“Oh, I don’t know. He recollects most of the old people down here, you know. I say, there’s Parson beckoning; he’s my chum, you know. I expect he wants me to help with some of the things.”
And so saying off he went, leaving Miss Stringer, so to speak, fairly doubled up, and in a state of mind which may be more easily imagined than described.
Every one observed how singularly silent and retiring Miss Stringer was all that evening. Some attributed it to the heat of the room, others feared she might not be well, others guessed she found the Browns’ entertainment very slow; but no one, least of all Telson himself, had a suspicion of the true reason.
That young gentleman and his ally, after finding out that there was not much chance of their services being required to “look after the things”—the greengrocer being quite able to deal with the business single-handed — found themselves once more stranded in the drawing-room, and gradually getting edged back by the skirts, when an unlooked-for distinction rescued them from their perilous situation.
The distinction was none other than a sign of recognition from the doctor and a friendly signal to approach.
Like a pair of small well-trained circus ponies the two friends obeyed the summons and climbed over the intervening skirts.
“Well, Telson and Parson,” said the doctor, shaking hands, “I’d no idea you were here — how are you?”
“We got a captain’s permit. Quite well, thank you, sir.”
“My dear, these are two of our boys, Telson and Parson.”
Mrs Patrick regarded the two boys in her usual precise way, and said,—
“Among so many boys under our roof, I find it impossible to remember every face. And which is Master Telson?”
“This is Telson,” said Parson. “He’s in the schoolhouse, you know—”
“I do not know,” said Mrs Patrick, severely.
“Don’t you?” said Parson, with genuine astonishment. “He’s captain’s fag, you know.”
“I must repeat I do not know,” reiterated Mrs Patrick.
“Oh, well, he’s only been that a little time, since the sports, you know, when old Wyndham left. I say, ma’am, are you going to be at the race on Wednesday?”
Mrs Patrick looked somewhat baffled as she replied,—
“I think it very possible.”
“It’ll be a jolly good race,” said Telson. “Old Parson is coxing Parrett’s, and it looks like a win for them. Only we aren’t so bad, and now Gilks is out of the boat and Riddell’s settled as cox we ought to make a race of it. Fairbairn’s quite as long a reach as Bloomfield, only he doesn’t kick his stretcher so hard — does he, Parson?”
“Rather not,” said Parson. “That’s where we get the pull of you; besides, I’m a lighter weight than Riddell, though he’s boiled down a good bit since he went into training.”
“Good deal depends on who gets the inside berth,” said Telson, delightfully oblivious of the bewildered Mrs Paddy’s presence. “It’s a jolly long swing round Willow Point for the outsiders — half a length at least.”
“Yes; but it’s just as bad round the corner at the finish the other way.”
“Ah! talking about the race, I see,” said the doctor, returning to the group at this point. “So, Telson, Riddell’s to steer your boat after all.”
“Yes, sir,” said Telson; “it’s settled now.”
“So that the schoolhouse boat is still the captain’s boat, eh? Ah! Parson, though, I suppose, wants the Parrett’s boat to win.”
“Parson coxes for Parrett’s,” said Telson.
“Parrett — I mean Mr Parrett — stopped my river-play a week, sir,” said Parson, by way of explaining the circumstance; “but I’ve had captain’s leave to row out since, so they kept me in the boat.”
This sporting conversation went on for some time longer, Mrs Patrick not venturing again to join in. At last the doctor broke up the conference of his own accord, and our two heroes, once more adrift, went out for a lounge in the hall, as they explained, to cool themselves, but really to be at hand for a bolt into the supper-room whenever the happy moment should arrive.
It did arrive after what seemed to be a week’s suspense and then the hardships and perils of the evening were fully compensated for. The two friends got into a snug corner, “far from the madding crowd,” where, to put it mildly, they spent a very busy half-hour. They managed it well. Neither boy helped himself — he wouldn’t be so greedy; but each helped the other. When Telson saw Parson’s plate getting empty of sandwiches, he most attentively fetched him a clean one with a trifle on it; and when Telson had finally got through his jellies (for he had more than one) it was Parson’s brotherly hand which assisted him to an ice!
As they sat there they positively wished Brown’s “pa and ma” gave a party once a week!
But all good things come to an end, and so did this grand party. Guests began to depart, and among the earliest were the doctor and his ladies. The doctor came up to the boys, and said, kindly, “We’re driving up; you two had better come with us, there’s plenty of room on the box. Now, my love — now, Miss Stringer.”
Miss Stringer! Telson nearly fainted as he saw who it was who answered to the name.
“Let’s walk up,” he said, entreatingly, to Parson.
“I don’t mind, only Paddy—”
“Now then, boys,” cried the doctor, “there’s room for one inside. Telson, will you come?”
Telson bounded up on to the box without another word, and Parson beside him, and the fly drove off.
“Oh, Parson, old man, I’m a gone coon!” exclaimed Telson, in tones of abject misery, as soon as they were clear of the Browns’ premises.
“Why, what’s up?”
“Miss Stringer!”
“What about her? Isn’t she a cad, eh?”
“Yes, and I told her so,” groaned Telson; “I didn’t know who she was, and I said—”
“Hullo, I say, look there!” exclaimed Parson, suddenly catching his friend by the arm.
They were passing the Aquarium, which at that moment was disgorging its visitors. Among those who emerged exactly as the doctor’s fly passed were three boys, whom Telson and Parson recognised in a moment.
They were Silk and Gilks and another younger boy, who seemed to shrink from observation, and whose head was turned another way as the fly passed. The three, immediately on gaining the street, started to run towards Willoughby ahead of the fly.
The two boys on the box pulled their caps over their eyes, and said not a word till the truants were clear. Then Telson said, “That was young Wyndham!”
“I know. I wonder if Paddy saw them?”
“Shouldn’t think so. And they didn’t see us. I say, will they get in before us?”
“It’ll be a shave if they do. What a row there’ll be if they don’t!”
It was a curious thing that almost immediately after this short dialogue Telson’s cap fell off into the road, and the fly had to be pulled up while he and Parson got down and looked for it. It was a dark night, and the cap took some time to find. When finally it was recovered, and progress was resumed, full five minutes had been lost over the search, by which time the truants had got a clear half-mile to the good, and were safe.
Chapter Fourteen
The Boat-Race
The few days that intervened between the Saturday of Brown’s party and the Wednesday of the great race were days of restless suspense in Willoughby. Even Welch’s caught the contagion, and regretted at the last hour that they had withdrawn from the all-important contest. As to the other two Houses, there never had been a year when the excitement ran so high or the rivalry grew so keen. Somehow the entire politics of Willoughby appeared to be mixed up in the contest, and it seemed as if the result of this one struggle was to decide everything.
The crews had worked hard up to the last, watched morning and evening by anxious spectators from the bank. The trials had been carefully noted and times compared, the variations in style had been eagerly criticised, the weights of the rowers had become public property, and in short every detail likely to influence the result was a subject of almost painful interest to the eager partisans on either side.