Gilks sighed.
“I’m afraid the news here won’t be very pleasant for me to hear,” said he. “What a fury the fellows will be in when they hear about it. I say, Riddell, if you get a chance tell them how ashamed and miserable I was, will you?”
“I will, I promise you,” replied Riddell.
“And, I say, will you say something to young Wyndham? Tell him how I hate myself for all the mischief I did to him, and how thankful I am he had you to keep him straight when I was trying to lead him all wrong. Will you tell him that?”
“I’ll try,” said the captain, with a smile, “part of it. But we ought to be turning in now, or we shall not be up in time.”
“All right,” said Gilks. “Good-night, Riddell.”
“Good-night, old fellow.”
Bloomfield was up early next morning. He had only received the evening before the melancholy notification of the fact that young Wyndham, owing to circumstances over which he had no control, would be unable to play in the second-eleven match next week; and he had it on his mind consequently to find a successor without delay.
Probably, on the principle that the early bird gets the worm, he determined to be out in good time this morning. But for once in a way the bird was too early for the worm, and Bloomfield prowled about for a good quarter of an hour before the aspiring youth of Willoughby mustered at the wickets.
It was during this early prowl, while the hands of the clock were between half-past six and seven, that he received something like a shock from seeing the captain alight at the school gate from the town omnibus.