The Hero of Garside School Part 29

"'And he bared his big right arm,'" cried one, when this chorus had ceased.

"And cried aloud, 'Come on,'" shouted another.

"Come one, come all, this rock shall fly From its firm base sooner than I!"

shouted a third.

A scream of laughter greeted this sally, and then the dancing was resumed to the old chorus.

"Ho, ho! ho! The n.o.ble champion of the Gargoyles!"

Paul stood motionless as a statue and as white as one in the midst of the jeering, mocking throng. He made no answer to the jibes, but waited until they had exhausted themselves. It was some time before that happened. At length the cries grew feebler, the wild dancing slackened.

"Well, have you nearly finished?" Paul asked.

"Listen. The n.o.ble champion of the Gargoyles is speaking. He's got a tongue," exclaimed the senior who had first spoken.

"And legs as well," said a second.

"And doesn't he know how to use them!" added a third--an observation which drew out another shriek of laughter. From white Paul turned scarlet.

To keep silent under provocation, more especially provocation that is undeserved, is one of the hardest lessons that can be learned, boys and girls. Paul was only a boy, with a boy's impulses, pa.s.sions, and feelings. But some time was to pa.s.s before he was to learn the great lesson of how to keep these pa.s.sions under perfect control--and many things were to happen in the interval--but he had begun the task. Rough and bitter though the schooling was, in no better way could the lesson have been taught than in that school of adversity through which he was now pa.s.sing.

"When you've quite finished," said Paul, as they once more came to a pause, "I would like to go on my way."

"Where? To the sand-pit?" came a voice.

"No; he'd rather keep away from that. He'll always give that a pretty wide berth," some one answered.

"Why not take him there? He doesn't know what a nice place it is for a picnic."

The suggestion was hailed with delight.

"The sand-pit--the sand-pit!" was the cry.

Immediately a rush was made for Paul. It was more than flesh and blood could stand. Paul had kept wonderfully calm and cool up to the moment; but directly they tried to put hands upon him he struck out right and left. With so much vigour did he strike that he might have made his way through the howling, struggling pack, but just at the moment he had got himself free, Mellor, who was one of those who had been knocked to the ground, caught him by the legs and brought him with a crash to the ground.

"On him--on him!" was the cry.

"Back--back! Cowards all!"

At the instant they were about to seize Paul a figure dashed into their midst, scattering the struggling pack to right and left.

CHAPTER XX

WYNDHAM AGAIN TO THE RESCUE

"Back, back! Twelve to one--cowards, cowards!"

The Bedes fell back as the youth fell among them, and cleared a pa.s.sage to Paul. Paul, momentarily stunned by his fall, breathed freely again, and leapt to his feet.

"Why, it's Percival!" said the new-comer. "Are you hurt?"

Paul could scarcely believe his eyes, as he found himself again confronting Gilbert Wyndham.

"No, thanks," he answered stiffly.

He would rather have been indebted to any one than to Wyndham. He had wished to clear off the debt between them, but instead of that he found himself more indebted to him than ever. For a second time he had been placed under an obligation to him.

"You don't see who it is, Wyndham," came a voice from the ranks of the Bedes, disappointed of their prey. "It's a Gargoyle--the wretched Gargoyle who showed such a clean pair of heels at the sand-pit."

"Yes, I do see who it is; but, whoever he is, that's no reason why a dozen of you should set on him at once. That's not fair play, Murrell."

"Half a dozen of 'em set on me," came the voice of Mellor. "What's good enough for the Gargoyles ought to be good enough for us."

"That's just where you're wrong, Mellor," answered Wyndham coolly.

"What's good enough for a Gargoyle isn't good enough for a Bede--is it, Bedes?"

A murmur of ready a.s.sent went up at this appeal--from all except Mellor.

"You see, you are half a Gargoyle yourself, Mellor, or you would have known that. You belong to the amphibia at present. When you've grown out of that you will know better, won't he, Bedes?"

A laugh went up--from all except Mellor. The storm which had looked threatening began to clear under the ready tact of Wyndham. Still, the boys did not like the idea of letting Paul go scot-free.

"Yes, you'll know better than that by-and-by, Mellor," said the youth addressed as Murrell. "Your education was neglected as a Gargoyle.

You'll improve as you go along. But, I say, Wyndham, what are you going to do with the specimen you've got? You can't stick it in the museum, you know. So turn it over to us again. We won't hurt it. We'll only give it a run to the sand-pit, and a roll down. It will do it good. Eating sand is better than eating dirt."

"Yes, hand him over," came in a chorus.

"No," came the decided answer, as Wyndham twined his arm in Paul's. "The Gargoyle is my property."

"What are you going to do with him?" demanded Murrell.

"I want to have a little quiet talk with him, that's all."

What could Wyndham want with a little quiet talk with a Gargoyle? It could only be for one purpose--to gather information which might be of use to the Bedes in any future campaign against Garside. So the boys reluctantly turned away, and left Wyndham and Paul together.

"Why have you come a second time to my help?" came in a choking voice from Paul when they were alone.

"Really, I don't know," smiled Wyndham. "Does it matter much? Do you mind?"

"Mind! After what happened at the sand-pit the other day. Mind! I would rather have been under an obligation to any one than you."

"Do you mean it?" asked Wyndham, now quite grave.