The Willoughby Captains Page 9

  According to custom, Riddell, as captain of the school, rose, and briefly proposed, “That Mr Isaacs, Senior Limpet, be requested to preside until after the election of a Speaker.”

  The appearance of the captain to move this resolution had always been the signal for a loud ovation from the House. But this year the cheers were confined to a very small cluster of schoolhouse boys, and died away languidly in the general silence which prevailed elsewhere. Riddell’s motion being seconded and carried, Mr Isaacs, a pallid unintelligent-looking Limpet, rose and advanced to the chair at the end of the table usually occupied by the Chairman of Committees, and, knocking with a hammer once or twice, demanded silence. This being secured, he called out, “Mr Fairbairn!” and sat down.

  Fairbairn’s speech was brief and to the point.

  “I beg to move that the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House. I don’t know that I need say anything in support of this.” (“Oh, oh!” from a voice opposite.) “The captain always has been Speaker, and Mr Riddell has already taken an active part in the business of the house and knows what the Speaker’s duties are. We all miss old Wyndham,”—(loud cheers)—“but I’m sure Riddell will be a worthy successor to him in the chair of this House.”

  Coates having said, “I beg to second the motion,” Mr Isaacs put it to the meeting, and asked if there was any amendment. Whereupon Game rose, amid loud cheers from all quarters.

  Game, as has already been said, was an honest fellow. He meant what he said, and generally said what he meant. He was fully convinced in his own mind that Willoughby would go to the dogs under the new captain, and therefore if Riddell had been his own twin-brother he would have protested against him all the same.

  “I beg to move an amendment,” he said, “and it is this: That Mr Bloomfield be appointed Speaker of this House instead of Mr Riddell.” (It will be noticed by the way that when Willoughby sat in Parliament everybody was “Mr”) “And the reason I do so is because I consider Mr Bloomfield ought to be captain of the school instead of Mr Riddell. (Loud Parrett cheers.) I’ve nothing to say against Mr Riddell — (cheers from the schoolhouse) — except that I don’t consider he’s the right man in the right place. (Great applause.) He’s been made captain against our wishes,”—(“Hear, hear,” and “Oh, oh!”)—“and we can’t help it. But we’re not obliged to have him captain here, and what’s more, we don’t mean to! (Terrific cheers, especially from the juniors.) Mr Bloomfield’s our man. Only to-day he stopped a row in the Fourth in two minutes which Mr Riddell couldn’t have stopped if he’d stayed till now.” (Laughter, and cries of “Give him a clothes-brush!”) “The fellows all look up to Mr Bloomfield. He ran grandly for the school at the sports the other day, and licked the London fellow. (Here the enthusiasm became positively deafening.) What’s Mr Riddell done for the school? I should like to know. We want a fellow who has done something for the school, and, I repeat, Mr Bloomfield’s our man, and I hope you’ll elect him Speaker.”

  Game sat down amidst a tempest of applause, which brought a flush of pleasure even to his serious face.

  Many curious eyes were turned to Riddell to see the effect of this uncomplimentary oration upon him.

  At first he had looked nervous and uncomfortable, and had even whispered to Fairbairn, who sat next him, “Don’t you think I’d better go?”

  “For goodness’ sake, no!” exclaimed Fairbairn. “Don’t be a fool, Riddell.”

  The caution had its weight. Riddell saw he must brave it out; and that being settled, he felt more comfortable, and listened to all the unpleasant things that were said in a composed manner which greatly perplexed his adversaries.

  Ashley, who seconded Game’s motion, was hardly so fortunate in his remarks as his predecessor.

  “I second the motion, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time we made a stand against this sort of thing.” (“What sort of thing?” from voices on the schoolhouse side.) “Why, schoolhouse tyranny. (Frantic Parrett cheers.) Why is the whole credit of Willoughby to be sacrificed for the sake of your precious schoolhouse?” (“Question!” “Order!” drowned by renewed cheers.) “Why, just because he’s a schoolhouse fellow, is a muff to be stuck over us? and just because he’s a Parrett’s fellow, is a splendid fellow like Mr Bloomfield to be snubbed in the face of the whole school? (Loud cheers.) It’s time Willoughby found out that Parrett is the cock house of the school.” (“Oh! oh!” from the Welchers.) “It’s got the best men in it. (Parrett cheers.) It’s head of the river.” (“Oh no, not yet,” from Fairbairn.) “Well, it will be very soon. It’s ahead in everything.” (“Except intelligence,” from Crossfield.) “No, I don’t even except intelligence. (Loud cheers from Bosher, and laughter.) And, as a sign of its intelligence, I beg to second the motion.”

