Talbot Reed - The Willoughby Captains

“All right!” exclaimed Telson jumping up; “I’ll fight you, young Cusack, for that!”

Cusack was somewhat taken aback by this unexpected outbreak, but was inclined, nevertheless, to accept the challenge. Parson, however, interfered peremptorily.

“Look here,” he said, “we’re in quite enough row for one day, without wanting any more. So shut up, you fellows, do you hear?”

“Make him apologise, then,” said Telson, wrathfully.

“Oh, all serene. Nobody was hurting you,” said Cusack.

“Do you apologise, or do you not?” demanded Telson.

“I didn’t say I didn’t, did I?”

This was as much as the irascible schoolhouse fag could expect, so he sat down again.

“You know,” said Pilbury, anxious to make things quite pleasant again, “a lot of the fellows say the schoolhouse would have won in any case.”

“I’d like to know who says that,” demanded Parson, whose turn it now was to be angry.

“Oh, everybody in our house. They looked like winning, you know, from the very start, didn’t they, Pil?”

“Yes, a lot you and your friend Pil know about rowing,” sneered Parson.

“Know as much as you do!”

“Pity if you know such a lot you can’t put a boat on the river.”

“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Cusack. “Pil and I will row any two of your lot; there now. Funk it, eh?”

Parson looked hard at the speaker, and then glanced at Telson. Telson glanced back at Parson, and then eyed the Welchers grimly.

“You’d promise fair play?” asked Parson.

“Of course we would; we always do.”

“You’d give us fair play, then?” demanded Parson.

“Yes, honour bright.”

“All serene. Telson and I will row you; eh, Telson?”

“Rather!” said Telson, “and give them a start too.”

“All very well, you fellows,” said King, “but suppose we’re all expelled to-morrow.”

This unpleasant suggestion took away most of the interest in the proposed race, and it was decided to defer further arrangements till the fate of the parties should be decided.

After this the party waited gloomily till seven o’clock came, and then, in decidedly low spirits, rose in a body and repaired to Mr Parrett’s study.

Had they been aware of the actual state of that amiable athlete’s mind from the moment they last saw him, handkerchief in mouth, hurrying down the passage, till now, their trepidation would have been considerably relieved. The first thing Mr Parrett had done on regaining his room after that “bad quarter of an hour” with his juniors was to throw himself into a chair and laugh heartily.

The fact was, his sense of humour was inconveniently acute for the master of a public school, so that what would strike other masters as a heinous offence, occurred to him more as a ludicrous chapter of accidents. And to Mr Parrett’s mind a more ludicrous chapter of accidents had rarely occurred in his history. He saw the whole matter at once, and the more he thought about it the funnier it all seemed. And yet, funny as it was, it was a painful necessity that discipline must be maintained, and that however much he enjoyed the joke he must be severe on the jokers.

When, therefore, the group of youthful culprits slowly filed into his room, his voice was stern and his countenance betrayed no symptoms of the amusement which lurked beneath.

“Now, you boys,” said he, surveying the anxious array carefully, “what have you to say for yourselves?”

“Please, sir,” began Parson, Telson, and Cusack, all at a breath.

“Stop,” said Mr Parrett; “only one at a time. You, Parson, what have you to say?”

“Please, sir,” said Parson, “we’re all awfully sorry. It was quite an accident, really.”

“What was an accident?” demanded Mr Parrett.

“Why, you getting mauled about like—”

“Tell me, Parson,” said Mr Parrett, pinching himself to keep himself grave, “was it an accident that your water-can was hung over the door and the string stretched across the bottom of it?”

“Oh no, sir; not that, but—”

“Was it an accident that you had missiles in your hands and threw them in the direction of the door as it was opened?”

“No, sir.”

“Then, sir, what was the accident?”

“You were the accident, please, sir,” said Parson, sadly.

“I guessed so. And for whom were these preparations intended, pray?”

“For the Welchers, sir,” began Parson, longing to launch out into a full explanation; “and please, sir—”

But again the master pulled him up short, and, turning to Cusack and his brother Welchers, said, “And you— your preparations were for—?”

“For the Parretts, sir,” broke in Cusack.

“Just so,” said Mr Parrett, deliberately. “And now just listen to me. This is not the first time I have had to speak to some of you for this very conduct.”

Parson, Telson, Bosher, and the other Parretts looked very dejected at this point.

“And it is by no means the first time this term that all of you have been guilty of similar disturbances. Most of you here look frightened and uneasy enough now. I wish I could believe it was because you know you have been doing wrong and disgracing the school, instead of merely because I happened to have suffered by your bad conduct. But such conduct must be put a stop to. For the remainder of the term each one of you will lose one hour’s play a day except Saturdays.”

A shudder, half of anguish, half of relief, went round the small assembly at this first clause of Mr Parrett’s sentence. The next clause was still more severe.

“For the remainder of this term, too, none of you will be allowed to go into any house except your own, under any pretence, without my leave, or the Doctor’s.”

Telson and Parson looked at one another and groaned inwardly. They could hardly realise what this cruel sentence involved, but they knew it meant that life would hardly be worth living for the next six weeks.

“And,” continued Mr Parrett, “I have one more thing to say. Some of you here are in my house, and every one of you, I see, is in my form in Third School. You are most of you idle boys, and, as you know, there are plenty in the same Form better behaved and more industrious than yourselves.”

“Oh yes, sir,” said Parson, frankly.

“What I shall do during the remainder of the term is this,” said Mr Parrett. “If I hear of any other case of disturbance between the boys of different houses, in which any one of you are implicated, I intend to punish the entire Form, and stop every boy’s play for one day. It rests with you, therefore, to decide whether such a thing shall take place or not. But if you give me reason, I shall most certainly do it!”

Mr Parrett spoke severely, and looked as good as his word. He had carefully weighed his words beforehand, and he knew tolerably well the boys with whom he had to deal. They were noisy boys, and troublesome boys, and cheeky boys, and idle boys, but they were honest on the whole, and the master calculated pretty shrewdly on the effect which this last decision would have on their conduct.

As long as it was a mere question of getting his own particular self into a row, not one of these boys fixed any precise limit to his disorderly instincts; but when it came to getting a whole lot of other boys into the row too, a new and very embarrassing difficulty arose which was fairly insurmountable.

Mr Parrett dismissed the boys sternly, and then, trusting he had done right, and trusting still more to be able to turn the better qualities of his noisy young pupils to some good purpose, he went straight to the doctor and told him what he had done.

Dr Patrick fully approved of the decision of his colleague, and while on the subject opened his mind to him on the question of the discipline of Willoughby generally.