The reason of all this was not in the doctor. Dr Patrick was one of the kindest and pleasantest of men. He could not, perhaps, throw off the Dominie altogether on such occasions, but he always tried hard, and if there had been no one more formidable than “Paddy” to deal with the meal would have been comparatively pleasant and unalarming.
But there was a Mrs Patrick and a Mrs Patrick’s sister, and before these awful personages the boldest Willoughbite quailed and trembled. From the moment the unhappy guest entered the parlour these two (who were always there) fastened their eyes on him and withered him. They spoke ceremoniously in the language in which the grand old ladies used to speak in the old story-books. If he chanced to speak, they sat erect in their chairs listening to him with all their ears, looking at him with all their eyes, freezing him with all their faintest of smiles. No one could sit there under their inspection without feeling that every word and look and gesture was being observed, probably with a view to recording it in a letter home; and the idea of being at one’s ease with them in the room was about as preposterous as the idea of sleeping comfortably on a wasp’s nest!
And yet, if truth were known, these good females meant well. They had their own ideas of what boys should be (neither having any of their own), and fondly imagined that during these occasional ceremonies in the doctor’s parlour they were rendering valuable assistance in the “dear boy’s” education by giving him some idea of the manners and charms of polite society!
It was in such genial company that Riddell, the head classic of Willoughby, was invited to bask for a short time on the evening of the day before the appointment of the new captain. He had been there once before when his father and mother had come over to visit him. And even with their presence as a set-off, the evening had been one of the most awful experiences of his life. But now that he was to go all alone to partake of state tea with those two, this shy awkward boy felt about as cheerful as if he had been walking helplessly into a lion’s den.
“Well, Riddell,” said the doctor, pleasantly, as after long hesitation the guest at last ventured to arrive, “how are you? My dear, this is Riddell, whom I believe you have seen before. Miss Stringer too I think you met.”
Riddell coloured deeply and shivered inwardly as he advanced first to one lady then to the other and solemnly shook hands.
“I trust your parents are in good health, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick in her most precise tones.
“Very well indeed, thank you,” replied Riddell; “that is,” he added, correcting himself suddenly, “my mother is very poorly, thank you.”
“I regret to hear you say so,” said Mrs Patrick, transfixing the unhappy youth with her eyes. “I trust her indisposition is not of a serious character.”
“I hope she will, thank you, ma’am,” replied Riddell, who somehow fancied his hostess had said, or had been going to say, she hoped his mother would soon recover.
“Er, I beg your pardon?” said Mrs Patrick, leaning slightly forward and inclining her head a little on one side.
“I mean, I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, suddenly perceiving his mistake and losing his head at the same time, “I mean, quite so, thank you.”
“You mean,” interposed Miss Stringer at this point, in a voice a note deeper than her sister’s, “that your mother’s indisposition is of a serious character?”
“Oh no, not at all, I’m sure,” ejaculated the hapless Riddell.
“I am glad to hear you say so, very,” said Miss Stringer.
“Very,” said Mrs Patrick.
At this point Riddell had serious thoughts of bolting altogether, and might have done so had not the servant just then created a diversion by bringing in the kettle.
“Sit down, Riddell,” said the doctor, “and make yourself at home. What are the prospects for the regatta this year? Is the schoolhouse boat to win?”
“I’m sorry I can’t say,” replied Riddell. “I believe Parrett’s is the favourite.”
“Mr Riddell means Mr Parrett’s, I presume?” asked Mrs Patrick in her sweetest tones, looking hard at the speaker, and emphasising the “Mr”
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “I’m sorry.”
“We shall miss Wyndham,” said the doctor.
“Yes, thank you,” replied Riddell, who at that moment was dodging vaguely in front of Miss Stringer as she stood solemnly waiting to get past him to the tea-table.
It was a relief when tea was at last ready, and when some other occupation was possible than that of looking at and being looked at by these two ladies.
“You’re not very fond of athletics, Riddell?” asked the doctor.
“No, sir,” answered Riddell, steadily avoiding the eyes of the females.
“I often think you’d be better if you took more exercise,” said the doctor.
“Judging by Mr Riddell’s looks,” said Mrs Patrick, “it would certainly seem as if he hardly did himself justice physically.”
This enigmatical sentence, which might have been a compliment or might have been a rebuke or might have meant neither, Riddell found himself quite unable to reply to appropriately, and therefore, like a sensible man, took a drink of tea instead. It was the first dawn of reviving presence of mind.
“Apart from your own health altogether,” continued the doctor, “I fancy your position with the other boys would be better if you entered rather more into their sports.”
“I often feel that, sir,” said Riddell, with a touch of seriousness in his tones, “and I wish I could do it.”
“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell,” said Mrs Patrick. “I beg your pardon,” said Riddell, who did not quite take it in. Mrs Patrick never liked being asked to repeat her speeches. She flattered herself they were lucid enough to need no second delivery. She therefore repeated her remark slowly and in precisely the same words and tone—
“I hope that there is no consideration as to health which debars you from this very desirable exercise, Mr Riddell?”
Riddell took half a moment to consider, and then replied, triumphantly, “I’m quite well, thank you, ma’am.”
“I am pleased to hear that,” said Mrs Patrick, rather icily, for this last observation had seemed to her a little rude. “Very,” chimed in Miss Stringer.
After this there was a silence, which Riddell devoutly hoped might last till it was time to go. Had the ladies not been there he would have liked very much to speak to the doctor about school matters, and the doctor, but for the same cause, would have wished to talk to his head boy. But it was evident this tea-table was not the place for such conversation.
“I hear,” said the doctor, after the pause had continued some time, addressing his sister-in-law, “there is likely to be an election in Shellport before long; Sir Abraham is retiring.”
“Indeed, you surprise me,” said Miss Stringer. “It is unexpected,” said the doctor, “but it is thought there will be a sharp contest for the seat.”
“And are you a Liberal or a Conservative, Mr Riddell?” asked Mrs Patrick, thinking it time that unfortunate youth was again tempted into the conversation.
“A Liberal, ma’am,” replied Riddell. “Oh! boys are generally Conservatives, are they not?” She asked this question in a tone as if she expected him to try to deceive her in his answer. However, he evaded it by replying bashfully, “I hope not.”
“And pray,” said Miss Stringer, putting down her cup, and turning full on her victim, “will you favour us with your reasons for such a hope, Mr Riddell?”