Parson, who ever since the famous breakfast in Riddell’s room had looked upon the captain with eyes of favour, replied, “No, I don’t think so, I’ll go and see if you like.”
“Thanks. If he’s in, tell him I want to speak to him.”
“All serene. Hold my towel, do you mind? It’s Bosher’s, and he may try to collar it if he sees me. And tell Telson I’ll be back in a second.”
And off he went, leaving the captain in charge of Bosher’s towel.
He soon returned with a message that Bloomfield was getting up, and would be out in a minute or two.
“I say,” said he, after the two had waited impatiently some time, each for his own expected schoolfellow, “did you see much of the fight last night?”
“No,” said Riddell, “I didn’t see it at all.”
“Oh, hard lines. I got there late, as I went to tell Telson. Gilks used his right too much, you know. We both thought so. He keeps no guard to speak of, and— Hullo! where on earth have you been all this time?”
This last exclamation was in honour of Telson, who appeared on the scene at that moment, and with whom the speaker joyfully departed, leaving Riddell only half informed as to the scientific defects in Gilks’s style of boxing.
In due time Bloomfield appeared, not a little curious to know the object of this early interview.