  This abrupt and somewhat vague termination to Ashley’s spirited address did not detract from the applause with which it was greeted by his own partisans, or from the wrath with which it was received by the schoolhouse boys.

  The moment he sat down Crossfield sprang to his feet. This was the signal for loud schoolhouse cheers, and for general attention from all quarters, for Crossfield usually had something to say worth listening to.

  “Mr Limpet, sir,”—(loud laughter; Isaacs, who had been drawing niggers on the paper before him, started, and blushed very much to find himself thus appealed to)—“I am sure we are all much obliged to the honourable member who has just sat down for the ‘sign of intelligence’ he has just favoured us with. (Laughter.) We’ve been looking for it for a long time — (laughter) — and it’s come at last! (Cheers and laughter.) Sir, it would be a great pity to let such an occasion pass without notice. I’m not sure that the doctor might not think it worth a half-holiday. A sign of intelligence from the hon. gentleman! And what is the sign, sir? (Laughter.) The hon. member seconds the motion.” (“Hear, hear!” from Parrett’s.) “Gentlemen of the same party say ‘Hear, hear!’ as much as to say, ‘We, too, show signs of intelligence!’ Do you really, gentlemen? I could not have believed it. (Loud laughter.) Why does he second the motion? Because he’s a Parrett’s boy, and Mr Bloomfield is a Parrett’s boy, and all Parrett’s boys say a Parrett’s boy ought to be the head of the school! Gentlemen, parrots aren’t always to be trusted, even when they show signs of intelligence! (Cheers and laughter.) Don’t you believe all a parrot tells you about parrots. (Laughter.) I prefer the arguments of the gentleman who moved the amendment. He says he doesn’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. (Cheers.) I agree with him — (tremendous Parrett’s cheers, and consternation of schoolhouse) — I don’t think Mr Riddell is fit to be captain. He doesn’t think so himself.” (“Hear, hear!” from Riddell, and laughter.) “But the gentleman says Mr Bloomfield is the man. (Loud cheers.) I don’t agree with that at all. Mr Riddell knows very little about sports, though I do hear he was seen coxing a schoolhouse boat this morning. (Derisive cheers.) Mr Bloomfield knows almost as little about classics! (Loud laughter from the schoolhouse.) Why, gentlemen, do you mean to say you think a fellow who couldn’t translate ‘Balbus hopped over a wall’ without looking up three words in a lexicon is fit to be a Willoughby captain?” (Laughter from the juniors, and cries of “Time!” from Parretts.) “I say not. Even though he’s a Parrett’s boy, and therefore can show a sign of intelligence! (Laughter.) No; what I say is, whether we believe in him or not, Mr Riddell is captain; and until you can show me a less bad one, I’ll vote for him.”

  This oration, delivered with great animation and amidst constant laughter, helped to put the meeting in rather better humour, all except the Parrett’s fellows, who did not enjoy it at all.

  However, before any of them could make up his mind to reply, a shrill voice was heard from the other end of the hall, “Sir! It is time the Welchers had a word!”

  This innocent announcement caused a loud burst of laughter, in which every one joined, especially when it was discovered that the orator was none other than the youthful Mr Pilbury himself!

  He stood
surrounded by a small cluster of admiring juniors, who glared defiantly out on the assembly generally, and “backed up their man” till he could hardly breathe.

  “It’s all very well,” screamed Pilbury. (Loud cheers from Cusack and Philpot.) But here the chairman’s hammer sounded and cries of “Order” checked the orator’s progress.

  “The hon. member,” said Isaacs, “cannot propose his motion till the motion before the House is disposed of.”

  Pilbury scowled fiercely at the speaker.

  “I shall propose it,” he cried, “and you’d better shut up, old Ikey!”

  Game, amid much laughter, rose to order, and asked if these expressions were parliamentary?

  Isaacs said, “Certainly not, and Mr Pilbury must withdraw them.”

