Chapter Thirty Four.
A Busy Day for the Doctor.
Riddell had not been many minutes in class before a message came from the doctor summoning him to the library.
On his arrival there he found, to his surprise, Silk standing alone in the middle of the room, while the doctor was quietly writing at his table.
“Riddell,” said the doctor, as the captain entered, “you reported two boys to me. Only one is here.”
“I told Gilks he was to be here at nine o’clock, sir,” said the captain.
“You had better go and see why he is not here.”
Riddell obeyed, and found on inquiry at the schoolhouse that Gilks was on the sick-list, and had obtained leave from the matron to remain in bed till after dinner.
The captain had his private doubts as to the seriousness of the invalid’s case, especially as, of the two, he was the less damaged in yesterday’s fight. However, he had no right to question the matron’s decision, and returned accordingly to report the matter to the doctor.
“Humph!” said the doctor, who also evidently considered it a curious coincidence that Gilks should be taken unwell the very morning when his presence was required in the library; “he had better have come. You say he is to be up after dinner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then let him know he is to come here at four o’clock, and you, Silk, come too at that hour.”
Silk, who had evidently screwed himself up for the present interview, looked disappointed.
“I should like just to say, sir—” began he, with a glance at Riddell.
But the doctor interrupted.
“Not now, Silk. Go to your class now, and come here at four o’clock.”
“But it’s not about—”
“Do you hear me, sir?” said the doctor, sternly.
Silk went.
The captain was about to follow his example, when it occurred to him he might not have so favourable an opportunity again that day for acting on Bloomfield’s advice respecting Wyndham.
“Can you spare a few minutes, sir?” said he, turning back.
“Yes, what is it?” said the doctor.
“It’s about young Wyndham, sir.”
“Ah! Nothing wrong, I hope. He has seemed a good deal steadier than he was, of late.”
“So he is, sir. But this is about something he did some time ago.”
The doctor settled himself judicially in his chair, and waited for the captain’s report.
“He got into bad company early in the term, sir, and was tempted down into the town without leave, and once let himself be taken to Beamish’s Aquarium.”
The doctor gave a grunt of displeasure, which sounded rather ominous.
“How long ago was this?”
“A few days before the boat-race, sir. It has been weighing on his mind ever since.”
“Did he tell you of it?” asked the doctor.
“No, I found it out accidentally. When I spoke to him about it he admitted it and seemed very sorry.”
“And why did he not come to me himself at once?”
“That’s just it, sir,” said the captain. “I advised him to do it, and he told me he had promised the—the companions with whom he went never to mention the matter to anybody, and this prevented his coming. He even went to them, and begged them to let him off the promise so that he might come and confess to you, but he did not succeed.”
“Did he ask you, then, to come and tell me?”
“No, sir. But he is in constant dread of your hearing about it from any one else, so that I thought it would be the best thing to tell you of it myself.”
The doctor nodded his head.
“He does not know, of course, of your doing this?”
“Oh no, sir.”
“And who were the companions who you say took him to this place?”
Riddell coloured up and felt very uncomfortable.
“Do you mind me not telling you, sir?” he said. “Wyndham only wanted you to know about his part in it. I’ll tell you if you wish,” added he, “but I’d rather not if you do not mind.”
“You need not do so at present,” said the doctor, greatly to the captain’s relief, “but you had better send Wyndham to me.”
“Yes, sir,” said Riddell, turning to go, but lingering for one final word. “I hope, sir—you—that is, if you can—you will take a lenient view of it. Young Wyndham’s very steady now.”
“I must see Wyndham before I can decide,” said the doctor, “but you have acted rightly in the matter—quite rightly.”
The captain went to find Wyndham, hoping for the best, but decidedly anxious.
That young gentleman was engaged in the agonies of Euclid when the school messenger entered, and announced that the doctor wanted to see him at once. His face fell, and his heart beat fast as he heard the summons. It needed not much effort to guess what it all meant. Gilks and Silk had of course been up before the doctor, and the latter had carried out the threat of which Riddell had told him; and now he was summoned to hear his fate!
