The river was pretty full, as usual at that time of day, and as one form which the wrath of the youthful Parretts took was to insult, and if opportunity arose, to run down the craft of either of the other houses, the discussion on the condition of Willoughby was relieved by more than one lively incident.
“Think of that chap being captain,” said Parson, standing up on the back seat, with the rudder-lines in his hands so as to command a good view of the stream ahead. “He couldn’t row as well as old Bosher there.”
As “old Bosher” was at that moment engaged in super-human efforts to keep his balance with one hand, and extricate his oar, which had feathered two feet under the surface of the water, with the other, this illustration was particularly effective and picturesque.
“Oh, he’s an awful cad,” said Wakefield, who was rowing bow. “He reported me to Wyndham last term for letting off crackers in bed.”
“What a beastly shame!” was the sympathising chorus.
“And you know—” added King.
But as Bosher fell rather violently backward into his lap at this instant, and let his oar go altogether, what King was going to say did not come out.
After a vast amount of manoeuvring, back-watering, shouting, and reaching to recover the lost oar, the voyage proceeded.
They had not proceeded far when the racing-boat of their house, manned by Bloomfield, Game, Tipper, and Ashley, and coached from the bank by Mr Parrett himself, spun past them in fine style and at a great rate. As became loyal Parretts, the juniors pulled into the bank to let the four-oar pass, and, not content with this act of homage, they volunteered a round of vehement applause into the bargain.
“Bravo! Well rowed, our house! Two to one on Parrett’s! Three cheers for Bloomfield! Three cheers for the captain! Hooroo!”
With this gratifying salute the boat darted out of sight round the bend, leaving the juniors once more to continue on their festive way.
“Isn’t old Bloomfield a stunner?” said Lawkins. “He’s the sort of fellow for captain! Not that schoolhouse idiot, Riddell.”
“Easy all there about the schoolhouse,” shouted down Telson from his place at stroke. “I’ll fight you if you say it again.”
“Hurrah! let’s land and have a mill!” cried King. “I back you, Telson, old man.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to cheek you, Telson,” said Lawkins, humbly. “I’ll apologise, you know.”
“Jolly good job,” said Telson, grandly, “or I’d have licked you.”
“All the same,” said Lawkins, “old Bloomfield’s—”
“Look out now!” suddenly broke in Parson, who had been gradually getting excited where he stood; “there’s the Welchers coming! Pull hard, you fellows, or they’ll cut us out. Now then! Row, Bosher, can’t you, you old cow? Yah! hoo! Welchers ahoy!” he cried, raising his voice in tones of derisive defiance. “Yah! boo! herrings and dough-nuts, jolly cowards, daren’t wait for us! Booh, funk-its!”
With such taunts the Hector of Parrett’s endeavoured to incite the enemy to battle. And the enemy, if truth must be told, needed very little persuasion, especially as the crew in question consisted of Cusack, Pilbury, and the three other ill-starred victim of the raid of two days ago.
They lay on their oars and waited for the foe to come up, Cusack shouting meanwhile, “Who’d be afraid of a pack of thieves like you! I wouldn’t! I dare you to land and fight us! Dare you to run into us! Dare you to stand still till we lick you! Dare you to do anything but steal other fellows’ grub! Ye-ow!”
“Now, you fellows,” cried Parson, “put it on.”
A few strokes brought the two boats level, and then, as they lay side by side at oar’s distance, ensued a notable and tremendous splashing match, which was kept up with terrific vigour on both sides, until not only was every combatant splashed through, but the two boats themselves were nearly swamped.
Then, after either side had insultingly claimed the victory, the boats separated, and the dripping warriors parted with a final broadside.
“There you are, take that, and go and tell the captain!” shouted Parson.
“You wouldn’t dare do it if Bloomfield was captain,” retorted the Welchers. “We’ll have him captain, then see how you’ll smile! Yah! bah!”
And, amid terrific cat-calling on either side, the crews parted.
This last taunt was a sore one for the young Parretts. It had never occurred to them that Bloomfield, if he were captain, might perhaps spoil their sport more than Riddell. But it was only a passing annoyance. After all they were Parretts, and Bloomfield was their man, whether he spoiled their sport or not. Telson had no objection to this sentiment as long as no one presumed “to cheek the schoolhouse” in uttering it. Whenever that was done he insisted on his unalterable determination to fight the offender unless he swallowed his words, which the offender usually did.
The tide was getting slack, and it was time for them to turn if they were to be in for “call-over.” Just, however, as they were about to do so, a shout behind attracted them, and they became aware of another four-oared boat approaching with the schoolhouse flag in the prow. It came along at a fair pace, but with nothing like the style which had marked the Parretts’ boat.
The crew consisted of Fairbairn, Porter, Coates, and Gilks, with Crossfield steering: the first time a complete schoolhouse crew had appeared on the river this year.
The blood of the young Parretts was up, and the credit of their house was in question.
“Put it on now,” said Parson to his men, as the schoolhouse boat came up. “Show ’em what you can do! Now then, slide into it! Race ’em!”
And the young heroes laid into their work and made Noah’s Ark forge along at an unwonted pace. Parson busily encouraged them, varying his exhortations by occasional taunts addressed to the other boat.
“Now then,” he shouted, “two to one on us. Come on, you there, jolly schoolhouse louts—”
“Parson, I’ll fight you if you say it again,” interposed Telson by way of parenthesis.
“Oh, beg pardon, old man. Pull away, you fellows! Parretts for ever! No Riddell for us! Three cheers for Bloomfield! You’re gaining, you fellows. Oh, well pulled indeed our boat!”
The schoolhouse boat had slackened speed, and paddling gently alongside, was taking careful note of these audacious youngsters, who, puffing and plunging along, fully believed they were beating the picked four of the rival house by their own prowess.
The big boys seemed amused on the whole, and good-humouredly kept up the semblance of a race for about half a mile, taking care to give the challenging crew a wide berth.
At last, after about ten minutes had been spent in this way, and when the young champions were all, except Parson, fairly exhausted, Crossfield took out his watch and said to his crew, winking as he did so, “Time we turned, you fellows; it’s five o’clock. Easy all, pull bow side! back water, stroke!”
And so saying, the schoolhouse boat suddenly turned round and started off at a smart pace down stream, where it was soon out of reach of the parting taunts and opprobrious noises which Parson, for the credit of his house, continued to hurl at its crew till they were beyond earshot.
Then it suddenly began to occur to these elated young navigators that if it had been time for the four-oar to turn three minutes ago it was possibly time for them to turn also.
“What did he say the time was?” asked King.
“Five o’clock!” said Lawkins.
“Five o’clock! and call-over is at 5:20! We can’t do it in the time!” exclaimed Parson, aghast.