  Mr Pilbury said “he’d withdraw his grandmother,” and attempted to continue his speech, when Fairbairn rose and suggested to the hon. member that if he would only wait a bit the House would be delighted to hear him. After this conciliatory advice Pilbury let himself be pulled down into his seat by his admirers, and the debate on Game’s amendment continued.

  It was hot and exciting. The arguments were mostly on the side of the schoolhouse, and the vehemence on the side of Parrett’s. Once or twice a Welcher dropped in a speech, attacking both parties and once or twice a schoolhouse boy spoke in favour of Bloomfield, or a Parrett’s boy spoke in favour of Riddell. At last, after about an hour’s angry debate, the House divided. That is, all those in favour of Game’s amendment moved over to one side of the room, and those against it to the other, and those who did not want to vote at all kept their seats in the middle.

  There was no need to count the numbers of the rival parties as they stood. Only about twenty-five stood beside Fairbairn and the schoolhouse, while nearly two hundred and fifty boys crowded the side of the room along which Game and his followers took their stand. The triumph of the opponents to the new captain was complete, and the school had given him and the head master a most emphatic reply to the late appointment.

  Riddell would have much preferred to be allowed to withdraw of his own accord rather than remain to be beaten. But his friends had all opposed the idea as cowardly, and he had given in to them. He now took his defeat very placidly, and even joined in the laughter which greeted Mr Isaac’s call.

  “Now, Mr Pilbury!”

  Mr Pilbury was “off his speech.” If he had been allowed to proceed when he first rose, he had the steam up and could have let out, as he told his friends; but now the spirit had been taken out of him. However, he was compelled to make an effort, and began as before, “Sir, it is time the Welchers had a word.”

  He didn’t mean anything funny, he was certain, but everybody laughed.

  “Why shouldn’t old Cusack here—” (“Order, order”)—“What’s the row?”

  Isaacs informed the hon. gentleman that members of that House were always called “Mr”

  “Mr Cusack, then,” said Pilbury, “it’s just a dodge of Ikey to floor me in my speech. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack— Eh, what say?”

  This was addressed to Philpot, who was eagerly trying to prompt his ally.

  “Go it, let out at them,” he whispered.

  “Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack go it and let out — that is — all right, Philpot, you pig, I’ll pay you out, see if I don’t. Why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack, gentlemen — er—”

  “Do,” suggested Cusack himself.

  “Do,” shouted Pilbury, “do, gentlemen — do? Why shouldn’t — (all right, Gus Telson, I see you chucking darts) — why shouldn’t old Mr Cusack—”

  “Does any gentleman second the amendment?” asked Mr Isaacs, evidently getting hungry and anxious to be released from his post.

  “Yes,” shouted Philpot, “Mr Gentlemen, yes, I do — and—”

  “Wait a bit, you howling cad,” exclaimed Pilbury, in excitement. “I’ve not done yet!”

  “Mr Philpot!” said Mr Isaacs.

  “Philpot be blowed,” cried the irate Pilbury, “wait till I’m done.”

  “Order, order,” shouted members on all sides.

  “Moved by Mr Pilbury, seconded by Mr Philpot,” began Isaacs.

  “Easy all,” cried Philpot, “I’ve not spoken yet.”

  “Order, order,” cried Isaacs.

  “Order yourself,” retorted Philpot, “I’ve got a right to speak.”

  “So have I,” said Pilbury, “and I was up first.”

  “Forge away,” said Philpot, “you’ll be all right.”

  “Nothing to do with you if I am all right,” snarled Pilbury.

  “You seem to think you’re the only fellow can talk.”

  “Ays to the right, noes to the left,” said Isaacs, in a loud voice.

  The House instantly divided, and before either Pilbury or Philpot could make up their minds about proceeding, the motion had been declared lost by a majority of three hundred odd to one.

  In a great state of wrath the injured Welchers left the hall, making as much noise as they possibly could in doing so.

  As soon as they were gone, Isaacs put the question that Bloomfield be elected Speaker, and this was carried without a division, the schoolhouse fellows not caring to demand one.

  Amid loud and long-continued cheers the new Speaker took his seat, and as soon as silence could be restored, said, “I’m much obliged to you all for your vote. I hope Willoughby won’t go down. I’ll try to prevent it for one. (Loud cheers.) I’m very proud to be elected your Speaker, and feel it quite as much honour as if I was captain of the school.” (Loud cries of “So you are!”—from Parrett’s.) “In reference to what one gentleman said about me, I hope you won’t believe it. I’m twelfth in classics. (Laughter from the schoolhouse and terrific applause from Parrett’s.) That’s all I have to say.”

