“The fact is,” said Bloomfield, a little nervously, “ever since that debate in Parliament some weeks ago, when you spoke about all pulling together, I’ve felt that our fellows haven’t done as much as they ought in that way—I know I haven’t.”
Riddell did not exactly know what to say. He could not say that the Parrett’s fellows had “pulled together” for the good of the school, so he said nothing.
“I’m getting rather sick of it,” continued Bloomfield, digging his hands in his pockets.
“So am I,” said the captain.
“You know,” said Bloomfield, “it was that wretched boat-race affair which made things as bad as they were. Our fellows wouldn’t have kept it up so long if that hadn’t happened.”
Riddell began to get more and more uneasy. He had expected this was coming, and there was no escaping it.
“It was an awfully ugly business, of course,” continued Bloomfield; “and though no one suspected fellows like you and Fairbairn of such a thing, our fellows, you know, were pretty sure some one was at the bottom of it.”
Riddell could not help thinking, in the midst of his uneasiness, how very sagacious the Parrett’s fellows had been to make the discovery!
“And now,” said Bloomfield, looking up, and feeling relieved to have his speech nearly done—“now that you’ve found out who it is, and it’s all going to be cleared up, I think things ought to come all right.”
It was a painful situation for the captain of Willoughby. The bribe which Bloomfield offered for his secret was what had been the wish of his heart the whole term. If he accepted it now there would be an end to all the wretched squabbles which had worked such mischief in the school the last few months, and the one object of his ambition as head of the school would be realised.