The Willoughby Captains Part 2

"It's only seven past," says Parson, in an injured tone.

"Very well; go and see if Game's up."

Parson skulks off to rouse Game, knowing perfectly well that Bloomfield will be sound asleep again before he is out of the door, which turns out to be the case. After super-human efforts to extract from Game an a.s.surance that he's getting up that moment, and Parson needn't wait, the luckless f.a.g returns to find his master snoring like one of the seven sleepers. The same process has to be repeated. Shouts and shakes, and an occasional sly pinch, have no effect. Parson is tempted to leave his graceless lord to his fate, and betake himself to his French verbs; but a dim surmise as to the consequences prevents him. At last he braces himself up for one desperate effort. With a mighty tug he s.n.a.t.c.hes the clothes off the bed, and, dragging with all his might at the arm of the obstinate hero, yells out, "I say, Bloomfield, it's half-past six, and you wanted to be up at six. Get up!"

The effect of these combined efforts is that Bloomfield sits up in bed, rubbing his eyes, and demands, "Half-past six! Why didn't you call me at six, you young cad, eh?"

"So I did."

"Don't tell crams. If you'd called me at six I should have been up, shouldn't I?" exclaimed Bloomfield. "I tell you I did call you,"

retorts the f.a.g.

"Look here," says Bloomfield, becoming alarmingly wide-awake, "I don't want any of your cheek. Go and see if Game's up, and then see if the boat's ready. The tub-pair, mind; look sharp!"

"Please, Bloomfield," says Parson, meekly, "do you mind if I get Parks to c.o.x you? I've not looked at my Caesar yet, and I've got eight French verbs to do besides for Coates."

"Do you hear me? Go and see if Game's up," replies Bloomfield. "If you choose not to do your work overnight, and get impositions for breaking rules into the bargain, it's not my lookout, is it?"

"But I only went--" begins the unfortunate Parson.

"I'll went you with the flat of a bat if you don't cut," shouts Bloomfield. Whereat his f.a.g vanishes.

Game, of course, is fast asleep, but on him Parson has no notion of bestowing the pains he had devoted to Bloomfield. Finding the sleeper deaf to all his calls, he adopts the simple expedient of dipping the end of a towel in water and laying it neatly across the victim's face, shouting in his ear at the same time, "Game, I say, Bloomfield's waiting for you down at the boats." Having delivered himself of which, he retreats rather hastily, and only just in time.

The row up the river that morning was rather pleasant than otherwise.

When once they were awake the morning had its effect on the spirits of all three boys. Even Parson, sitting lazily in the stern, listening to the Sixth Form gossip of the two rowers, forgot about his Caesar and French verbs, and felt rather glad he had turned out after all.

The chief object of the present expedition was not pleasure by any means as far as Bloomfield and Game were concerned. It was one of a series of training practices in antic.i.p.ation of the school regatta, which was to come off on the second of June, in which the rival four-oars of the three houses were to compete for the champions.h.i.+p of the river. The second of June was far enough ahead at present, but an old hand like Bloomfield knew well that the time was all too short to lick his crew into shape. Parrett's boat, by all ordinary calculation, ought to win, for they had a specially good lot of men this year; and now Wyndham had left, the schoolhouse boat would be quite an orphan. Bloomfield himself was far away the best oar left in Willoughby, and if he could only get Game to work off a little of his extra fat, and bully Tipper into reaching better forward, and break Ashley of his trick of feathering under water, he had a crew at his back which it would be hard indeed to beat. This morning he was taking Game in hand, and that substantial athlete was beginning to find out that "working off one's extra fat" in a tub-pair on a warm summer morning is not all sport.

"I wonder if Tipper and Ashley will show, up," said Bloomfield, who was rowing bow for the sake of keeping a better watch on his pupil. "They promised they would. Ashley, you know--(do keep it up, Game, you're surely not blowed yet)--Ashley's about as much too light as you are too fat--(try a little burst round the corner now; keep us well out, young 'un)--but if he'll only keep his blade square till he's out of the water--(there you go again! Of course you're hot; that's what I brought you out for. How do you suppose you're to boil down to the proper weight unless you do perspire a bit?)--he'll make a very decent bow.

Ah, there are Porter and Fairbairn in the schoolhouse tub--(you needn't stop rowing, Game; keep it up, man; show them how you can spurt). I never thought they'd try Porter in their boat. They might as well try Riddell. Just shows how hard-up they must be for men. How are you?" he cried, as the schoolhouse tub went clumsily past, both rowers looking decidedly nervous under the critical eye of the captain of Parrett's.

Poor Game, who had been kept hard at it for nearly a mile, now fairly struck, and declared he couldn't keep it up any longer, and as he had really done a very good spell of work, Bloomfield consented to land at the Willows and bathe; after which he and Game would run back, and young Parson might scull home the tub.

Which delightful plan Master Parson by no means jumped at. He had calculated on getting at least a quarter of an hour for his Caesar before morning chapel if they returned as they had come. But now, if he was expected to lug that great heavy boat back by himself, not only would he not get that, but the chances were he would get locked out for chapel altogether, and it would be no excuse that he had had to act as galley-slave for Bloomfield or anybody else.

"Look alive!" cries Bloomfield from the bank, where he is already stripped for his header. "And, by the way, on your way up go round to Chalker's and tell him only to stick up one set of cricket nets in our court; don't forget, now. Be quick; you've not too much time before chapel."

Saying which, he takes a running dive from the bank and leaves the luckless Parson to boil over inwardly as he digs his sculls spitefully into the water and begins his homeward journey.

