“Oh, it’s all right,” said Wibberly, “we’ve been called over. We’re only going to Stutter’s study.”

“Go back at once,” said Bloomfield, “and go to the captain after six.”

Wibberly laughed.

“You’re joking surely,” said he; “you usen’t to mind the extra feeds now and then.”

“If I shirked my duty once it’s no reason I should do it for ever. Go back, do you hear? at once.”

“What, won’t you let us go this time?” said Wibberly, quite bewildered by this unexpected sternness on the part of his old patron.

“Do you hear what I say?” thundered Bloomfield. “Do you want to be licked into the bargain?”

“Oh, very well,” said Wibberly, with a last fond thought of Stutter’s good bill of fare. “But, I say, you needn’t give us lines, Bloomfield.”

“I’ve nothing to do with giving you lines. That’s the captain’s affair.”

“What do you mean? Do you mean to say you’ll report us to Riddell?”

“Of course. He’s the captain.”

“Oh, look here!” cried Wibberly, quite convinced now that the rumours were no joke. “We’ll go back, and we’ll do lines for you, but for goodness’ sake don’t send us up to him.”

“We had no warning, you see,” said Stutter, “that things were changed.”

“Go back, then,” said Bloomfield, “and make up your minds unless you keep rules you’ll get treated just the same as any other rowdies. I won’t report you this time, but you’d better take care what you do.”

This little incident made a remarkable impression, not only on the two boys immediately concerned, but on the school generally. For it soon got noised about, and no public proclamation could have made the state of Bloomfield’s mind clearer.

But a day or two later the last glimmer of doubt was removed by the proceedings which took place in that august assembly, the Willoughby Parliament.

Honourable members assembled in large numbers, as they always did after any special school excitement, and even had this inducement been lacking, the significant sentence, “Resignation of Mr Bloomfield — Election of President,” on the notice-board would have sufficed to pack the house.

Riddell had implored Bloomfield not to take this step, or at least to defer it to the beginning of the next term. But he might as well have pleaded with a lamp-post. The Parrett’s captain was inexorable.

“No,” said he; “if it was the last day of the term I’d do it. It would serve me right if I was kicked round the school for sticking there so long.”

Before the business began Crossfield rose and asked to be allowed to put a question. This was the signal for a general buzz of anticipation which was not lessened by the sight of Messrs Game and Ashley looking very uncomfortable where they sat.

“I should like to ask Mr Game, whom I see present, if he will kindly report to the House the proceedings of the last special meeting, which he summoned in the interests of the honour of the school. I hope the gentleman will speak out, as we are all anxious to hear him.”

Game blushed up to the roots of his hair, and dug his hands in his pocket, and tried to look as unconcerned as possible at the laughter which greeted this innocent question.

As he made no offer to reply, Crossfield thereupon regaled the House with a highly facetious report of that famous meeting, amid much laughter and cheers, not a few of which were directed to the heroic “Skyrockets.” This little diversion being at an end, it was suggested by the Chair that perhaps the matter might now drop, which, greatly to the relief of the discomfited ex-monitors, it accordingly did, and after a few other questions the orders of the day were reached.

“Gentlemen,” said Bloomfield, rising and speaking nervously, but resolutely, “you will see by the notice-paper that I am going to resign the office of President of the Willoughby Parliament. (No, no.) Gentlemen, there’s a proverb which says, ‘It’s never too late to mend.’ That’s the principle on which I am doing this now. I’ve been in this chair under false pretences. (No, no.) I was elected here under false pretences. (No, no.) I was a fool to let myself be elected, and I’m ashamed of myself now. Gentlemen, I am not the captain of Willoughby! I never was; and I had no more right to be than any fag present. (Loud cheers from Parson, Telson, Cusack, and others.) The only thing I can do now, gentlemen, to show how ashamed I am, is to resign. And I do resign. For goodness’ sake, gentlemen, let’s be done with the folly that’s been working the very mischief in Willoughby all this term. I know I’ve been as bad as any one, so I’ve no right to abuse any one. But we’ve time to pull ourselves right yet. It wants three clear weeks to the holidays. (Groans from Bosher.) In three weeks, if we choose, we can make the old school what it was the day old Wyndham left. (Cheers.) We’ve had more than folly among us this term. We’ve had foul play — thank goodness no one here was concerned in that. We don’t want to kick fellows that are down, but now they’ve gone our chance of pulling up is all the better, and we’ll do it. (Cheers.) I said the only thing I could do to atone for my folly was to resign. No, gentlemen, there is something else I can do, and will do. I propose that the captain of Willoughby be elected our President! (Cheers.) He’s a jolly good fellow, gentlemen — (cheers) — and I can tell you this (and I’m not given to romancing), if it hadn’t been for him, gentlemen, there would have been scarcely anything of Willoughby left to pick up.”

Bloomfield, whose spirited address had carried his audience by storm, as only a genuine, hearty outburst can, sat down amid tremendous cheers. The school had fast been coming round to his way of thinking, but it had wanted some one to give it utterance. Riddell, in his speech a week or two ago, had hit the right nail on the head, and now Bloomfield had driven it home.

When presently the applause subsided, young Wyndham was discovered, all excitement and eagerness, trying to be heard.

“I want to second that!” he cried, in a voice that positively trembled. “I’m only a Limpet, and I’ve been in lots of rows, but you none of you know what a brick he is. Gentlemen, he’s worth the lot of us put together! I mean it. If you only knew what he’s done for me, you’d say so. I’m in a row now.” (“Hear! hear!” from Cusack.) “I’m detained all the rest of the term. (Cheers from Bosher.) I can’t play in the second-eleven next week — (loud laughter) — but, gentlemen, I don’t care a hang now old Riddell’s put where he ought to be, at the head of the school — (applause) — and I’m proud to be allowed to second it.”

This was no ordinary meeting truly. No sooner was Wyndham done, but Telson leapt on his form, and shouted,—

“On behalf of the kids — (laughter) — I third that. (Laughter.) I don’t know what you’re grinning at — (laughter) — but, I can tell you, we all mean to back him up. (Loud cheers.) That’s all I’ve got to say!”

Other speeches followed, equally cordial, from Fairbairn and the captain’s old schoolhouse friends, and even from some unexpected quarters where every one supposed the old partisanship still lurked.

Amid much enthusiasm Riddell was elected President, and duly installed by his old rival.

Then there were loud calls for “A speech!” from the captain. It was long before he could sufficiently overcome his nervousness to attempt it, but at last he said — or rather stammered — amidst the enthusiasm of the meeting, “I am much obliged, gentlemen. I wish Bloomfield had kept the post. I’m afraid I sha’n’t make a good President. Gentlemen, if we go on as we have begun to-day the captain of Willoughby will have nothing to do. The old school is looking up fast. (Cheers.) Now we are all pulling one way, I should like to see what can stop us! But I really can’t make a speech now. If you knew all I feel — but there, I shall only break down if I try to go on, so I’d better stop.”