At the schoolhouse door he found Riddell waiting for him.
“Oh, Riddell, I say!” exclaimed he, in tones of misery, “I’ve to go to the doctor at once. Silk has told about me. I say, do come with me.”
“Silk hasn’t told about you at all,” said the captain; “I’ve reported you myself.”
“You!” cried Wyndham, in tones of mingled amazement and reproach; “oh, why?”
“Wouldn’t you sooner have had me do it than Silk?” asked Riddell.
The boy saw his meaning at once, and as usual flew from one extreme to the other.
“Oh, of course! What a brute I was not to see it. Thanks awfully, old man. What awful grief I should have come to if it hadn’t been for you!”
“I don’t know at all what view the doctor takes of the matter,” said the captain, gravely; “you had better not expect too much.”
Wyndham groaned.
“If only I’m not expelled!” said he. “I suppose you can’t come too?”
“No. The doctor wants to see you alone, I think.”
“Well, here goes. By the way, of course, you didn’t mention the other fellows’ names?” he added.
The manner in which he said this made Riddell feel doubly glad that the doctor had not insisted on his telling.
“No—I didn’t,” he said.
And off went Wyndham, dismally, to the doctor’s study.
It was an anxious morning for the captain. Wyndham had not returned before first school was over, and Riddell felt he could not rest till he knew his fate.
He told Bloomfield of his morning’s proceedings, but even this new friend’s encouragement failed to shake off the suspense that weighed upon him.
Presently when he could wait patiently no longer, it occurred to him Wyndham might possibly have gone back to his study unobserved, and be waiting there for him. So he went across to the schoolhouse to find out.
But nearly all the studies in the schoolhouse, Wyndham’s included, were empty, as they almost always were at this hour of the day during summer; and the captain was about to return, more uncomfortable than ever, to the Big, when a door at the end of the passage opened, and some one called his name.
It was Gilks, who, as he was dressed, had evidently recovered from his indisposition earlier than was expected.
He beckoned as the captain looked round; and Riddell, inwardly wondering when his work as a police-officer would cease, and he would be able to retire again into private life, turned and entered his study.
Gilks shut the door carefully behind him. He had a haggard look about him which may have been the result of his ailment, or may have been caused by mental trouble, but which certainly was not the expression to which the captain had been used.
“I’m to go to the doctor at four?” he asked.
“Yes. He put it off, as you were reported on the sick-list.”
“Of course he thinks I was shamming?”
“I don’t know.”
“I was—and I wasn’t. I couldn’t make out what to do, that was it, so I stayed in bed. Was Silk there?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything?”
“No; the doctor told him to come again at four.”
Gilks took one or two uncomfortable turns up and down the room, and then said, “I may as well tell you, it’s no use keeping it back any longer, for it’s sure to come out. I was the fellow who cut the rudder-line. Did you know that?”
“I had heard it.”
“Who told you—Silk?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so. I knew he would. And he’ll tell Paddy this afternoon. I don’t care if he does.”
“I scarcely believed it when he said so,” said Riddell.
“Eh? I suppose you thought it was rather too low even for me. So it would have been once,” he said, bitterly.
“But you backed the Parrett’s boat all along,” said Riddell. “Oh, that. If that’s all that puzzled you it’s easily explained. Perhaps if you were doing a thing like that in the dark, expecting to be caught out every moment, you might make a mistake too.”
“Then you meant to cut our lines?” asked the captain, seeing the whole mystery explained at last.
“Of course I did; and so I should have done if the rudders hadn’t been shifted, and Parrett’s put into the schoolhouse boat.” He took a few more turns, and then continued, “You may fancy what a pleasant state of mind I’ve been in since. I daresay you’ll be glad to hear I’ve been miserable day and night.”
“I’m very sorry for you,” said Riddell, so sympathetically that the unhappy boy started.