Was life worth living at this rate? If he didn't tell Chalker about the nets that imbecile old groundsman would be certain to stick up half a dozen sets, and there'd be no end of a row. That was 7:30 striking now, and he had to be in the chapel at five minutes to eight, and Chalker's hut was a long five minutes from the boat-house. And then those eight French verbs and that Caesar--

It was no use thinking about them, and Parson lashed out with his sculls, caring little if that hulking tub went to the bottom. He'd rather like it, in fact, for he wanted a swim. He hadn't even had time to tub that morning, and it was certain there'd be no time now till goodness knew when--not till after second school, and then probably he'd be spending a pleasant half-hour in the doctor's study.

At this point he became aware of another boat making down on him, manned by three juniors, who were making up in noise and splas.h.i.+ng what they lacked in style and oarsmans.h.i.+p.

Parson knew them yards away. They were rowdies of Welch's house, and he groaned inwardly at the prospect before him. The boy steering was our old acquaintance Pilbury, and as his boat approached he shouted out cheerily, "Hullo, there, Parson! mind your eye! We'll race you in--give you ten yards and b.u.mp you in twenty! Pull away, you fellows! One, two, three, gun! Off you go! Oh, well rowed, my boat! Now you've got him! Wire in, now! Smash him up! scrunch him into the bank! Hooroo!

two to one on us! Lay on to it, you fellows; he can't go straight! Six more strokes and you're into him! One, two, three--ha, ha! he's funking it!--four, five--now a good one for the last--six! Hooroo! b.u.mp to us!

Welch's for ever!"

So saying, the hostile boat came full tilt on to the stern of the Parrett's tub, and the outraged Parson found himself next moment sprawling on his back, with the nose of his boat firmly wedged into the clay bank of the river, while his insulting adversaries sped gaily away down stream, making the morning hideous with their shouts and laughter.

This little incident, as may be supposed, did not tend to compose the fluttered spirits of the unhappy Frederick. To say nothing of the indignity of being deliberately run down and screwed into the bank by a crew of young "Welchers," the loss of time involved in extricating his boat from the muddy obstacle which held her by the nose, put all chance of getting in in time to go round to Chalker's before chapel out of the question. Indeed, it looked very like a shut-out from chapel too, and that meant no end of a row.

By a super-human effort he got his boat clear, and sculled down hard all, reaching the boat-house at seven minutes to eight. He had just presence of mind enough to shout the message for Chalker to the boat- boy, with a promise of twopence if he delivered it at once; and then with a desperate rush he just succeeded in reaching the chapel and squeezing himself in at the door as the bell ceased ringing.

Chapel was not, under the circ.u.mstances, a very edifying service to Parson that morning. His frame of mind was not devotional, and his feelings of bottled-up wrath at what was past, and dejected antic.i.p.ation of what was to come, left between them no room for interest in or meaning for the words in which his schoolfellows were joining. The only satisfaction morning prayers brought to him was that, for ten minutes at least, no one could harry him; and that at least was something to be grateful for.

Morning chapel at Willoughby was supposed to be at 7:15, and was at 7:15 all the months of the year except May, June, and July, when, in consideration of the early-morning rowing and bathing, it was postponed for three-quarters of an hour--a concession made up for by the sacrifice of the usual half-hour's interval between breakfast and first lesson.

This arrangement was all against Parson, who, if the half-hour had been still available, could at least have skimmed through his Caesar, and perhaps have begged a friend to help him with the French verbs, and possibly even have had it out with Pilbury for his morning's diversion.

As it was, there was no opportunity for the performance of any one of these duties, and at the sound of the pitiless bell he slunk into first lesson, feeling himself a doomed man.

His one hope was Telson. Telson sat next him in cla.s.s, and, he knew well, would help him if he could.

"Telson," he groaned, directly he found himself beside his faithful ally, "I've not looked at it!"

Telson whistled. "There'll be a row," he muttered, consolingly; "it's a jolly hard bit."

"Haven't you got the crib?"

Telson looked uncomfortable. "Riddell caught me with it and made me give it up."

"What on earth business has Riddell with your cribs, I'd like to know?"

exclaimed Parson, indignant, not at all on the question of morality, but because the last straw on which he had relied for scrambling through his Caesar had failed him.

"He didn't take it, but he advised me to give it up."

"And you were fool enough to give in to him?"

"Well, he made out it wasn't honourable to use cribs," said Telson.

"Grandmother!" snarled Parson. "Why, Telson, I didn't think you'd have been such a soft!"

"No more did I, but somehow--oh! I'm awfully sorry, old man; I'll try and get it back."

"Doesn't much matter," said Parson, resignedly. "I'm in for it hot to- day."

"I'll prompt you all I can," said the repentant Telson.

"Thanks; I'd do the same to you if I could," replied Parson.

"It is a long lane that has no turning," as the proverb says, and Parson, after all, was destined to enjoy one brief glimpse of the smiles of fortune that day. The first boy put up to translate stumbled over a somewhat intricate point of syntax. Now Mr Warton, the master--as the manner of many masters is--was writing a little book on Latin Syntax, and this particular pa.s.sage happened to be a superb example of a certain style of construction which till this moment had escaped his notice.

Delighted with the discovery, he launched out into a short lecture on the subject generally, citing all the examples he had already got in his book, and comparing them with other forms of construction to be found scattered through the entire range of Latin cla.s.sical literature.

How Parson and Telson enjoyed that lecture! They listened to it with rapt attention with hearts full of grat.i.tude and faces full of sympathy.

They did not understand a word of it, but a chapter out of "Mids.h.i.+pman Easy" could not have delighted them more; and when they saw that the clock had slowly worked round from nine to ten they would not have interrupted it for the world.

"Ah!" said Mr Warton, taking out his watch, "I see time's up. We've had more Syntax than Caesar to-day. Never mind, it's a point worth remarking, and sure to be useful as you get on in Latin. The cla.s.s is dismissed."