So, though he went to his friend’s study, he said nothing about the batch of juniors from whom he expected a morning call.
Fairbairn was arraying himself in his boating things, and greeted his friend cheerily.
“Hullo, Riddell, here’s an early start for you!”
“Yes,” said Riddell; “I couldn’t sleep very well, so I thought I might as well get up.”
“Best thing for you. But why haven’t you your flannels on?”
“I’m not going out,” said Riddell. “Besides, I don’t believe I have flannels,” added he.
“What, a Willoughby captain and no flannels! You’ll have to get a suit at once, do you hear? But, I say, why don’t you come down to the river with Porter and me? We’re going to have a little practice spin, and you could steer us. It would do you more good than sticking indoors. Come along.”
Riddell protested he would rather not, and that he couldn’t steer; but Fairbairn pooh-poohed both objections, and finally carried off his man to the river, where his unwonted appearance in the stern of the schoolhouse pair-oar caused no little astonishment and merriment among the various early visitors who usually frequented the waters of the Craydle.
Despite these unflattering remarks, and despite the constant terror he was in of piloting his boat into the bank, or running foul of other boats, Riddell decidedly enjoyed his little outing, the more so as the exercise and occupation drove away entirely for a time all thoughts of the coming visit of the ill-behaved juniors.
But as soon as he returned to the school the prospect of this ordeal began again to haunt him, and spoilt morning chapel for him completely.