Any fellow would be ruffled who suddenly found himself deposed from his authority in the manner in which Silk had been. Had he been one of the most conscientious and painstaking of monitors, he might well have been excused flaring up a little, and, indeed, would have shown a poor spirit had he not done so.
But Silk, as the reader knows, was neither painstaking nor conscientious. He did not care a rap about Welch’s, still less about Willoughby. As long as he could please himself and annoy his enemies, he did not care what became of his house or the boys in it. It was only when any one ventured to dispute his authority as head of the house that he attached any value to his office. In fact, it was the story of the Dog in the Manger carried out in school life—he would not be troubled doing his duty to Welch’s, and he would not if he could help it let any one else do it for him.
Riddell, if truth must be told, was not at all sorry to have an early opportunity of coming to an explanation with Silk.
Silk was one of the very few boys in Willoughby whom the captain positively disliked, and that being so Riddell was troubled with none of the half-apologetic nervousness which he usually felt in the presence of his other fellow-seniors. He looked upon Silk both as an enemy to Willoughby and as the evil genius of young Wyndham, and therefore was by no means disposed to beg his pardon or consult his pleasure in the new order of things at Welch’s.
“I hear the juniors have been saying something to you about starting the cricket club,” said Silk, in tones which were the reverse of conciliatory.
“Yes,” said Riddell; “or, rather, I suggested it to them.”
“You did! All I can say is, it’s like your impudence. Welch’s is come to a pretty pass if you’re sent here to look after our athletics.”
Riddell did not feel called upon to reply to this, and Silk therefore continued, “Don’t you know Tucker and I have been captains of the clubs here for the last two years?”
“I was told so.”
“Then what business have you to interfere?”