The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines - Страница 41

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With a cry almost piteous in its agony, they rushed towards him and lifted him, dripping and bruised as he was, to his feet, gazing at him with looks of speechless supplication, and feeling crushed with all the guilt of actual murderers.

It spoke volumes for Mr Parrett’s self-control that, instead of sitting and gaping foolishly at the scene of the disaster, or instead of suddenly hitting out right and left, as others would have done, he took out his handkerchief and proceeded quietly to dry his face while he collected his scattered thoughts.

At length he said, “Are these elaborate preparations usually kept up here?”

“Oh no, sir!” cried Parson, in tones of misery. “Indeed, sir, we never expected you. We expected—”

His speech was cut short by a fresh noise outside — this time the real enemy, who, little guessing what was going on within, halted a moment outside before commencing proceedings. Then, with a simultaneous war-whoop, they half-opened the door, and, without entering themselves, projected into the centre of the room — a bottle! Pilbury and Cusack had not studied natural science for nothing!

The strange projectile smashed to atoms as it fell, and at the same instant there arose a stench the like of which the nose of Willoughby had never known before.

Mr Parrett and the boys choked and made a dash for the door, but the enemy were hanging on to the handle in full force, and it was at least two minutes before the almost suffocated Parson could gasp, “Open the door! do you hear? Mr Parrett’s here; let him out.”

“Won’t wash, my boy!” cried a mocking voice—“won’t wash! Wait a bit, we’ve got another bottle for you when you’re quite ready!”

“Let me out, boys!” cried Mr Parrett as well as he could for choking and holding his nose.

“Tell you it won’t wash, my boy!” cried the insulting voice outside. “Try again! Have a little more sulphuretted hydrogen. Jolly stuff, isn’t it? Hold on, you fellows, while I chuck it in!”

The idea of another bottle was more than any one could endure.

Mr Parrett groaned and cleared his throat for another summons, but Parson was before him.

“I say,” cried he, in positively piteous tones, “we give in. I’ll apologise, anything — do you hear?”

“Eh — go down on your knees, then,” cried the enemy.

“I am,” said Parson.

“Is he? the rest of you? is he on his knees? both of them?”

“Yes, he is,” cried Bosher. “Honour bright.”

“Well then, say ‘I’m a beastly cad, and a funk, and a sneak, and I knuckle under and will never do it any more.’”

“I’m a beastly cad,” gasped Parson, choking with shame, anger, and sulphuretted hydrogen, “and a funk, and a sneak, and I knuckle under and will never do it any more.”

“Now all the rest of you say it!”

Telson, Bosher, and King obeyed, one after the other.

“Is that all of you?”

“Yes,” said Parson, terrified at the prospect of Mr Parrett having to go through the ordeal. “Telson, Bosher, King, and I are the only boys here.”

“All serene,” cried the jubilant voice outside, “open the door, you fellows!”

We draw a veil over the scene which followed!

Mr Parrett hurried out of the room the moment the door was open, merely turning to say, “Come to me all of you at seven to-night!”

And then with his handkerchief still over his mouth he hurried off.

For a few minutes, as the disconcerted and terrified youngsters stood in a small band at Parson’s study-door and watched Mr Parrett slowly retreat down the passage, it seemed as if the final crisis in the career of every one present had arrived.

It would have been bad enough to be caught in the midst of a simple free fight and sent up to the doctor. But the case was far more terrible than that! For Mr Parrett had been fearfully and wonderfully mixed up in the whole affair. A few weeks ago the Parrett’s juniors had done their best to drown him; now they had done their best to drown him and break his neck and crack his skull all at one onslaught; and as if that wasn’t enough, the Welchers had stepped in at the same moment and added poison and suffocation to the other crimes of which the unlucky master was the victim.

Of course he would think it from the beginning to end one elaborate and fiendish plot against his life. It would not matter to him which boys committed one assault and which another. He had figured as the victim of all parties, and all parties, there could be no doubt, would now be included under one terrific sentence.

In the presence of this common doom, schoolhouse, Parretts, and Welchers for the first time that term showed symptoms of a passing brotherhood.

They stood rooted to the spot and speechless for at least two minutes after the ill-starred master had vanished, then Telson — usually the first to recover his wits — whistled drearily and low, “Whew! we will catch it!”

“Think we’ll be expelled?” said Cusack.

“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Parson, retreating slowly into his study, followed by the rest.

“He’ll send us up to the doctor, certain,” said King.

There was a long unpleasant pause, at the end of which Cusack said, “Well, it’s no use staying here. Come on, you fellows.”

“May as well stay,” suggested Parson. “We’d better all turn up together.”

So it was decided not to break up the party, and that evening the unwonted spectacle of Telson, Parretts, and Welchers, sitting amicably together in one study, might have been noted as one of the greatest wonders of that wonderful term.

Of course boys could not sit and talk of nothing. And of course it was hardly to be expected they would confine their conversation altogether to a review of their misdeeds. The talk gradually became general, and occasionally even animated.

“Guess Pil and I will have to shut up chemistry after this,” said Cusack.

Pilbury smiled grimly.

“What do you call the beastly stuff?” asked Telson.

“Sulphuretted hydrogen,” said Cusack, briskly. “First of all you take a—”

“Oh, shut up shop! We don’t want a chemistry lecture,” broke in Parson.

There was a brief pause, then Philpot asked, “I say, is it true then, there’s not going to be a new race?”

“Of course not,” said Parson; “what’s the use when we can’t be sure of fair play?”

“Jolly right too,” said Cusack, delighted to agree with his old enemy for once; “those schoolhouse cads are cheats, every one of them?”

“All right!” exclaimed Telson jumping up; “I’ll fight you, young Cusack, for that!”

Cusack was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected outbreak, but was inclined, nevertheless, to accept the challenge. Parson, however, interfered peremptorily.

“Look here,” he said, “we’re in quite enough row for one day, without wanting any more. So shut up, you fellows, do you hear?”

“Make him apologise, then,” said Telson, wrathfully.

“Oh, all serene. Nobody was hurting you,” said Cusack.

“Do you apologise, or do you not?” demanded Telson.

“I didn’t say I didn’t, did I?”

This was as much as the irascible schoolhouse fag could expect, so he sat down again.

“You know,” said Pilbury, anxious to make things quite pleasant again, “a lot of the fellows say the schoolhouse would have won in any case.”

“I’d like to know who says that,” demanded Parson, whose turn it now was to be angry.

“Oh, everybody in our house. They looked like winning, you know, from the very start, didn’t they, Pil?”

“Yes, a lot you and your friend Pil know about rowing,” sneered Parson.

“Know as much as you do!”

“Pity if you know such a lot you can’t put a boat on the river.”

“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Cusack. “Pil and I will row any two of your lot; there now. Funk it, eh?”

Parson looked hard at the speaker, and then glanced at Telson. Telson glanced back at Parson, and then eyed the Welchers grimly.

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