“I should think I would,” said Parson.
“Well,” said Riddell, dubiously, “of course if Mr Parrett has already punished you—”
“You ask him!” again said Parson. “You ask him if he’s not stopped our river-play. Ah five of us! Mayn’t go on at all for a week, and then we’ve got to get your permit. Isn’t that what he said, you chaps?”
“Yes,” chimed in the “chaps,” in injured voices.
“Well, then,” said Riddell, “as that is so, I think you can—that is, I wish just to tell you—you—it mustn’t occur again.”
“Oh, all right,” said Parson, making for the door.
“And I hope,” began Riddell—
But what it was he hoped, his youthful audience did not remain to hear. They had vanished with amazing celerity, and the captain, as he walked pensively up to the door and shut it, could hear them marching jauntily down the passage shouting and laughing over their morning’s adventures.
A moment’s reflection satisfied Riddell that he had been “done” by these unscrupulous youngsters. He had let them off on their own representations, and without taking due care to verify their story. And now it would go out to all Willoughby that the new captain was a fool, and that any one who liked could be late for call-over if only he had the ingenuity to concoct a plausible story when he was reported. A nice beginning this to his new reign! Riddell saw it all clearly now, when it was too late. Why ever had he not seen it as clearly at the time?
Was it too late? Riddell went to the door again and looked down the passage. The young malefactors were out of sight, but their footsteps and voices were still audible. Hadn’t he better summon them back? Had not he better, at any cost to his own pride, own that he had made a mistake, rather than let the discipline of Willoughby run down?