The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines - Страница 74

“A pot of jam!” he exclaimed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Oh, any sort you’ve got,” said the captain, eagerly; “and I suppose you haven’t got a pie of any sort, or some muffins?”

Fairbairn gaped at his visitor with something like apprehension as he came out with this extraordinary request. The captain’s voice was grave, and no suspicion of a jest lurked in his face. Could he possibly have succumbed to the mental strain of the past term, and taken leave of his wits?

“What are you talking about, Riddell?” asked Fairbairn, in tones almost of pity. “Has anything happened to you?”

Riddell looked at the speaker inquisitively for a moment, then broke out into a laugh.

“What an ass I am! I forgot to tell you what I wanted them for. The fact is, I asked two kids to breakfast this morning, and I just remembered I had nothing but tea and toast to offer them; and it’s too early to get anything in. I’d be awfully obliged if you could help me out with it.”

Fairbairn’s merriment broke out afresh as the truth revealed itself, and it was some time before he could attend to business. He then offered Riddell anything he could find in his cupboard, and the captain thereupon gratefully availed himself of the offer to secure a pot of red-currant jam, a small pot of potted meat, two or three apples, and a considerable section of a plum cake. All these he promised to replace without delay, and triumphantly hurried back with them in his pocket and under his jacket, in time to deposit them on his table before the bell began to ring for chapel. He also sent Cusack round to the school larder to order three new laid eggs and some extra butter to be delivered at once.

These grand preparations being duly made, he breathed again, and went hopefully to chapel.

As it happened, he had been very near reckoning without his host, or I should say his guests. For Parson and Telson had been some time before they could make up their minds to accept the hurried invitation of the previous evening.

“It’s a row,” Telson had said, as the captain disappeared.

“Of course it is. I’m not going,” said Parson.

“Wonder what about?”

“Oh, that Skyrocket affair, I suppose.”

“Do you think he’ll give us impots if we don’t go?”

“Don’t know — most likely.”

“Rum, his asking us to breakfast, though,” said Telson.

“All a dodge, I expect,” said Parson. “By the way, what sort of breakfasts does he go in for?”

“Not bad when he likes,” said Telson, with the authority of an old fag.

“Bacon?” asked Parson.

“Sometimes,” said Telson.

“Jam?” inquired Parson.

“Generally,” replied Telson.

There was a pause. Then Parson said, “Fancy we’d better turn up. It’s only civil, when he asked us.”

“All serene,” said Telson; “if it is a row, of course it will come off in any case. And we may as well get our breakfast somewhere.”

With which philosophical resolve the matter had been settled, and the amiable pair parted to meet next morning after chapel.

Riddell spared himself the embarrassment of waiting to escort his guests to the festive board, and hurried off in advance to see that the preparations were duly made in their honour.

He caught Cusack wistfully eyeing the unwonted array of good things on the table, and evidently speculating as to who the favoured guests were to be. It was with some difficulty that the captain got him sent off to his own breakfast in the big hall, half bribed thereto by the promise of a reversion of the coming feast.

Then, feeling quite exhausted by his morning’s excitement, he sat down and awaited his visitors.

They arrived in due time; still, to judge of their leisurely approach and their languid knock, a little suspicious of the whole affair. But the moment the door opened, and their eyes fell on the table, their manner changed to one of the most amiable briskness.

“Good-morning,” said Riddell, who, in the presence of the greater attractions on the table, ran considerable risk of being overlooked altogether.

“Good-morning,” cried the boys, suddenly roused by his voice to a sense of their social duty.

“Awfully brickish of you to ask us round,” said Telson.

“Rather,” chimed in Parson.

“I’m glad you came,” said the captain. “We may as well have breakfast. Telson, have you forgotten how to boil eggs?”

Telson said emphatically he had not, and proceeded forthwith to give practical proof of his cunning, while Parson volunteered his aid in cutting up the bread, and buttering the toast.

In due time the preliminaries were all got through, and the trio sat down to partake of the reward of their toil.

Riddell could not thank his stars sufficiently that he had thought of embellishing his feast with the few luxuries from Fairbairn’s cupboard. Nothing could exceed the good-humour of the two juniors as one delicacy after another unfolded its charms and invited their attention. They accompanied their exertions with a running fire of chat and chaff, which left Riddell very little to do except gently to steer the conversation round towards the point for which this merry meeting was designed.

“Frightful job to get old Parson to turn up,” said Telson, taking his fourth go-in of potted meat; “he thought you were going to row him about that shindy in the Parliament!”

“No, I didn’t,” rejoined Parson, pushing up his cup for more tea. “It was you said that about blowing up us Skyrockets.”

“What a howling cram,” said Telson. “I never make bad jokes. You know, Riddell, it was Parson stuck us up to that business. He’s always at the bottom of the rows.”

Parson laughed at this compliment.

“You mean I always get into the rows,” said he.

“Anyhow, I don’t suppose the Skyrockets will show up again this term,” said Telson.

“They certainly did not get much encouragement last time,” said Riddell, laughing. “You know I don’t think you fellows do yourselves justice in things like that. Fellows get to think the only thing you’re good at is a row.”

“Fact is,” said Parson, “Telson thought we’d been so frightfully snubbed this term, we kids, that he said we ought to stick up for ourselves.”

“I said that?” cried Telson. “Why, you know it was you said it!”

“By the way,” said Parson, “wasn’t there to be a special meeting of the House to-day, for something or other?”

Telson looked rather uncomfortable, and then said, “Yes, I heard so. I fancy it’s about you, somehow,” added he, addressing Riddell.

“About me?” asked the captain.

“Yes — to kick you out, or something,” said Telson; “but Parson and I mean to go and vote against it.”

This was news to Riddell, and rather astonishing news too.

“To kick me out?” he asked. “What for?”

“Oh, you know,” said Parson. “It’s some bosh about that boat-race affair. Some of the chaps think you are mixed up in it, but of course it’s all a cram. I’ve told them so more than once.”

“It’s all those Parrett’s cads,” said Telson, taking up the matter from a schoolhouse point of view. “They’re riled about the race, and about the cricket-match, and everything else, and try to make out every one’s cheating.”

“Well, some one must have been cheating,” said Parson, a trifle warmly, “when he cut my rudder-lines; and he’s not likely to be one of our fellows — much more likely to be a schoolhouse cad!”

“I’ll fight you, you know, Parson!” put in Telson.

Riddell saw it was time to interfere. The conversation was drifting into an unprofitable channel, from which it would scarcely work its way out unassisted.

What he wanted was to find out whether there was any truth in the explanation which the diary afforded of young Wyndham’s conduct, and he was a long way from that yet.

“Have some more cake, Telson,” said he, by way of changing the subject.

Telson cheerfully accepted the invitation, while Parson, to spare his host the trouble of pressing him to take an apple, helped himself.