“I’m rather surprised they didn’t try you for it,” said Gilks. “You’re well-known, you know, and used to the river.”
“Oh, I’d rather Riddell did it if he can,” said Wyndham. “I know he’s awfully anxious to get it up.”
The talk went on like this, and trenched on no uncomfortable topic. The only reference to anything of the sort was when Silk said, just as Wyndham was going, “Oh, Wyndham, I’ve told Gilks here that you’ve promised not to let out about Beamish’s—”
“Yes,” said Gilks, “I wouldn’t care for that to get about, young un.”
“Oh, of course I won’t say anything,” said Wyndham.
“Thanks, no more will we; will we, Silk?” replied Gilks.
Silk assented and their visitor departed.
“Young fool!” said Gilks, when he and his friend were left alone. “He’s not worth bothering about.”
“If it weren’t for the other prig I’d agree with you,” said Silk. “But don’t you think we can hit at his reverence occasionally through his disciple?”
“I dare say,” said Gilks. “The young prig had an innocent enough time of it to-night to suit even him. How he does talk!”
“Yes, and isn’t he hot about the race? I say, Gilks, I hope there’ll be no mistake about Parrett’s winning. I’ve a lot of money on them.”
“Never fear,” said Gilks. “It’ll be rather a rum thing if I, rowing in the schoolhouse boat, can’t put the drag on them somehow. I don’t expect for a moment it will be wanted; but if it is, Gilks will be under the painful necessity of catching a crab!”
“I don’t mind how you do it as long as there’s no mistake about it,” said Silk. With which ungenerous admission Gilks produced a couple of cigar-ends from his pocket, and these two nice boys proceeded to spend a dissipated evening.
The reader will have guessed from what has already been said that the coming boat-race was every day becoming a more and more exciting topic in Willoughby. Under any circumstances the race was, along with the May sports and the cricket-match against Rockshire, one of the events of the year. But this year, ever since it had come somehow to be mixed up with the squabble about the captaincy, and the jealousy between Parrett’s and the schoolhouse, it had become more important than ever.
Old Wyndham had, of course, left the schoolhouse boat at the head of the river, but there was scarcely a boy (even in the schoolhouse itself) who seriously expected it would remain there over the coming regatta.
The Parrett’s fellows were already crowing in anticipation, and the victory of Bloomfield’s boat was only waited for as a final ground for resisting the authority of any captain but their own. Their boat was certainly one of the best which the school had turned out, and compared with their competitors’ it seemed as if nothing short of a miracle could prevent its triumph.
But the schoolhouse fellows, little as they expected to win, were meaning to make a hot fight of it. They were on their mettle quite as much as their rivals. Ever since Wyndham had left, the schoolhouse had been sneered at as having no pretensions left to any athletic distinction. They meant to put themselves right in this particular — if not in victory, at any rate in a gallant attempt.
And so the schoolhouse boat might be seen out early and late, doing honest hard work, and doing it well too. Strict training was the order of the day, and scarcely a day passed without some one of the crew adding to his usual labours a cross-country run, or a hard grind in the big tub, to better his form. These extraordinary exertions were a source of amusement to their opponents, who felt their own superiority all the more by witnessing the efforts put forth to cope with it; and even in the schoolhouse there were not a few who regarded all the work as labour thrown away, and as only adding in prospect to the glorification of the enemy.
However, Fairbairn was not the man to be moved by small considerations such as these. He did not care what fellows said, or how much they laughed, as long as Porter swung out well at the reach forward, and Coates straightened his back, and Gilks pulled his oar better through from beginning to end. To secure these ends he himself was game for any amount of work and trouble, and no cold water could damp either his ardour or his hopefulness.
But the chief sensation with regard to the training of the schoolhouse boat was the sudden appearance of Riddell as its coxswain. As the reader has heard, the new captain had already been out once or twice “on the quiet” in the pair-oar, and during these expeditions he had learned all he knew of the art of navigation. The idea of his steering the schoolhouse boat had never occurred either to himself or Fairbairn when he first undertook these practices at the solicitation of his friend. But after a lesson or two he showed such promise that the idea did strike Fairbairn, who mentioned it to one or two of his set and asked their advice.
These judges were horrified naturally at the idea. Riddell was too heavy, too clumsy, too nervous. But Fairbairn was loth to give up his idea; so he went to Mr Parrett, and asked him if he would mind running with the schoolhouse pair-oar during the next morning’s spin, and watching the steering of the new captain. Mr Parrett did so; and was not a little pleased with the performance, but advised Fairbairn to try him in the four-oar before deciding.
Fairbairn, delighted, immediately broached the subject to his friend. Poor Riddell was astounded at such a notion.
He cox the schoolhouse boat in the regatta!
“My dear fellow,” said he to Fairbairn. “I’m not a very exalted personage in Willoughby as it is — but this would be the finishing stroke!”
“What do you mean — that it’s infra dig. to cox the boat?”
“Oh no!” said Riddell, “anything but that. But it might be infra dig. for the boat to be steered into the bank in the middle of the race.”
“Humbug, if that’s your only reason. Anyhow, old man, come down and try your hand in the four to-morrow morning.”
Riddell protested that the idea was absurd, and that he wouldn’t hear of it. But Fairbairn reasoned him down. He hadn’t steered them into the bank since the second morning — he hadn’t tried steering the four-oar, how did he know he couldn’t do it? Mr Parrett had advised the trial strongly, and so on.
“No,” said he, “the only question is your weight. You’d have to run off a bit of that, you know.”
“Oh,” said Riddell, “as to that, you can take as many pounds off me as you like; but—”
“None of your buts, old man,” said Fairbairn. “I say, if we only were to win, with you as cox, what a score it would be!”
“None of your ‘ifs,’ old man,” said Riddell, laughing. “But I’ll come to-morrow, if you are determined to have your way.”
“Of course I am,” said Fairbairn.
This conversation took place the evening that young Wyndham was taking tea with Silk and Gilks in the study of the former.
The intelligence that the new captain was to be taken out to steer the schoolhouse boat mysteriously got wind before the evening was over, and spread over the school like wildfire. Consequently, when Riddell arrived at the boat-house in the morning, he was surprised and horrified to find that nearly all Willoughby was awake and down at the river banks to see him.
It was embarrassing certainly, and when presently the crew got into their seats and a start was made, it became evident the new coxswain was anything but at home in his new position. The boat was a long time getting clear of the landing stage owing to his persistently mistaking in his flurry his right hand for his left, and then when it did get out into mid-stream the same reason prevented him from discovering that the reason why the boat would turn round instead of going straight was because he had his right cord pulled hard the whole time.