“I’ll blow him up if he’s not sharp,” said Cusack, losing patience and looking mournfully at the row of herrings on the table.
“Let’s begin without him,” said Pilbury.
“So we would if we had anything to do them on.”
“I’ll go and see if I can get a fork or two,” said Morrison.
“Thanks, and wake up Philpot while you’re out.”
Morrison went, and the others kicked their heels impatiently and eyed the good things hungrily as they waited.
Cusack tried toasting a herring on one of the small forks, but the heat of the fire was too great for him to hold his hand at such close quarters, and he gave it up in disgust.
What was the matter with everybody this afternoon? Morrison was away ages and did not return.
“Oh, bother it all!” exclaimed Cusack, whose patience was now fairly exhausted, “if they don’t choose to come I’m hung if they’ll get anything now. I’ll go and get the pan myself.”
And off he went in high dudgeon, leaving his guests in charge of the feast.
“If he can’t get the pan or a toasting-fork,” said Curtis, disinterestedly, “wouldn’t it be as well to have the dough-nuts now, and leave the herrings till supper, eh, Pil? Pity for them to get stale.”
Pilbury said nothing, but broke off a little piece of the peppermint-rock in a meditative manner, and drummed his feet on the floor.
“Upon my word,” he broke out after a good three minutes’ waiting, “that blessed pan must be jolly heavy. There’s three of them sticking to it now!”
“Wait a bit, I hear him coming,” said Curtis, going to the door. He stepped out into the passage, Morgan following him.
Pilbury heard a sudden scuffling outside, and a sound of what did not seem like Welchers’ voices. He hurried to the door to ascertain the cause, and as he did so he found himself caught roughly by the arm and slung violently against the opposite wall, while at the same moment Telson, Parson, Bosher, and half a dozen Parrett juniors rushed past him into the empty study, slamming and locking and barricading the door behind them!
It was all so quickly done that the luckless Welchers could hardly believe their own senses. But when they heard the distant voice of Philpot shouting that he was locked up in the chemistry-room, and of Morrison complaining that he couldn’t get out of his own study, and of Cusack demanding to be released from the lavatory; and when their combined assault on the door produced nothing but defiant laughter mingled with the merry frizzing of the herrings before the fire, they knew it was no dream but a hideous fact. They had presence of mind enough to release their incarcerated comrades and attempt another assault in force on the door. But it came to nothing. In vain they shouted, threatened, entreated, kicked. They only received facetious answers from inside, which aggravated their misery.
“Go it, you fellows,” shouted one voice, very like Parson’s, only the mouth was so full that it was hard to say for certain. “Jolly good dough-nuts these; have another, Bosher, you’ve only had four. I say, Cusack, where did you catch these prime herrings? Best I’ve tasted since I came here. Afraid your slate’s a little damaged; awfully sorry, you ought to keep a toasting-fork — ha! ha!” and a chorus of laughter greeted the sally. Cusack groaned and fumed.
“You pack of young cads,” he howled through the key-hole. “Come out of there, do you hear? you thieves you. I’ll warm you, Parson, when I get hold of you.”
“Just what we’re doing to the bloaters,” cried Telson. There was a pause. Then Pilbury cried in tones of feigned warning, “Here comes the doctor! We’ll see what he says.”
“Won’t do,” shouted Parson from within. “Won’t wash, my boy. Paddy’s down at Shellport. Any more sherbet left, King?”
“I’ll go and tell the captain, that’s what I’ll do,” said Pilbury.
“Won’t wash again,” cried Parson. “There’s no captain to tell; I say, we’re leaving something for you, aren’t we, you fellows? There’ll be all the heads of the herrings and the greengage stones— jolly blow-out for you.”
It was no use attempting further parley, and the irate Welchers were compelled to lurk furiously outside the door while the feast proceeded, and console themselves with the prospect of paying the enemy out when it was all over.
But the skill which had accompanied the execution of the raid so far was not likely to omit all precautions possible to make good a retreat. While most of the party were making all the noise they could, and succeeding with jest and gibe in keeping the attention of those outside, the barricade against the door had been quietly removed, and decks cleared for the sortie.
“Now then, you fellows,” cried Parson to his men, in a voice which those outside were intended to hear, “make yourselves comfortable. Here’s a stunning lot of peppermint-rock here, pass it round. Needn’t go home for half an hour at least!”
The watchers outside groaned. There was no help at hand; and for one of them to go and seek it was only to increase the odds against them. The only thing was to wait patiently till the enemy did come out. Then it would be their turn. So they leaned up against the door and waited. The revelry within became more and more boisterous, and the chances of a speedy retreat more and more remote, when all of a sudden there was a sharp click and the door swung back hard on its hinges, precipitating Cusack, Pilbury, and Curtis backwards into the room in among the very feet of the besieged as, in a compact body, they rushed out. Morrison, Philpot, and Morgan did what little they could to oppose them but they were simply run over and swept aside by the wily troop of Parretts, who with shouts of derisive triumph gained the staircase with unbroken ranks, and gave their pursuers the parting gratification of watching them slide down the banisters one by one, and then lounge off arm-in-arm, sated and jubilant, to their own quarters.
Chapter Four
The New Captain’s Introduction
Of course a row was made, or attempted to be made, about the daring exploit of the fags of Parrett’s House narrated in the last chapter. The matter was duly reported to the head monitor of Welch’s by the injured parties. But the result only proved how very cunning the offenders had been in choosing this particular time for the execution of their raid.
The head of Welch’s reported the matter to Bloomfield, as the head of Parrett’s. But Bloomfield, who had plenty to do to punish offences committed in his own House, replied that the head of Welch’s had better mention it to the captain of the school. He couldn’t do anything. The head of Welch’s pointed out that there was no captain of the school at present. What was he to do?
Bloomfield suggested that he had better “find out,” and there the matter ended. Wherever the head Welcher took his complaint he got the same answer; and it became perfectly clear that as long as Willoughby was without a captain, law and order was at a discount.
However, such a state of things was not destined long to last. A notice went round from the doctor to the monitors the next day asking them to assemble directly after chapel the following morning in the library. Every one knew what this meant; and when later on it was rumoured that Riddell had gone to the doctor’s that evening to tea, it became pretty evident in which direction things were going.
“Tea at the doctor’s” was always regarded as rather a terrible ordeal by those who occasionally came in for the honour. Some would infinitely have preferred a licking in the library, and others would have felt decidedly more comfortable in the dock of a police-court. Even the oldest boys, whose conduct was exemplary, and whose conscience had as little to make it uneasy in the head master’s presence as in the presence of the youngest fag in Willoughby, were always glad when the ceremony was over.