The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines - Страница 43

“And more than that,” added the doctor, “it contains a few boys — one or two only, I hope — whose influence is distinctly bad.”

Mr Parrett nodded.

“A change of some sort must be made,” said the doctor. “It has occurred to me, Parrett, quite recently, that Riddell might do better there.”

Mr Parrett opened his eyes wide.

“You are astonished,” said the doctor. “So was I when I first thought of it. But Riddell is a safe man, if slow, and his influence is just what is wanted in Welch’s. Besides, Fairbairn would make an excellent head for the schoolhouse. What do you think?”

“Without doubt Riddell, as far as character goes, is the best boy you could choose. I’m not quite sure, though, whether he has sufficient force.”

“But, as you say, his force answers to his difficulties. At any rate I am disposed to try him. A few weeks will show how he gets on. I have not much fear myself.”

And so the head master and his lieutenant separated.

Little dreaming of the changes in store for them, Silk and Gilks were sitting together in the study of the latter, furtively consuming cigar-ends and looking decidedly glum as they conversed together in low and mysterious and not very amicable tones.

“Think he’ll do it?” said Silk.

“He had a letter from home this morning,” replied Gilks, “I know, because he sat next to me at breakfast while he was reading it.”

“Did you see what it said,” inquired Silk, as naturally as if looking over another fellow’s letters were an ordinary proceeding.

“No, but it was from his brother, and it had a post-office order in it.”

“It had? that’s lucky. How much was it for?”

“I couldn’t see,” said Gilks.

“Where is he now?” asked Silk, after a pause.

“I don’t know. Probably in his Holiness’s study — or, no, it’s library night — he’ll be there.”

“What a nuisance that library is. The young beggar’s always pottering about there,” said Silk. “Think he’ll look us up before bedtime?”

“Don’t know,” said Gilks.

“You’d better know,” said Silk. “He must come, and you’d better see he does.”

This last was spoken in a somewhat menacing voice, and Gilks sulkily replied, “What are you in such a hurry to-night for? The morning will do, won’t it?”

“No,” said Silk, “it won’t, there; and if it did, I choose to see him to-night.”

“I don’t know what makes you so precious disagreeable,” growled Gilks. “I don’t want to be ordered about by you, I can tell you.”

Silk sneered. “I’m under great obligations to you, I know,” he said.

“Well,” said Gilks, who winced visibly under the satire, “however could I help it? It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. I’m awfully sorry you lost on the race, but—”

“But you’d better look alive and do what I tell you,” said Silk, viciously.

It was curious, to say the least of it, that in so short a time the Welcher should have so completely got the upper hand of his confederate that the latter departed meekly without another word on his errand.

He found Wyndham, as he had expected, in the library, busy getting together the books for distribution next day.

“Hullo!” said Gilks, with a show of cordiality; “here you are again. You seem to live here.”

“No, I don’t,” said Wyndham, looking not very pleased to be interrupted; “but I always have to get ready an evening before the day, or the fellows kick up such a jolly row when they’re kept waiting.”

“How long shall you be?” asked Gilks.

“I don’t know. Why?” asked Wyndham.

“Only Silk wants to speak to you.”

Wyndham’s face clouded. He had come fresh from Riddell’s study an hour ago. His brother’s friend had been as kind as ever. In a hundred ways he had shown it without sermon or lecture, and Wyndham had felt stung with a sense of his own ingratitude and dishonesty as he accepted the help and goodness of his mentor.

Now, consequently, this summons to present himself before Silk was more than usually distasteful.

“I can’t come, tell him. It will take me all the evening to finish this.”

“You’d better go, though,” said Gilks.

“I can’t. Why had I better go?” asked Wyndham, looking uncomfortable.

“It’s something important he wants you for. You’d better go, young un.”

Wyndham flung down the book in his hand with a baffled air, and muttering, “I hate the fellow!” walked miserably off. Gilks called him back for a moment.

“I say,” he said, “don’t you be such a fool as to rile Silk, young un. He could make it precious awkward for you and me too if it came to a row. Take my advice and keep in with him.”

Wyndham answered nothing, but went off moodily to Silk. “Ah, Wyndham,” said the latter, cordially, as his young protege entered, “I was just wondering if you’d give me a look up.”

“Gilks came and said you wanted me; that’s why I came,” said Wyndham.

“Awfully good of you,” said Silk. “Of course I wanted you. The fact is, young un,” said he, becoming a little mysterious, “there’s rather an awkward thing turned up. I hope it won’t come to anything, I’m sure, but it doesn’t do to be too sure.”

“What do you mean?” demanded Wyndham, looking alarmed. “I mean,” said Silk, slowly, “that last time you took Gilks and me down to Beamish’s—”

“I took you!” exclaimed Wyndham. “You took me — you made me go.”

Silk laughed.

“Well, the last time we three went to Beamish’s, if you like — the Saturday before the race; last Saturday, in fact — somebody saw us, or rather saw you.”

“What!” cried Wyndham, turning pale. “Who was it?”

“It wouldn’t do you any good to know,” said Silk, “but it seems to be a fact.”

“Who was it? a master or a monitor, or who?” asked the boy, anxiously.

“Neither. I don’t fancy you know the fellow at all; I do, though.”

Silk, as he concocted this lie, would probably have been as astonished as any one to discover that the escapade in question had really been witnessed by two boys from the box of the doctor’s own fly!

“You know him?” said Wyndham. “Will he let out, do you think?”

“I can’t say. I think I could prevent him,” said Silk.

“Oh, please do,” said the troubled boy, full of exaggerated terror at the consequences of detection.

“I’ll see,” said Silk, not very assuringly.

“What!” cried Wyndham. “You surely won’t leave me in the lurch, Silk?”

Silk looked benevolently at his young friend.

“It depends,” said he, coolly.

“Depends! On what? Oh, Silk, what do you mean?”

“Don’t alarm yourself,” said Silk, smiling. Then he added, confidentially, “The fact is, young un, I’m hard-up. I lost a lot of money on the race, owing to that — that is, because Parrett’s lost. The thing is, can you lend me a couple of sovereigns, Wyndham?”

Wyndham’s face clouded for a moment, but he replied quickly, “Yes, I can, Silk, if you’ll promise to see it doesn’t get out about last Saturday.”

“Of course I will. You don’t suppose I’m such a cad as all that.”

“Oh, no,” said Wyndham, looking more cheerful, and taking out his purse.

He drew from it a post-office order.

“It’s for three pounds,” he said. “I was going to change it to-morrow.”

“Oh, I’ll do that,” said Silk. “I’m going into town early. You have signed it, I see. There’ll be a sov. to give you out of it, won’t there?”

“Yes, please; and the two pounds, and the ten shillings the other day,” faltered the boy.

“You shall have them back, never fear,” said Silk, pocketing the order.

Wyndham, in spite of this assurance, did fear considerably, as he returned with empty purse to his house.