  The remaining business of the afternoon was dull compared with what had gone before. The elections for the various posts in the Government did not excite very much enthusiasm, especially among the juniors, who deserted the meeting soon after they began. After what had occurred it is hardly to be wondered at that the partisans of Bloomfield and the Parretts had the matter pretty much in their own hands, and used it to their own advantage. When the list was finally declared, it was found that only one schoolhouse fellow, Porter, had a place in the “Cabinet.” He was appointed Chancellor of the Exchequer. Game was First Lord of the Admiralty, Wibberly, War Secretary, Ashley, Home Secretary, and Strutter, a comparatively obscure boy, Premier. All these, as well as the other officers appointed, were Parrett’s fellows, who may have flattered themselves their election was a simple recognition of merit in each case, but who, taken altogether, were a long way off being the most distinguished boys of Willoughby.

  Parliament did not adjourn till a late hour that evening, and no one was particularly sorry when it did.

  Chapter Nine

  A Scientific Afternoon in Welch’s

  “Pil,” said Cusack, a few days after the unfortunate end to that gentleman’s “motion” in Parliament—“Pil, it strikes me we can do pretty much as we like these times. What do you think?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said Pil, meditatively; “I got a pot from Coates to-day for playing fives against the schoolhouse door.”

  “Oh yes; of course, if you fool about out of doors you’ll get potted. What I mean is, indoors here there’s no one to pull us up that I can see.”

  “Oh! I see what you mean,” said Pil. “Yes, you’re about right there.”

  “Gully, you know,” continued Cusack—“Gully’s no good as master of a house; he’s always grubbing over his books. Bless his heart! it doesn’t matter to him whether we cut one another’s throats!”

  “Not it! I dare say he’d be rather glad if we did,” replied Pilbury.

  “Then there’s Tucker. No fear of his reporting us, eh!”

  “Rather not! when he’s always breaking rules himself, and slinking down to Shellport, and kicking up rows with the other chaps. What do you think
I found in his brush-and-comb bag the other day? Thirteen cigar-ends! He goes about collecting them in Shellport, I suppose, and finishes them up on the quiet.”

  “Oh, he’s a beast!” said Cusack. “And old Silk’s about as bad. He doesn’t care a bit what we do as long as he enjoys himself. Don’t suppose he’d be down on us, do you?”

  “No fear! He might pot us now and then for appearances’ sake, but he wouldn’t report us, I guess.”

  “And suppose he did,” said Cusack; “the new captain’s as big a muff as all the lot of them put together. He’s afraid to look at a chap. Didn’t you hear what he did to the Parrett’s kids the other day?”

  “Yes; didn’t I!” exclaimed Pilbury. “He let them all off, and begged their pardons or something. But I’m jolly glad Parrett was down on them. He’s stopped their river-play, and they won’t be able to show up at the regatta.”

  “I’m jolly glad!” said Cusack; “chaps like them deserve to catch it, don’t they, Pil?”

  “Rather!” replied Pilbury.

  A silence ensued, during which both heroes were doubtless meditating upon the unexampled iniquities of the Parrett juniors.

  Presently Pilbury observed somewhat dolefully, “Beastly slow, isn’t it, Cusack?”

  “What’s beastly slow?”

  “Oh, everything! No fun kicking up a row if there’s no one to pull you up. I’m getting sick of rows.”

  Cusack stared at his friend with rather concerned looks. He could not be well, surely, or he would never come out with sentiments like those.

  “Fact is,” continued Pilbury, contemplatively balancing himself on one foot on the corner of the fender, “I’ve half a notion to go in for being steady this term, old man, just for a change.”

  As if to suit the action to the word, the fender suddenly capsized under him, and shot him head first into the waistcoat of his friend.

  Cusack solemnly restored him to his feet and replied, “Rather a rum start, isn’t it?”

  “Well,” said Pilbury, examining his shin to see if it had been grazed by the treacherous fender, “I don’t see what else there is to do. Any chap can fool about. I’m fagged of fooling about; ain’t you?”