The Willoughby Captains - Reed Talbot Baines - Страница 18

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This reply by no means added to Riddell’s comfort.

“Gave Cattermole and Watkins a hiding.” Fancy his attempting to give Cattermole and Watkins a hiding! And not only that, he had held out some awful threat about Limpets’ cricket, which appeared to have a magical effect.

Fancy the effect of his threatening to exclude a Limpet from the second-eleven — when it was all he knew that the school had a second-eleven!

The difficulties and perplexities which had loomed before him in the morning were closing around him now in grim earnest! The worst he had feared had happened, and more than the worst. It was now proved beyond all doubt that he was utterly incompetent. Would it not be sheer madness in him to attempt this impossible task a day longer?

The reader has no doubt asked the same question long ago. Of course it’s madness of him to attempt it. A muff like Riddell never could be captain of a school, and it’s all bosh to suppose he could be. But, my dear reader, a muff like Riddell was the captain of a school; and what’s more he didn’t give it up even after the day’s adventures just described.

Riddell was not perfect. I know it is an unheard-of thing for a good boy in a story-book not to be perfect, and that is one reason which convinces me this story of mine must be an impossible one. Riddell was not perfect. He had a fault. Can you believe it — he had many faults? He even had a besetting sin, and that besetting sin was pride. Not the sort of pride that makes you consider yourself better than your neighbours. Riddell really couldn’t think that even had he wished it. But his pride was of that kind which won’t admit of anybody to help it, which would sooner knock its head to bits against a stone wall than own it can’t get through it, and which can never bring itself to say “I am beaten,” even when it is clear to all the world it is beaten.

Pride had had a fall this day at any rate; but it had risen again more stubborn than ever; and if Riddell went to bed that night the most unhappy boy in Willoughby, he went there also resolving more than ever to remain its captain.

Other events had happened that day which, one might suppose, should have convinced him he was attempting an impossibility. But these must be reserved for the next chapter.

The “Parliament” at Willoughby was one of the very old institutions of the school. Old, white-headed Willoughbites, when talking of their remote schooldays, would often recall their exploits “on the floor of the house,” when Pilligrew (now a Cabinet Minister) brought in his famous bill to abolish morning chapel in winter, and was opposed by Jilson (now Ambassador to the Court at Whereisit) in a speech two hours long; or when old Coates (a grandfather, by the way, of the present bearer of that name in the school) divided the house fifteen times in one afternoon on the question of presenting a requisition to the head master to put more treacle into the suet puddings! They were exciting days, and the custom had gone on flourishing up to the present.

The Willoughby Parliament was an institution which the masters of the school wisely connived at, while holding aloof themselves from its proceedings. There was no restraint as to the questions to be discussed or the manner and time of the discussion, provided the rules of the school were not infringed. The management was entirely in the hands of the boys, who elected their own officers, and paid sixpence a term for the privilege of a seat in the august assembly.

The proceedings were regulated by certain rules handed down by long tradition according to which the business of the House was modelled as closely as possible on the procedure of the House of Commons itself. Every boy was supposed to represent some place or other, and marvellous was the scouring of atlases and geography books to discover constituencies for the young members. There was a Government and an Opposition, of course, only in the case of the former the “Ministers” were elected by the votes of the whole assembly, at the beginning of each session. They were designated by the titles of their office. There was a Premier and a Home Secretary, and a First Lord of the Admiralty, and so on, and great was the pride of a Willoughbite when he first heard himself referred to as the Right Honourable!

Everything that came before the house had to come in the form of a bill or a resolution. Any one anxious to bring up a subject (and there was nothing to prevent the junior fag bringing in a bill if he liked) usually handed in his motion early in the session, so as to stand a good chance of getting a date for his discussion. Later on, when more subjects were handed in than there were evenings to debate them, the order was decided by ballot, and due notice given every Friday of the business for the next evening.

Another feature of these meetings was, of course, the questions. Any one was entitled to question the “Government” on matters affecting the school, and the putting and answering of these questions was usually the most entertaining part of an evening’s business. Naturally enough, it was not always easy to decide to whose department many of the questions asked belonged, but tradition had settled this to some extent. The Home Secretary had to answer questions about the monitors, the First Lord of the Admiralty about the boats, the Secretary of State for War about fights, and so on, while more doubtful questions were usually first asked of the Premier, who, if he didn’t find it convenient to answer them, was entitled to refer the inquirer to some other member of the Government.

It need hardly be said that the meetings of the Willoughby Parliament were occasionally more noisy than dignified, and yet there existed a certain sense of order and respect for the “authority of the House” which held the members in check, and prevented the meetings from degenerating into riots. Another reason for the same result existed in the doctor, who sanctioned the Parliament only as long as it was conducted in an orderly manner, and did not offend against the rules of the school. And a final and more terrible reason still was in the fact that the House had the power of expelling a member who was generally obnoxious.

The session at Willoughby always opened on the Saturday after the May sports, and notice had been duly given that Parliament would assemble this year on the usual date, and that the first business would be the election of a Speaker and a Government.

The reader will easily understand that, under present circumstances, an unusual amount of interest and curiosity centred in the opening meeting of the school senate, and at the hour of meeting the big dining-hall, arranged after the model of the great House of Commons, was, in spite of the fact that it was a summer evening, densely packed by an excited assembly of members.

Most of the boys as they entered had stopped a moment to read the “order paper,” which was displayed in a prominent place beside the door. It was crowned with notices, the first three of which gave a good idea of the prospect of a lively evening.

1. “That the captain of the school be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by T. Fairbairn; seconded by E. Coates.

2. “That Mr Bloomfield be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed by G. Game; seconded by R. Ashley.

3. “That Francis Cusack, Esquire, member for the Isle of Wight, be elected Speaker of this House.” Proposed, A. Pilbury, Esquire; seconded, L. Philpot, Esq.

The humour of the last notice was eclipsed by the seriousness of the other two. It had always been taken for granted that the captain of Willoughby was also the Speaker of the House, and a contested election for that office was without precedent. Now, however, the old rule was to be challenged; and as the members waited for the clock to strike six they discussed the coming contest among themselves with a solemnity which could hardly have been surpassed in Westminster itself.

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