Talbot Reed - The Willoughby Captains

The doctor was brief and to the point.

“I dare say you know why I have called you together,” he said. “Wyndham — whom every one here liked and respected, and who did a great deal for the school”—(“Hear, hear,” from one or two voices)—“has left, and we shall all miss him. The captain of the school has always for a long time past been the head classical boy. It is not a law of the Medes and Persians that it should be so, and if there seemed any special reason why the rule should be broken through there is nothing to prevent that being done.”

At this point one or two breathed rather more freely and the attention generally was intensified. After all, this seemed like the preface to a more favourable announcement. But those who thought so found their mistake when the doctor proceeded.

“In the present case there is no such reason, and Riddell here is fully aware of the duties expected of him, and is prepared to perform them. I look to you to support him, and am confident if all work heartily together no one need be afraid for the continued success of Willoughby.”

The doctor ended his speech amid the silence of his audience, which was not broken as he turned and left the room. At the same moment, to the relief of no one more than of Riddell, the bell sounded for breakfast and the assembly forthwith broke up.

The doctor’s announcement was not long in taking effect. As soon as third school was over that afternoon the monitors assembled in the Sixth Form room to discuss the situation. Fortunately for Riddell’s peace of mind, he was not present; but nearly all the others, whether friendly or otherwise, were there.

Game, with his usual downrightness, opened the ball.

“Well, you fellows,” said he, “what are you going to do?”

“Let’s have a game of leapfrog while the fags aren’t looking,” said Crossfield, a schoolhouse monitor and a wag in a small way.

“It’s all very well for you to fool about,” said Game, ill-temperedly. “You schoolhouse fellows think, as long as you get well looked after, Willoughby may go to the dogs.”

“What do you mean?” said Fairbairn. “I don’t think so.”

“I suppose you’d like to make out that Riddell is made captain because he’s the best man for the place, and not because the doctor always favours the schoolhouse,” snarled Wibberly.

“He’s made captain because he’s head classic,” replied Fairbairn; “it has nothing to do with his being a schoolhouse fellow.”

“All very well,” said Tucker, of Welch’s, “but it’s a precious odd thing, all the same, that the captain is always picked out of the schoolhouse.”

“And it’s a precious odd thing too,” chimed in Crossfield, “that a head classic was never to be got out of Welch’s for love or money!”

This turned the laugh against the unlucky Tucker, who was notoriously a long way off being head classic.

“What I say is,” said Game, “we want an all-round man for captain — a fellow like Bloomfield here, who’s well up in the Sixth, and far away the best fellow in the eleven and the boats. Besides, he doesn’t shut himself up like Riddell, and give himself airs. I can’t see why the doctor didn’t name him. The only thing against him seems to be that he’s not a schoolhouse gentleman.”

“That’s the best thing about him in my opinion,” said Ashley.

If Game and his friends had determined to do their best to gain friends for the new captain, this constant bringing-up of the rivalry between Parrett’s house and the schoolhouse was the very way to do it. Many of the schoolhouse monitors had felt as sore as anybody about the appointments, but this sort of talk inclined not a few of them to take Riddell’s side.

“I don’t want any row made on my account,” said Bloomfield. “If Paddy thinks Riddell’s the best man, we have no choice in the matter.”

“Haven’t we, though!” said Wibberly. “We aren’t going to have a fellow put over our heads against our will — at any rate, not without having a word in the matter.”

“What can you do?” asked Coates.

“We can resign, I suppose?” said Tucker.

“Oh, yes!” said Crossfield. “And suppose Paddy took you at your word, my boy? Sad thing for Welch’s that would be!”

“I don’t know why you choose to make a beast of yourself whenever I speak,” said Tucker, angrily; “I’ve as much right—”

“Shut up, Tucker, for goodness’ sake!” said Bloomfield; “don’t begin by quarrelling.”

“Well, then, what does he want to cheek me for?” demanded Tucker. “He’s a stuck-up schoolhouse prig, that’s what he is!”

“And if I only had the flow of costermonger’s talk which some people possess—” began Crossfield.

“Are you going to shut up or not?” demanded Bloomfield.

“Hullo! you aren’t captain yet, old man!” replied the irrepressible Crossfield; “but if you want to know, I am going to shut up now till I want to speak again.”

“We might get up a petition to the doctor, anyhow,” suggested Game, returning to the subject; “he’d have to take notice of that.”

“What will you say in the petition?” asked Porter.

“Oh! easy enough that. Say we don’t consider Riddell fit to be captain, and we’d sooner have some one else.”

“Better say we’d sooner have Bloomfield at once,” said Wibberly.

“No; please don’t mention my name,” said Bloomfield.

“Wouldn’t the best thing be to send Riddell back with a label, ‘Declined, with thanks,’ pinned on his coat-tail?” suggested Crossfield.

“Yes; and add, ‘Try again, Paddy,’” said Coates, laughing.

“And just mention no schoolhouse snobs are wanted,” said Tucker.

“And suggest, mildly, that a nice, clever, amiable, high-principled Welcher like Tom Tucker would be acceptable,” added Crossfield.

“Look here,” said Tucker, very red in the face, advancing towards his tormentor, “I’ve stood your impudence long enough, you cad, and I won’t stand any more.”

“Sit down, then,” replied Crossfield, cheerfully, “plenty of forms.”

“Look here, you fellows,” said Bloomfield again, “for goodness’ sake shut up. Have it out afterwards if you like, but don’t fight here.”

“I don’t mind where I have it out,” growled Tucker, “but I’ll teach him to cheek me, see if I don’t.”

So saying, much to the relief of every one, he turned on his heel and left the room.

After this the discussion again got round to Riddell, and the question of a petition was revived.

“It would be quite easy to draw something up that would say what we want to say and not give offence to any one,” said Ashley.

“But what do you want to say?” asked Fairbairn. “If you want to tell the doctor he’s wrong, and that we are the people to set him right, I don’t see how you can help offending him.”

“That’s not what we want to say at all,” said Game. “We want to say that the captain of Willoughby has always been a fellow who was good all round, and we think the new captain ought to be of the same sort for the sake of the school.”

“Hear, hear,” said one or two of Parrett’s house; “what could be better than that?”

“Well,” said Porter, “I don’t see much difference between saying that and telling the doctor he doesn’t know what he’s about.”

“Of course you say so — that’s your schoolhouse prejudice,” replied Wibberly.

“It’s nothing of the sort,” said Fairbairn, warmly; “you know that as well as I do, Wibberly.”

“I know it is,” retorted Wibberly; “you’d put up with anybody as long as he wasn’t a Parrett fellow.”