He had just completed his toilet when he heard some one moving in the next study.

“There’s Fairbairn getting up,” he said to himself. “I wonder if he could help me?”

He thought he could. And yet, under the nervous exterior of this boy there lurked a certain pride which held him back from acting on the impulse. After all, if he was to do the work, why should he try to shunt part of his responsibility on to another?

So, though he went to his friend’s study, he said nothing about the batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.

Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his friend cheerily.

“Hullo, Riddell, here’s an early start for you!”

“Yes,” said Riddell; “I couldn’t sleep very well, so I thought I might as well get up.”

“Best thing for you. But why haven’t you your flannels on?”

“I’m not going out,” said Riddell. “Besides, I don’t believe I have flannels,” added he.

“What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels! You’ll have to get a suit at once, do you hear? But, I say, why don’t you come down to the river with Porter and me? We’re going to have a little practice spin, and you could steer us. It would do you more good than sticking indoors. Come along.”

Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn’t steer; but Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the Craydle.

Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.

But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.

As he stood during the service in his captain’s place he could not prevent his eye wandering hurriedly down the ranks of boys opposite and wondering how many of them he would be called upon to interview in his study before the term was over. As he reached the end of the array his eye rested on Telson close to the door, talking and laughing behind his hand with Parson, who listened in an unconcerned way, and looked about him as if he felt himself to be the monarch of all he surveyed. These were two of the boys who would wait upon him in his study immediately after prayers! Riddell turned quite miserable at the idea.

Prayers ended at last, and while the other monitors repaired to the Sixth Form room to discuss the presentation of the petition as narrated in our last chapter, Riddell walked dejectedly to his study and prepared to receive company.

No one came for a long time, and Riddell was beginning to hope that, after all, the dreaded interview was not to come off, or that there was a mistake somewhere, and some one else was to deal with the culprits instead of himself, when a scuttling of footsteps down the passage made his blood run cold and his heart sink into his boots.

“I must be cool,” he said to himself, fiercely, as a knock sounded at the door, “or I shall make a fool of myself. Come in.”

In response to this somewhat tremulous invitation, Telson, Parson, Bosher, Lawkins, King, trooped into his study, the picture of satisfaction and assurance, and stood lounging about the room with their hands in their pockets as though curiosity was the sole motive of their visit.

Riddell, while waiting for them, had hastily considered what he ought to say or do. But now, any ideas he ever had darted from his mind, and he gazed nervously at the small company.

“Oh!” said he at length, breaking silence by a tremendous effort, and conscious that he was looking as confused as he felt, “I suppose you are the boy—”

“Yes,” said Bosher, leaning complacently against the table and staring at a picture over the mantelpiece.

“The boys who were late,” said Riddell, stammering. “Let me see.” Here he took up the paper and began to read it over: “‘Co. Pri. Telson (S.H.).’ Ah, yes! Telson. You were late, weren’t you? Why were you late?”

A question like this was decidedly a novelty; Wyndham’s formula had invariably been, “Telson, hold out your hand,” and then if Telson had anything to remark he was at liberty to do so. But to be thus invited to make excuses was an unexpected treat which these cunning juniors were quite sharp enough to jump at.

“Oh, you know,” began Telson, “it wasn’t our fault. We were up-stream in the Ark, and meant to be back all right, only the schoolhouse boat overhauled us, and we had to race them a bit — didn’t we, you fellows?”

“Rather,” said Parson; “and a spanking race it was. We held up to them all down the Willow Reach, and were just collaring them for the finish up to Balsham Weir, when the beasts pulled in and funked it.”

“And then, of course, we couldn’t get back in time,” said Lawkins. “We were jolly fagged — weren’t we, you fellows? — and it was all a plant of those schoolhouse cads.”

“Fight you!” said Telson, menacingly.

“Oh, beg pardon, old man, didn’t mean. They ran us up on purpose to make us late. You ask them. It was a beastly low trick!”

“And then coming back,” continued Telson, “we ran down old Parrett in his skiff and spilt him, and we had to fish him out — didn’t we, you chaps? — and that made us late. You ask Parrett; he’s potted us for it, last night.”

Riddell listened to all this in a bewildered way, not knowing what to make of it. If the boys’ story was correct, there certainly might be some force in their excuse. It would hardly be fair to punish them if they were decoyed out of their way by some seniors. And then, of course, this story about Mr Parrett; they would never make up a story like that. And if it was true — well, he did not see how they could have done otherwise than stay and help him out of the water after capsizing him into it. It really seemed to him as if these boys did not deserve to be punished. True, Telson and Parson had been twice late this week, but that was not what they were reported for now. The question was, were they to be chastised for this third offence or not?

“What did Mr Parrett do to you?” he asked presently. “Oh,” said Parson, gaily, fully taking in the situation so far, “he was down on us hot. He’s stopped our going on the river a week, and then we’ve got to get a permit till the end of the term. Jolly hard lines it is, especially race term. I shan’t be able to cox. Parrett’s boat at the regatta. No more will young Telson cox the schoolhouse boat. You ask Parrett,” said he, in tones of manly appeal.

“Then you mean Mr Parrett has already punished you?” asked Riddell.

“Rather,” said Telson. “I’d sooner have had a licking any day than get stopped river-play. Wouldn’t you, Parson?”

“I should think I would,” said Parson.

“Well,” said Riddell, dubiously, “of course if Mr Parrett has already punished you—”

“You ask him!” again said Parson. “You ask him if he’s not stopped our river-play. Ah five of us! Mayn’t go on at all for a week, and then we’ve got to get your permit. Isn’t that what he said, you chaps?”

“Yes,” chimed in the “chaps,” in injured voices.

“Well, then,” said Riddell, “as that is so, I think you can — that is, I wish just to tell you — you — it mustn’t occur again.”

“Oh, all right,” said Parson, making for the door.

“And I hope,” began Riddell—

But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear. They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning’s adventures.