“You wouldn’t be if you knew it was all to spite you. I was as bad as Silk in that, though it was his idea about cutting the lines. The accident turned out well for us in one way—nobody suspected either of us. But Silk has led me the life of a dog ever since. I’ve not known what minute it might all come out. He was always holding it over my head, and I had to do anything he told me. I can tell you I’ve thought of bolting more than once, or telling Paddy.”
“It must have been a dreadful time for you,” said Riddell. “So it was. But I’m glad it’s all over now. I shall be glad to be expelled. I’ve been ashamed to look any one in the face for weeks. I used to be happy enough before I knew Silk, but I don’t expect ever to be happy again now.”
There was a tremble in his voice as he said this, which went to the captain’s heart.
“I hope it’s not so bad as that,” said he, quietly. “Everybody here hates me, and they’ll hate me all the more now,” said Gilks. “You and young Wyndham are the only fellows that have been good to me, and I’ve done both of you nothing but mischief.”
“I think,” said Riddell, “the fellows will soon forgive. They would, I know, if they guessed how you have suffered already.”
“You are right. I have suffered,” said Gilks. Another long pause followed, during which the minds of both were full.
The one sensation in the captain’s heart was pity. He forgot all about the crime in commiseration of the wretchedness of the criminal. Yet he knew it was useless to hold out any hope of a reprieve, even if that had been to be desired. All he could do was to let the poor fellow know at least that he was not friendless; and this sign of sympathy Gilks gratefully appreciated.
“I don’t know why you should trouble yourself about me,” he said, after some further talk. “You owe me less than anybody. I’ve been nothing less than a brute to you.”
“Oh, no,” said Riddell; “but, do you know, I think it would be well to go to the doctor at once?”
“I mean to go at once. Do you think he’ll let me go off this afternoon, I say? I wouldn’t dare to face the fellows. I’ve got most of my things packed up.”
“I expect he would. But you stay till the morning. You can have my study. It’s quieter than this.”
Perhaps no more hospitable invitation had been issued in Willoughby, and Gilks knew it. And it was too welcome not to be accepted gratefully.
The captain soon afterwards departed, leaving the penitent behind him, subdued and softened, not by any sermon or moral lecture, which at such a time Riddell felt would be only out of place, but by sheer force of kindness—that virtue which costs so little, yet achieves so much.
In this new excitement the captain had for the moment forgotten young Wyndham, but he was soon reminded of that afflicted youth’s existence on reaching the Big.
He was there, waiting impatiently. A glance sufficed to show that at any rate the worst had not happened, but Wyndham’s face was such a mixture of relief and woe that the captain felt some misgivings as he inquired eagerly what was the news.
“He was frightfully kind,” said Wyndham, “and talked to me like a father. I never felt so ashamed of myself. I’m certain it’s what you said made him let me off so easy—that is, so what he means for easy. He said nothing about expelling, even when I couldn’t tell him the names of those two fellows. But he’s gated me till the end of the term! I may only go out for the half-hour after first school, and half an hour after half-past five. And you know what that means,” he added, with a groan.
“What?” asked Riddell, too rejoiced that his friend was safe to be over-curious as to the exact consequence of his sentence.
“Why!” exclaimed Wyndham, “it’s all up with the second-eleven!”
It was a blow undoubtedly—perhaps the next hardest blow to expulsion—but so much less hard that not even the boy himself could for long regard it as a crushing infliction.
He had had his lesson, and after the suspense of the last few weeks he was ready to expiate his transgression manfully, if sorrowfully.
“Anyhow,” said he, after pouring out all his disappointment into the captain’s sympathetic ear, “it’s not as bad as being sent off home. And if it hadn’t been for you that’s what might have happened. I say, and think of my brother coming down to umpire, too! What a fool I shall look! Never mind; it can’t be helped. I’m sure to get into the eleven next season. I say, by the way, I’ve no right to be standing out here. I shall have to go in.”
