The Hero of Garside School Part 64

This wholly unnecessary piece of information sent the scarlet back for a moment into the white face of Stanley. His hands opened spasmodically; then closed in a firmer grip than before.

The gibe acted differently on Paul. He recalled that Stanley had really suffered for him; he recalled too, the note of warning that had been left for him in his dormitory. Perhaps, after all, it had been written by Stanley? The Stanley he had once known as a friend. And there came over him the old longing to clasp him by the hand.

"I will try to explain to you if you will meet me somewhere alone," he said, drawing near to Stanley, and speaking in a little more than a whisper.

"Speak out! I want no secrets!" cried Stanley.

"All the fellows in the Form have as much right to hear as I have! What I can hear they can hear! I don't want to go about sneaking and whispering in corners!"

Murmurs of applause greeted this expression of opinion.

"If that's the way you look at it," answered Paul sorrowfully, "the thing's ended. I've nothing more to say."

"But I have, and you must hear--must!" repeated Stanley, with emphasis, as Paul tried to pa.s.s him. "It's your honour I'm thinking of, as much as the honour of the school. Do you know what they are saying?"

"I don't know or care," came the swift answer. "As for my honour, it can very well take care of itself."

"Like it did at the sand-pits," put in Parfitt, amid an outburst of laughter.

Paul bit his lip to keep back the angry words that sprang to his tongue.

And the gibe went again as a poisoned shaft to the wound that was lying as a canker in the breast of Stanley.

"Well, we'll leave your honour out of it, if you don't care to stick up for it. But there's the honour of the school, and do you know what they're saying? They're saying that the flag business was all a dodge--that it's been engineered between you and the Beetle you would not stand up to in the sand-pits!"

"Engineered! How do you mean?" demanded Paul, staggered by this fresh accusation.

"That it was all arranged between you and the Beetle."

"I--I can't quite see. I don't understand. Do you mean----"

"Let him have it straight; so that he can't wriggle out of it!"

exclaimed Newall, as Paul paused, unable to get out the words that came as a torrent to the lips.

"I mean that the theft of the flag was arranged between you and that fellow at St. Bede's; and that it's come back again by the same clever piece of trickery."

"Is that what they're saying?" demanded Paul.

"That's what they're saying."

"And--and--what do you say, Stan?" The name came out in a gulp.

Had Stanley only followed his better impulse, he would have answered:

"I don't believe it. Though appearances are against you, I cannot believe it. I still have faith in you, as I used to have. We have wandered apart, but Garside has never been what it was since we ceased to speak. I have been unhappy--miserable."

But the gibes of Newall and Parfitt were still rankling in his breast.

He seemed to feel again the blows of Wyndham on his face. So instead of answering as his better nature dictated, he replied:

"I stand by the Form. I say the same."

"Then it's a lie--a dirty lie. Let me pa.s.s."

Paul was choking. It would not so much have mattered what his Form said.

He could trust to time to bring them round again; but that Stanley could have believed him guilty of such mean, despicable trickery--there was the sting. Stanley had felt the blows of Wyndham on his face, but that was as nothing to the torture endured at that moment by Paul. It was as a flail cutting deep down into his very flesh.

Stanley still barred the way to the door, and did not move.

"Let me pa.s.s!" came again the hoa.r.s.e, choking cry.

Stanley did not budge. Neither did he answer. He was as dumb, as immovable, and as white as a block of marble. Paul could endure it no longer. He caught him by the arm to turn him aside. His touch started the statue before him into life. As though it were an insult to be wiped out, Stanley struck out blindly with his fist. Paul received the blow full on the face, and fell to the ground like a log.

It was a cruel blow. Stanley knew it the moment he had struck his one-time friend, and he would have given all he possessed to have recalled it. But it was too late.

"Well hit!" applauded Parfitt, as though Stanley had just made a brilliant drive in the cricket-field instead of striking his best friend.

"First knockdown and blood to Moncrief!" exclaimed Newall. "Oh, he's all right, Waterman. He doesn't want any help from you."

Waterman, who had been standing in the background, leaning in his usual indolent manner against the most comfortable corner of the fireplace, shook on his lethargy as Stanley struck the blow which felled Paul to the ground, and at once left his favourite spot by the fireplace and went to his a.s.sistance.

"Hurt, Percival?" he asked as, heedless of Newall's remarks, he wiped away the blood that was trickling down Paul's cheek.

Paul had been momentarily dazed by the unexpected blow; but he was strong, and soon shook the feeling off.

"Thanks, Waterman. No; I'm not hurt," he whispered, rising slowly to his feet.

The boys gathered round. The excitement had grown from the moment Paul had entered the room. From that instant the storm-clouds had begun to gather, and with the blow struck by Moncrief major they had burst.

What would happen?

"Steady yourself, Percival," whispered Waterman. "So--Are you sure you are all right?"

"Quite."

Waterman let go his arm. The blood still trickled down Paul's face, but he walked steadily up to Stanley, who had thrown up his arms in defence, as though expecting a return of the blow.

"You can put down your hands, Stanley. I'm not going to fight you," said Paul calmly.

"He's moulting again--more feathers!" cried Newall.

"And aren't they white ones?" added Parfitt.

"I'm not going to fight you," repeated Paul, looking Stanley squarely in the face; "but I'll pay you back again--some day."

Stanley did not attempt to stop him this time; so Paul made his way back to his room, and sank upon his bed thinking. He had done nothing of which he was ashamed, but the blow of Stanley was burning on his cheek, and he felt wretched, miserable. He had striven for the best, but somehow things had turned out for the worst. Once before when things were at their blackest, there was one who had come to him, and placed a little hand in his; but now there was no one, save the good G.o.d above.

He was thinking thus, when there was a tap on the door; the door was jerked open with a shoulder; and Waterman, with his hands thrust deep into his pockets, strode indolently in--just for all the world as though he were coming to a picnic.