed in by a sudden impulse, and with a loud shout had set upon the crew.

"Have them over, Parrett's!" shouted a voice, as Wibberly staggered back a second time before Fairbairn's stalwart arm, while at the same moment Tucker received a similar rebuff from Crossfield.

The summons was promptly answered, and a dash was made on the five schoolhouse boys with a view to carrying out the threat literally, when Wyndham's voice shouted, "Rescue here! schoolhouse, come on!"

Instantly the whole crowd seemed to resolve itself by magic into two parties, and a short but desperate battle ensued.

The fire had been waiting for weeks for a match, and now the flare-up had come. Nobody knew whom he hit out at or by whom he was attacked that forenoon. The pent-up irritation of half a term found vent in that famous battle in which the schoolhouse boys fought their way inch by inch up to the door of their house.

Luckily for them, the most formidable of their rivals were not upon the field of action, and in due time the compact phalanx of seniors, aided by Wyndham and his band of recruits, forced their way through superior numbers, and finally burst triumphantly through and gained their stronghold.

But the victory was hardly bought, for the slaughter had been great.

Coates had a black eye, and Porter's jacket was torn from his back. Riddell had twice been knocked down and trodden on, while Wyndham, Telson, and others of the rescuing party were barely recognisable through dust and bruises. On the other side the loss had been even greater. Tucker and Wibberly, the only two monitors engaged, were completely doubled up, while the number of maimed and disabled Limpets and juniors was nearly beyond counting.