The Willoughby Captains | Page 5

deafening cries of "Well run, sir; well run!"
drowned any effort he could have made at speaking; and he had to
stand till, by dint of sheer threats of violence, the monitors had reduced
the company to order. Then he said, cheers interrupting him at every
third word, "I'm much obliged to the doctor for speaking so kindly
about me. You fellows know the old school will get on very well after
I've gone. (No! no!) Willoughby always does get on, and any one who
says, `No! no!' ought to know better."
The applause at this point was overpowering; and the few guilty ones
tried hard, by joining in it, to cover their shame.
"I've had a jolly time here, and am proud of being a Willoughby captain.
I shouldn't be a bit proud if I didn't think it was the finest school going.
And the reason it's the finest school is because the fellows think first of
the school and next of themselves. As long as they do that Willoughby
will be what she is now. Thank you, doctor, and you, fellows."

These were the last words of the old captain. He left Willoughby next
day, and few of the boys knew what they had lost till he had gone.
How he was missed, and how these parting words of his came often to
ring in the ears of the old school during the months that were to follow,
this story will show.
CHAPTER TWO.
FOUR HOURS IN A FAG'S LIFE.
Willoughby wore its ordinary work-a-day look on the morning
following the eventful May races. And yet any one who had seen the
old school just then would have admitted that a more picturesque place
could hardly have been found. It was one of those lovely early summer
days when everything looks beautiful, and when only schoolboys can
have the heart to lie in bed. The fresh scent of the sea came up with the
morning air across the cliff-bound uplands; and far away, from
headland to headland of Craydle Bay, the waters glowed and sparkled
in the sunlight. Inland, too, along by the river, the woods were musical
with newly-awakened birds, and the downs waved softly with early hay.
And towering above all, amid its stately elms, and clad from end to end
with ivy, stood the old school itself, glowing in morning brightness, as
it had stood for two centuries past, and as those who know and love it
hope it may yet stand for centuries to come.
But though any one else could hardly have failed to be impressed with
the loveliness of such a morning in such a spot, on Master Frederick
Parson, head monitor's fag of Parrett's House, as he kicked the
bedclothes pensively off his person, and looked at the watch under his
pillow, the beauties of nature were completely lost. Parson was in a bad
frame of mind that morning. Everything seemed against him. He'd been
beaten in the junior hundred yards yesterday, so had Telson. Just their
luck. They'd run in every race for the last two years, and never won so
much as a shilling penknife yet. More than that; just because he had
walked across the quadrangle to see Telson home after supper last night
(Telson belonged to the SchoolHouse) he had been caught by a monitor

and given eight French verbs to write out for being out-of- doors, after
lock-up. What harm, Parson would like to know, was there in seeing a
friend across the quad? Coates, the monitor, probably had no friend--he
didn't deserve to have one--or he wouldn't have been down on Parson
for a thing like that.
Then, further than that, he (Parson) had not looked at his Caesar, and
Warton had promised to report him to the doctor next time he showed
up without preparation. Bother Warton! bother the doctor! bother
Caesar! what did they all want to conspire together for against a
wretched junior's peace? He'd have to cram up the Caesar from Telson's
crib somehow, only the nuisance was Bloomfield had fixed on this
particular morning for a turn on the river with Game, and Parson would
of course have to steer for them. Just his luck again! He didn't mind
steering for Bloomfield, of course, and if he must fag he'd as soon fag
for him as anybody, especially now that he would be captain of the
eleven and of the boats; but how, Parson wanted to know, was he to do
his Caesar and his French verbs, and steer Bloomfield and Game up the
river at one and the same time? He couldn't take the books in the boat.
Well, he supposed he'd have to get reported; and probably "Paddy"
would give it him on the hands. He was always getting it