The Hero of Garside School Part 24

"I hate mysteries, they're so worrying. Why should there be any mystery?"

"Why? I can't explain, except--except that there's something more important than the honour of the Fifth; than the honour of the school even. That's the reason why I'm obliged to keep silent."

"Oh, I say, this is getting more and more worrying. But if you don't want me to speak, of course, I'll keep quiet!"

Paul knew that he could trust Waterman. In spite of his slackness--in spite of his indolence--he could be relied on to keep his word. In fact, he had one or two good qualities in reserve. If he made no close friends.h.i.+ps, he had no enemies. "It was too great a trouble," he would have told you. "Too great a f.a.g." That was only half the truth; the whole truth was that Waterman had, at bottom, a very good heart, though it was not often seen. It was hidden under his indolence of manner.

He allowed a corner of it to be seen in a curious fas.h.i.+on on the way back to the school. He stuck to Paul's side--both hands in his pocket, of course--and made no attempt to "cut him," as the others had done.

They pa.s.sed several of the Gargoyles as they reached the school grounds, and directly Waterman's ears caught the suggestion of a jibe--and he had rather sharp ears considering how lazy he was--he would start whistling a popular tune, so that the jibe had a good deal of the sting taken from it by the time it reached its mark.

"I wish you could make it right with the fellows," he remarked, as he took leave of Paul.

"All in good time. I'm grateful that you haven't turned your back on me, Waterman."

"Oh, don't b.u.t.ter me for that. I can't turn my back on any one--it's too great a f.a.g."

And Waterman strolled away with his hands in his pocket as though they had been glued there, whistling "Hail, smiling morn."

Paul's talk with him had put him in a more cheerful mood.

"I've only to find Stan and explain things. I don't care a snap of my fingers for the other fellows--they can go to Halifax," Paul told himself, as he went in search of Stanley. But though he searched for him in every direction, he could not find him.

"He don't like to show himself just yet, with so many beauty spots on his face. Perhaps he's lying down," thought Paul, as he made his way to the dormitory. But Stanley was not in the dormitory--it was empty.

"Strange. Where can he have got to?"

Descending the stairs, the first boy he ran against was Plunger.

"Seen anything of Moncrief major?" he asked.

Plunger simply stared at him, while his eyebrows went up, in the way they had, till they disappeared into the stubborn thatch above.

"Did you hear what I said?"

Plunger did another movement with his eccentric eyebrows, then turned on his heel. Paul sprang after him, angry in spite of himself.

"Now look here, Master Plunger," he said, seizing him by the collar, and twisting him sharply round, "none of your nonsense. You needn't pretend that you didn't hear me, because you did. I asked you a civil question, and I want a civil answer."

"You ought to know more about him than I do, Percival. The last I saw of him he was being knocked about for you in the sand-pit."

And Plunger laughed impudently in Paul's face. Paul's hand fell from his collar. The jibe struck home, and Plunger went laughing on his way. He was always supremely happy when he could "score," as he termed it, "off those bounders of the Fifth." Paul felt that he had descended low, indeed, when he could be used as a target for the jibes of Master Freddy Plunger.

He glanced back to the flag that waved above Garside--from the flag to the school door. As he did so, the figure he was looking for appeared in the doorway--the figure of Stanley Moncrief.

CHAPTER XVII

THE "GARGOYLE RECORD"

Stanley was not alone, as Paul hoped he would be. Newall and Parfitt were with him. It was evident that his new-found friends had been "doctoring" him, for the blood had been carefully washed from his face, and it presented a less bruised and battered appearance.

As he came from the door he caught sight of Paul. Paul hoped that he had got over his bitterness towards him by this time, and that he would come forward and greet him on the old footing of friends.h.i.+p. But he was disappointed; for as soon almost as Stanley caught sight of him, he turned away his head and commenced talking rapidly to Newall, as though he were unaware of Paul's existence. It was perfectly evident that his feeling to Paul had not softened in any way, and it was quite as clear that he meant ignoring him.

Paul determined to speak to him, however, so, as he pa.s.sed by him, he touched him on the shoulder.

"Stanley!"

At his touch, Stanley turned swiftly round and confronted him with blazing eyes.

"What do you want with me?"

"To speak with you for a few moments--alone."

"I've had as much speaking with you as I ever want to have. I never wish to speak with you again--never, never!" He was greatly agitated. His voice was trembling with pa.s.sion; but it grew calmer and harder, as, turning to his new-found companions, he said:

"You hear what I say, Newall; and you, Parfitt. You are my witnesses."

"Yes, we hear. We are your witnesses," said Parfitt.

"Thanks!" And without waiting an answer from Paul, the three pa.s.sed on.

Not that Paul had an answer to give. He could not have spoken had his life depended on it. He was too staggered; too pained. Never speak to Stanley again! He with whom he had been on the closest terms of friends.h.i.+p ever since he had been at Garside!

"Had he listened to me for a few moments I could have explained all. He doesn't dream who Wyndham is. He can be as stubborn as a mule. And what a look he gave me!" thought Paul. "I never dreamt that Stan would ever look at me in that way. I know what it is--it isn't Stan himself. It's those fellows he's picked up. He's sore against me, and they keep rubbing it in to keep the sore open. If I could only get him away from them."

Paul thought for a moment or two how he should act. In spite of Stanley's hard words, he had no intention that the friends.h.i.+p which had existed between them should be severed without one more effort on his part to heal the breach. They were bound to meet in the dormitory that night. It would then be possible for him to whisper a word or two of explanation.

But when evening came he found to his dismay that Stanley had left the dormitory. He had got permission to exchange cubicles with Leveson; so that he was now in the same dormitory as Newall.

"He's gone over bag and baggage to the enemy," said Paul sorrowfully.

"If Parfitt had only walked his chalks, and taken up his quarters with his friend Newall, we could very well have spared him; but Stan----"

He glanced round. Parfitt was watching him from the side of his bed, enjoying his discomfiture. That did not serve to lessen Paul's sorrow.

"----forgive us our trespa.s.ses, as we forgive them that trespa.s.s against us."

Very earnestly he breathed the divine prayer that evening. The breach between him and Stanley seemed to be widening. What was to be done?

There was one way left. He would write to him on the morrow.

"He has refused to listen to an explanation, but he can't refuse to read my letter."

So Paul rose early in the morning and wrote a letter. He explained as briefly as he could the reasons which had made him act as he had done at the sand-pit.

"Wyndham was the fellow who acted so n.o.bly when I went with your father's letter to Redmead that night, Stan. I could not raise my hand against him, and I never dreamed that you would. I hurried away because it was impossible for me to explain to the fellows what happened on that night--you alone know why. It would have got all over the place, and would have soon reached Weevil's ears. Then the last chance of finding out what is between him and Zuker would have gone. I can quite understand your soreness against me, old fellow, and I'm sorry--very sorry--that things turned out as they did at the sand-pit; but I hope you now see that I'm not so much to blame as you thought me. It is our first fall-out. Let it be our last. We were never meant to be enemies, old fellow. It mustn't be--mustn't. If all are against me, and you are with me, I shan't so much mind; so let's shake hands."

Paul put the letter in an envelope and handed it to Waterman, who was still stretching and yawning, as though not quite awake.

"Do you mind giving this to Moncrief major. You're about the only fellow in the Form who wouldn't mind doing me a favour," he said.