The event was not long in coming. Before many minutes a stealthy footstep was heard outside, which it was easy to guess belonged to the spy of the attacking party. Parson motioned to the others to be silent, and seated himself at his table, with a book before him, in full view of the key-hole. The little manoeuvre evidently told, for the footsteps were heard stealthily hurrying away, and the watchers knew the main body would soon be here.
It seemed no time before the approaching sounds gladdened their expectant ears. The invaders were evidently walking in step and trying to imitate the heavy walk of some senior, so as to give no suspicion of their purpose.
The besieged smiled knowingly at one another, glanced up at the suspended jug, and then softly rising with their weapons at the ready, calmly awaited the assault.
Whoever knew a set of Parrett’s juniors caught napping? The Welchers would have to be a precious deal more cunning than this if they expected to score off them.
The footsteps advanced and reached the door. There was a brief pause, the handle turned, Parson gave the signal, and next moment — Mr Parrett entered the study!
As he opened the door the jug overhead, true to its mechanism, tilted forward and launched a deluge of water over the head and shoulders of the ill-starred master, just as he tripped forward over the string and fell prone into the apartment, while at the same instant, accompanied by a loud howl, one sponge, two slippers, and a knotted towel flew into his face and completed his demolition.
What Mr Parrett’s reflections may have been during the few seconds which immediately followed no one ever found out. But, whatever they were, it is safe to say they were as nothing compared with the horror and terror of the youthful malefactors as they looked on and saw what they had done.
With a cry almost piteous in its agony, they rushed towards him and lifted him, dripping and bruised as he was, to his feet, gazing at him with looks of speechless supplication, and feeling crushed with all the guilt of actual murderers.
It spoke volumes for Mr Parrett’s self-control that, instead of sitting and gaping foolishly at the scene of the disaster, or instead of suddenly hitting out right and left, as others would have done, he took out his handkerchief and proceeded quietly to dry his face while he collected his scattered thoughts.
At length he said, “Are these elaborate preparations usually kept up here?”
“Oh no, sir!” cried Parson, in tones of misery. “Indeed, sir, we never expected you. We expected—”
His speech was cut short by a fresh noise outside — this time the real enemy, who, little guessing what was going on within, halted a moment outside before commencing proceedings. Then, with a simultaneous war-whoop, they half-opened the door, and, without entering themselves, projected into the centre of the room — a bottle! Pilbury and Cusack had not studied natural science for nothing!
The strange projectile smashed to atoms as it fell, and at the same instant there arose a stench the like of which the nose of Willoughby had never known before.
Mr Parrett and the boys choked and made a dash for the door, but the enemy were hanging on to the handle in full force, and it was at least two minutes before the almost suffocated Parson could gasp, “Open the door! do you hear? Mr Parrett’s here; let him out.”
“Won’t wash, my boy!” cried a mocking voice—“won’t wash! Wait a bit, we’ve got another bottle for you when you’re quite ready!”
“Let me out, boys!” cried Mr Parrett as well as he could for choking and holding his nose.
“Tell you it won’t wash, my boy!” cried the insulting voice outside. “Try again! Have a little more sulphuretted hydrogen. Jolly stuff, isn’t it? Hold on, you fellows, while I chuck it in!”
The idea of another bottle was more than any one could endure.
Mr Parrett groaned and cleared his throat for another summons, but Parson was before him.
“I say,” cried he, in positively piteous tones, “we give in. I’ll apologise, anything — do you hear?”
“Eh — go down on your knees, then,” cried the enemy.
“I am,” said Parson.
“Is he? the rest of you? is he on his knees? both of them?”
“Yes, he is,” cried Bosher. “Honour bright.”
“Well then, say ‘I’m a beastly cad, and a funk, and a sneak, and I knuckle under and will never do it any more.’”
“I’m a beastly cad,” gasped Parson, choking with shame, anger, and sulphuretted hydrogen, “and a funk, and a sneak, and I knuckle under and will never do it any more.”
“Now all the rest of you say it!”
Telson, Bosher, and King obeyed, one after the other.
“Is that all of you?”
“Yes,” said Parson, terrified at the prospect of Mr Parrett having to go through the ordeal. “Telson, Bosher, King, and I are the only boys here.”
“All serene,” cried the jubilant voice outside, “open the door, you fellows!”
We draw a veil over the scene which followed!
Mr Parrett hurried out of the room the moment the door was open, merely turning to say, “Come to me all of you at seven to-night!”
And then with his handkerchief still over his mouth he hurried off.
Chapter Seventeen
A Surprise in Store
For a few minutes, as the disconcerted and terrified youngsters stood in a small band at Parson’s study-door and watched Mr Parrett slowly retreat down the passage, it seemed as if the final crisis in the career of every one present had arrived.
It would have been bad enough to be caught in the midst of a simple free fight and sent up to the doctor. But the case was far more terrible than that! For Mr Parrett had been fearfully and wonderfully mixed up in the whole affair. A few weeks ago the Parrett’s juniors had done their best to drown him; now they had done their best to drown him and break his neck and crack his skull all at one onslaught; and as if that wasn’t enough, the Welchers had stepped in at the same moment and added poison and suffocation to the other crimes of which the unlucky master was the victim.
Of course he would think it from the beginning to end one elaborate and fiendish plot against his life. It would not matter to him which boys committed one assault and which another. He had figured as the victim of all parties, and all parties, there could be no doubt, would now be included under one terrific sentence.
In the presence of this common doom, schoolhouse, Parretts, and Welchers for the first time that term showed symptoms of a passing brotherhood.
They stood rooted to the spot and speechless for at least two minutes after the ill-starred master had vanished, then Telson — usually the first to recover his wits — whistled drearily and low, “Whew! we will catch it!”
“Think we’ll be expelled?” said Cusack.
“Shouldn’t wonder,” said Parson, retreating slowly into his study, followed by the rest.
“He’ll send us up to the doctor, certain,” said King.
There was a long unpleasant pause, at the end of which Cusack said, “Well, it’s no use staying here. Come on, you fellows.”
“May as well stay,” suggested Parson. “We’d better all turn up together.”