“There’s one comfort about this match,” said Fairbairn, after a pause, “we probably shall not hear any more of that wretched boat-race now.”
Whatever induced him to start this most unfortunate topic at this time of all others?
Riddell, who amid all the excitement of the match had contrived partially to forget the burden that lay on his spirit, started uncomfortably at the words, and his face changed to one of undisguised trouble. The others could hardly help noticing it.
“No, we’re never likely to get at the bottom of it,” said Porter; “so the sooner it drops the better.”
“It’s very odd, all the same,” said Fairbairn, “that there’s not been a single hint as to who did it. I wonder if, perhaps, we were wrong in taking for granted it was more than an accident.”
This last question was addressed to Riddell, who replied, nervously and uneasily, “No, that is, yes. It can’t have been. I’m sure it wasn’t an accident.”
His three friends looked perplexed by his sudden confusion and change of manner, and Porter had the presence of mind to change the subject.
“I hear there’s a jolly row on between Silk and Gilks,” said he. “No one knows exactly why.”
“I heard it was a bet,” said Coates.
“At any rate they’ve had a split,” said Porter.
“They never did much good while they were in partnership,” said Coates. “Young Wyndham got rather drawn in by them, I heard.”
“Rather!” said Fairbairn. “He was precious near going to the dogs altogether if old Riddell here hadn’t pulled him up.”
Riddell seemed to lack spirit to join in the conversation, which continued without him.
“Yes, the young ’un cuts them dead now,” said Porter, “but he’s a bit afraid of them still, I fancy.”
“I suppose they could let out upon him about some scrape or other,” said Coates, “and that’s what gives them a pull.”
“Anyhow, it’s a good job he has pulled up,” said Fairbairn, “for he’s not a bad youngster. He’s got into the second-eleven just lately, and is tremendously proud of it. He’s vowed he’ll get old Wyndham to come down and umpire in the match with Templeton second-eleven next month.”
All this talk was anything but pleasant for poor Riddell. Little did the speakers dream of the connection between the boat-race and young Wyndham; in fact, the latter topic, as he knew quite well, had been started on purpose to get over the awkwardness which his own confusion about the former had caused.
But to Riddell, with that knife burning in his pocket, it was all one prolonged torture, so that he was heartily glad when at length his friends rose to depart.
He excused himself from walking across the quadrangle with them, and said good-night in a spiritless way, very different from the cheery manner in which he had welcomed them an hour ago.
“I never saw such a rum fellow as Riddell,” said Coates, as the three strolled over. “Did you see how cut up he got when something was said about the boat-race?”
“He’s a little cracked on that subject,” said Fairbairn. “I do believe, until the culprit is found out, he considers himself responsible for the whole affair.”
“Well, to judge by his looks he might have been the culprit himself,” said Porter, laughing. “Hullo, here’s young Wyndham.”
“Where are you off to?” asked Fairbairn, with due monitorial solemnity, of that flighty youth; “don’t you know it’s nearly eight?”
“Oh, do you mind my going across to Riddell’s?” asked the boy; “he’ll think I’ve cut him if I don’t show up. I’ve not been to his room for half a week.”
“It’s a curious thing he has survived it so long,” said Fairbairn, laughing. “Mind you are back by 8:30, though, for I’ll have lock-up punctual to-night, while there’s so much row going on.”
“Thanks, Fairbairn,” said Wyndham. “I say, what a stunning score our house knocked up in the second innings. Why, we—”
“Cut off,” cried Fairbairn, “and tell Riddell all about it. Come on, you fellows.”
Wyndham hurried on full of the prospect of a talk over the match with Riddell.
Just at the door of Welch’s, however, he met Silk.
The two had scarcely met since the day of the election, when Wyndham, to spite Riddell, had joined himself to this bad friend, and yielded to his persuasion to go down, against leave, to Shellport.
“Oh, young ’un,” said Silk, in friendly tones, “you turned up? I’d almost given you up for good.”
“I’m going to Riddell’s,” said Wyndham, determined for once to stand by his colours and have nothing more to do with this tempter.
Silk’s face fell, as it always did when Riddell’s name was mentioned. He had imagined the boy was coming to see him, and it did not please him to find himself mistaken.
“Are you?” said he. “Come along to my study first, though; I want to speak to you.”
“I can’t come, thank you,” said Wyndham.
“Can’t! Why ever not?” exclaimed Silk.
“I don’t want to come, that’s why,” said Wyndham, doggedly, and attempting to move past.
But this by no means suited Silk.
“Suppose I tell you you must come,” demanded he, stepping in front of the boy with a menacing air.
“Please let me go by,” repeated Wyndham, making another attempt.
“Not till you tell me what you mean by saying you won’t do as I tell you.”
“I mean that I’m not going to your study,” said young Wyndham.
“Oh, very well,” said Silk, standing back to let him pass.
There was something in his tone and manner as he said the words which made Wyndham uneasy. He had made up his mind at all costs he would break with Silk; yet now he could not help remembering he was at the fellow’s mercy.
So, instead of going on, he stood where he was, and said, rather less defiantly, “Can’t you say what you’ve got to say here?”
“Oh, of course. I can easily tell the whole school of your—”
“Oh, hush, please!” cried the boy in alarm; “you promised you wouldn’t tell any one. I’ll come to your study.”
Silk, with a triumphant sneer, turned and led the way, followed by his chafing victim, who devoutly wished he had never thought of coming to see Riddell at all.
When they were in the study, Silk turned and said, “All I want to say is, that, I don’t choose for you to be going such a lot to Riddell. I don’t like him, and you’d better keep away.”
“Why?” faltered Wyndham. “It doesn’t do you any harm.”
“How do I know you don’t blab all my secrets to him, eh?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t do it for anything. I promised you and Gilks.”
“Bah! what’s the use of that? You go and tell him everything you do yourself, and of course he knows it means us as well as you.”
“No, he doesn’t — really. I’ve never said a word to him about — about Beamish’s.”
“It’s a good job you haven’t; and you’d better not, I can tell you.”
“I won’t,” said the boy.
“I don’t choose to have my concerns talked about to anybody,” said Silk, “I suppose it was he put you up to cutting me.”
“No — that is,” said Wyndham, “yes, he did advise me not to be so much with Gilks and you.”
“He did?” exclaimed Silk, in a rage. “I thought so; and you—”
Fortunately at this moment Tucker and one or two other of the noisy Welchers broke into the room; and in the diversion so created Wyndham was thankful to slip away.
This, then, was the end of his good resolutions and the hopes they had fostered! He was as much in the power of this bad friend as ever — nay, more, for had he not that very evening been forced to renew the one promise which kept him from confiding everything to Riddell?
He proceeded dejectedly to the captain’s study, his cricket enthusiasm strangely damped, and the load of his old short-comings heavy upon him.