It knew that Silk and Gilks had been reported for fighting, and naturally concluded that they had also been punished. It had heard, too, a rumour of young Wyndham’s having been “gated” for breaking bounds.
But beyond that it knew nothing. Nothing of the treaty of peace between the two captains, of the discovery of the boat-race mystery, of the double expulsion that was impending.
And still less did it dream of the unwonted scene which was taking place that evening in the captain’s study.
Riddell and Gilks sat and talked far into the night.
I am not going to describe that talk. Let the reader imagine it.
Let him imagine all that a sympathetic and honest fellow like Riddell could say to cheer and encourage a broken-down penitent like Gilks. And let him imagine all that that forlorn, expelled boy, who had only just discovered that he had a friend in Willoughby, would have to say on this last night at the old school.
It was a relief to him to unburden his mind, and Riddell encouraged him to do it. He told all the sad history of the failures, and follies, and sins which had reached their catastrophe that day; and the captain, on his side, in his quiet manly way, strove all he could to infuse some hope for the future, and courage to bear his present punishment.
Whether he succeeded or not he could hardly tell; but when the evening ended, and the two finally betook themselves to bed in anticipation of Gilks’s early start in the morning, it was with a feeling of comfort and relief on both sides.
“If only I had known you before!” said Gilks. “I don’t know why you should be so kind to me. And now it’s too late to be friends.”
“I hope not,” said Riddell, cheerily. “We needn’t stop being friends because you’re going away.”
“Needn’t we! — will you write to me now and then?” asked Gilks, eagerly.
“Of course I will, and you must do the same. I’ll let you know all the news here.”
Gilks sighed.
“I’m afraid the news here won’t be very pleasant for me to hear,” said he. “What a fury the fellows will be in when they hear about it. I say, Riddell, if you get a chance tell them how ashamed and miserable I was, will you?”
“I will, I promise you,” replied Riddell.
“And, I say, will you say something to young Wyndham? Tell him how I hate myself for all the mischief I did to him, and how thankful I am he had you to keep him straight when I was trying to lead him all wrong. Will you tell him that?”
“I’ll try,” said the captain, with a smile, “part of it. But we ought to be turning in now, or we shall not be up in time.”
“All right,” said Gilks. “Good-night, Riddell.”
“Good-night, old fellow.”
Bloomfield was up early next morning. He had only received the evening before the melancholy notification of the fact that young Wyndham, owing to circumstances over which he had no control, would be unable to play in the second-eleven match next week; and he had it on his mind consequently to find a successor without delay.
Probably, on the principle that the early bird gets the worm, he determined to be out in good time this morning. But for once in a way the bird was too early for the worm, and Bloomfield prowled about for a good quarter of an hour before the aspiring youth of Willoughby mustered at the wickets.
It was during this early prowl, while the hands of the clock were between half-past six and seven, that he received something like a shock from seeing the captain alight at the school gate from the town omnibus.
“Why, whatever’s up? Where have you been?” inquired Bloomfield.
“I have just been to see poor Gilks off,” said the captain.
“What! then it was true?”
“Yes, I hadn’t time to tell you yesterday. He’s been expelled.”
“The cad!” cried Bloomfield. “It’s lucky for him he was able to slink off unnoticed.”
“Oh! don’t be too down on him,” said the captain. “You’d have been sorry for him if you’d have seen how cut up and ashamed he was. After all, he was little better than a tool in somebody else’s hands.”
“Silk’s you mean?” said Bloomfield. “And I suppose he gets off scot-free?”
“No; he is expelled too. He had to confess that he suggested the whole thing, and he is to go this morning.”
“That’s a comfort! But why on earth did they cut our lines instead of yours?”
“That was a blunder. Gilks, in his flurry, got hold of the wrong rudder. I really think that’s why it wasn’t found out long ago.”
“Very likely. But what a nice pair of consciences they must have had ever since! I suppose the doctor will announce that they’ve been expelled?”
“I don’t know. But I hope he won’t be too hard on Gilks if he does. I never saw a fellow so broken-down and sorry. He quite broke down just now at the station as he was starting.”
“Poor fellow!” said Bloomfield. “The fellows won’t take the trouble to abuse him much now he’s gone.”
At this point two Parrett’s juniors came past. They were Lawkins and Pringle, two of the noisiest and most impudent of their respectable fraternity.
Among their innocent amusements, that of hooting the captain had long been a favourite, and at the sight of him now, as they concluded, in altercation with their own hero, they thought they detected a magnificent opening for a little demonstration.
“Hullo! Booh! Fiddle de Riddell!” cried Pringle, jocosely, from a safe distance.
“Who cut the rudder-lines? Cheat! Kick him out!” echoed Lawkins.
The captain, who was accustomed to elegant compliments of this kind from the infant lips of Willoughby, took about as much notice of them now as he usually did. In other words, he took no notice at all.
But Bloomfield turned wrathfully, and shouted to the two boys, “Come here, you two!”
“Oh, yes; we’ll come to you!” cried Lawkins.
“You’re our captain; we’ll obey you!” said Pringle, with a withering look at Riddell.
“What’s that you said just now?” demanded Bloomfield.
“I only said, ‘Kick him out!’” said Lawkins, somewhat doubtfully, as he noticed the black looks on the Parrett’s captain’s face.
Bloomfield made a grab at the two luckless youths, and shook them very much as a big dog shakes her refractory puppies.
“And what do you mean by it, you young cubs!” demanded he, in a rage.
“Why, we weren’t speaking to you,” whined the juniors.
“No, you weren’t; but I’m speaking to you! Take that, for being howling young cads, both of you!” and he knocked their two ill-starred heads together with a vigour which made the epithet “howling” painfully accurate. “Now beg Riddell’s pardon at once!” said he.
They obeyed with most abject eagerness.
“Mind I don’t catch you calling my friends names like that any more,” said Bloomfield. “Riddell’s captain here, and if you don’t look out for yourselves you’ll find yourselves in the wrong box, I can tell you! And you can tell the rest of your pack, unless they want a hiding from me, they’d better not cheek the captain!”
So saying, he allowed the two terrified youngsters to depart; which they did, shaking in their shoes and marvelling inwardly what wonder was to happen next.
The morning passed, and before it was over, while all the school was busy in class, Silk left Willoughby. His father had arrived by an early train, and after a long interview with the doctor had returned taking his boy with him. No one saw him before he went, and for none of those whom he had wronged and misled did he leave behind any message of regret or contrition. He simply dropped out of Willoughby life, lamented by none, and missed only by a few who had suffered under his influence and were now far better without him.
After morning classes the doctor summoned the school to the great hall, and there briefly announced the changes that had taken place.