And so ended the story of young Wyndham’s transgressions.
Riddell had to officiate at yet one more investigation that eventful day.
Scarcely had Wyndham disappeared when a message reached him that the doctor wished to see him again.
With no doubt this time as to the purport of the summons, he obeyed.
He found Gilks standing in the doctor’s presence, where Silk had stood an hour or so earlier.
“Riddell,” said the doctor, whose face was grave, and whose voice was more than unusually solemn, “Gilks here has just been making a very serious statement about an accident that happened early in the term—the breaking of the line at the boat-race, which he confesses was his doing. I wish you to hear it.”
“Gilks told me of it just before he came to you, sir,” said the captain.
“I never expected to hear such a confession from a Willoughby boy,” said the doctor. “The honour of the whole school has suffered by this disgraceful action, and if I were to allow it to pass without the severest possible punishment I should not be doing my duty. Gilks has done the one thing possible to him to show his remorse for what has occurred. He has confessed it voluntarily, but I have told him he must leave the school to-morrow morning.”
Gilks remained where he was, with his eyes on the ground, while the doctor was speaking, and attempted no plea to mitigate the sentence against him.
“I find,” continued the doctor, “that if he tells the truth he has not been the only, and perhaps not the principal, culprit. He says he did what he did at the suggestion of Silk. Perhaps you will send for Silk now, Riddell.”
Riddell went off to discharge the errand. When he returned Gilks looked up and said, nervously, “Need I stay, sir? I don’t want to see Silk.”
The doctor looked at him doubtfully, and replied, “Yes, you must stay.”
A long, uncomfortable pause followed, during which no one spoke or stirred. At length the silence was broken by a knock on the door, and Silk entered.
He glanced hurriedly round, and seemed to take in the position of affairs with moderate readiness, though he was evidently not quite sure whether Gilks or the captain was his accuser.
The doctor, however, soon made that clear.
“Silk,” he said, “Gilks accuses you of being a party to the cutting of the rudder-links of one of the boats in the race last May. Repeat your story, Gilks.”
“He needn’t do it,” said Silk, “I’ve heard it already.”
“He says you suggested it,” said the doctor.
“That’s a lie,” said Silk sullenly; “I never heard of it till afterwards.”
“You know you did,” said Gilks. “When I was turned out of the boat, and couldn’t baulk the race that way, it was you suggested cutting the lines, and I was glad enough to do it.”
“So you were,” snarled Silk, incautiously—“precious glad.”
“Then you did suggest it?” said the doctor, sharply.
Silk saw his mistake, and tried to cover it, but his confusion only made the case against him worse.
“No, I didn’t—he told me about it afterwards—that is, I heard about it—I never suggested it. He said he knew how to get at the boats, and I said—”
“Then you did speak about it beforehand?” said the doctor.
“No—that is—we only said—”
“Silk,” said the doctor, sternly, “you’re not speaking the truth. Let me implore you not to make your fault greater by this denial.”
Silk gave in. He knew that his case was hopeless, and that when Gilks had said all, Riddell could corroborate it with what had been said last night.
“Well—yes, I did know of it,” said he, doggedly.
“Yes,” said the doctor; “I’m glad at least you do not persist in denying it. You must quit Willoughby, Silk; I shall telegraph to your father this afternoon. You must be ready to leave by this time to-morrow.”
Silk hesitated for a moment, then with a look round at Riddell, he said, “Before I go, sir, I think you ought to know that Wyndham junior—”
“What about him?” asked the doctor, coldly.
“He is in the habit, as Riddell here knows, of frequenting low places of amusement in Shellport. I have not mentioned it before; but now I am leaving, and Riddell is not likely to tell you of it, I think you ought to know of it, sir.”
“The matter has already been reported,” said the doctor, almost contemptuously. “You can go, Silk.”
The game was fairly played out at last, and Silk slunk off, followed shortly afterwards by the captain and Gilks.