He was sorry now he had not gone to watch the juniors, where at least he would have heard something less hateful than his own thoughts, and seen something less hateful than the dreary creations of his own troubled imagination.
“What’s the use of keeping it up?” said he, bitterly, to himself. “I don’t care! Things can’t be worse than they are. Down in the mouth! He’d be down in the mouth if he were! — the fool! I’ve a good mind to— And yet I daren’t face it. What’s the use of trusting to a fellow like Silk! Bah! how I hate him. He’ll betray me as soon as ever it suits him, and — and — oh, I don’t care. Let him!”
Gilks had reached this dismal climax in his reflections, when he suddenly became aware that the object of his meditations was approaching him.
Silk had his own reasons for not joining the throng that was looking on at the juniors’ match. It may have been mere lack of interest, or it may have been a special desire to take this walk. Whichever it was, his presence now was about as unwelcome an apparition as Gilks could have encountered, and the smile on the intruder’s face showed pretty clearly that he was aware of the fact.
“What are you prowling about here for?” said he as he came up, with all the insolence of a warder addressing a convict.
“I’ve a right to walk here if I choose,” replied Gilks, sulkily; “what are you here for?”
“To find you. I want to speak to you,” replied Silk.
“I don’t want to speak to you,” replied Gilks, moving on.
“Don’t you?” replied Silk, with a sneer. “You’ll have to do it whether you want or not, my boy.”
There was something about the Welcher which had the effect of cowing his companion, and Gilks, fuming inwardly, and with a face as black as thunder, said, “Well — say what you’ve got to say, and be done with it.”
Silk laughed.
“Thank you. I’ll take my time, not yours. Which way are you going?”
“No way at all,” said Gilks, standing still.
“Very well. I’m going this way. Come with me.”
And he began to walk on, Gilks sullenly following.
“You saw Wyndham the other day?” said Silk.
“Suppose I did?”
“What did he want?”
“I don’t know — some foolery or other. I didn’t listen to him.”
“You needn’t tell lies. What did he want, I say?”
“How should I know?” retorted Gilks.
“What did he want? do you hear?” repeated the other.
“He wanted me to let him blab about something — about Beamish’s it was.”
“And did you tell him he might?”
“Yes. I said he might blab about me too for all I cared. And so he may. I wish to goodness he would.”
“And whatever business had you to tell him he might say a word about it?” demanded Silk, angrily.
“What business? A good deal more business than you’ve got to ask me questions.”
“Do you know what he’s done?”
“No, I don’t; and I don’t care.”
“Don’t you care?” snarled Silk, fast losing his temper; “that foolery of yours has spoiled everything.”
“So much the better. I don’t care.”
“But I care!” exclaimed Silk, furiously, “and I’ll see you care too, you fool!”
“What’s happened, then?” asked Gilks.
“Why, Riddell—”
“For goodness’ sake don’t start on him!” cried Gilks, viciously; “he’s nothing to do with it.”
“Hasn’t he? That’s all you know, you blockhead! He suspected Wyndham of that boat-race business. I can’t make out how, but he did. And the young fool all along thought it was Beamish’s he was in a row about. But Riddell wouldn’t have known it to this day if you hadn’t given the young idiot leave to go and blab, and so clear it up.”
“Let him blab. I wish he’d clear up everything,” growled, or rather groaned, Gilks.
“Look here!” said Silk, stopping short in his walk and rounding on his victim. “I’ve had quite enough of this, and you’d better shut up. You know I could make you sorry for it if I chose.”
Gilks said nothing, but walked on sullenly.
“And the worse thing about it,” continued Silk, “is that now Wyndham and Riddell are as thick as brothers, and the young toady’s sure to tell him everything.”
“And suppose he does?”
“There’s no suppose about it. I don’t choose to have it, I tell you.”
“How can you help it?” said Gilks.
“We must get hold of the young ’un again,” said Silk, “and you’ll have to manage it.”
“Who? — I?” said Gilks, with a bitter laugh.
“Yes, you. And don’t talk so loud, do you hear? You’ll have to manage it, and I think I can put you up to a way for getting hold of him.”
“You can spare yourself the trouble,” said Gilks, stopping short and folding his arms doggedly. “I won’t do it.”
“What!” cried Silk, in a passion.
It was the second time in one week that Silk had been thus defied — each time by a boy whom he had imagined to be completely in his power. Wyndham’s mutiny had not wholly surprised him, but from Gilks he had never expected it.
“I won’t do it, there!” said Gilks, now fairly at bay and determined enough.
Silk glared at him for a moment, then laughed scornfully.
“You won’t? You know what you are saying?”
“Yes, I know,” said Gilks.
“And you know what I shall do?”
“Yes, you’ll tell—”
Silk’s face fell. He was beginning to discover that once more he had overdone his part, and that the ground was taken from under him. But he made one last effort to recover himself.
“I say, Gilks,” said he, half coaxing, half warning, “don’t be a fool. Don’t ruin yourself. I didn’t mean to be offensive. You know it’s as much in your interest as mine. If we can get hold of young Wyndham again—”
“If you want him, get him yourself, I’m not going to do it,” once more said Gilks, with pale face and clenched teeth.
Silk’s manner changed once more. His face became livid, and his eyes flashed, as he sprang at Gilks, and with a sudden blow, exclaimed, “Take that, then!”
It was as good as proclaiming that the game was over. As Gilks’s guilty confidant he had retained to the last some sort of influence; but now, with that blow, the last shred of his superiority had gone, and he stood there beaten before ever the fight began.
Gilks had expected the blow, but had not been prepared for its suddenness. It struck him full on the cheek, and for a moment staggered him — but only for a moment. Wasting no words, he returned it vehemently, and next moment the fight had begun.
That fight was not the growth of a day or a week. For many weeks it had been getting nearer and nearer, sometimes by rapid strides, sometimes by imperceptible steps; but always getting nearer, until now it had suddenly reached its climax; and the cry, “A fight — Gilks and Silk!” spread like wildfire over Willoughby.
The Welchers, in the heyday of their triumph, heard it above even the chorus of the glorious Bouncer; and hearing it, forsook their revelry and hurried towards it. The Parretts quitted their melancholy teapot, and rushed with one accord to the spot. And ere they reached it Telson was there, and many a schoolhouse Limpet, and Game, and Ashley, and Wibberly, from Parrett’s; and Tucker, and I know not what crowds from Welch’s. And they crowded round, and took sides, and speculated on the result, and cheered impartially every hit.
Far be it from me to describe that fight. It was no different from twenty other fights that same term, except from the one fact that the combatants were seniors. No one cared an atom about the quarrels or its merits. It was quite enough that it was an even match — that there was plenty of straight hitting and smart parrying, and that it lasted over a quarter of an hour.