The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines - Страница 33

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“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.

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.

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