The Hero of Garside School

by J. Harwood Panting

  CHAPTER XVII

  THE "GARGOYLE RECORD"

  Stanley was not alone, as Paul hoped he would be. Newall and Parfittwere 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 hadgot over his bitterness towards him by this time, and that he would comeforward and greet him on the old footing of friendship. But he wasdisappointed; for as soon almost as Stanley caught sight of him, heturned away his head and commenced talking rapidly to Newall, as thoughhe were unaware of Paul's existence. It was perfectly evident that hisfeeling to Paul had not softened in any way, and it was quite as clearthat he meant ignoring him.

  Paul determined to speak to him, however, so, as he passed by him, hetouched him on the shoulder.

  "Stanley!"

  At his touch, Stanley turned swiftly round and confronted him withblazing 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 wishto speak with you again--never, never!" He was greatly agitated. Hisvoice was trembling with passion; 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 passed on.Not that Paul had an answer to give. He could not have spoken had hislife depended on it. He was too staggered; too pained. Never speak toStanley again! He with whom he had been on the closest terms offriendship ever since he had been at Garside!

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

  Paul thought for a moment or two how he should act. In spite ofStanley's hard words, he had no intention that the friendship which hadexisted between them should be severed without one more effort on hispart to heal the breach. They were bound to meet in the dormitory thatnight. It would then be possible for him to whisper a word or two ofexplanation.

  But when evening came he found to his dismay that Stanley had left thedormitory. He had got permission to exchange cubicles with Leveson; sothat 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 withhis 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 trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass againstus."

  Very earnestly he breathed the divine prayer that evening. The breachbetween 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 readmy letter."

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

  "Wyndham was the fellow who acted so nobly when I went with yourfather's letter to Redmead that night, Stan. I could not raise my handagainst him, and I never dreamed that you would. I hurried away becauseit was impossible for me to explain to the fellows what happened on thatnight--you alone know why. It would have got all over the place, andwould have soon reached Weevil's ears. Then the last chance of findingout what is between him and Zuker would have gone. I can quiteunderstand your soreness against me, old fellow, and I'm sorry--verysorry--that things turned out as they did at the sand-pit; but I hopeyou now see that I'm not so much to blame as you thought me. It is ourfirst 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 arewith 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 wasstill stretching and yawning, as though not quite awake.

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

  "Moncrief major. Yes, yes; of course I will. It's an awfully lazy sortof morning, don't you think, Percival?" answered Waterman, stretchinghimself as he took the letter.

  That was Waterman's opinion of mornings generally. Every morning was a"lazy sort of a morning."

  "Yes, Watey," answered Paul, taking him by the arm and hurrying himtowards the grounds where most of the scholars were. In a little whilehe espied Stanley, playing with Newall and Parfitt in the fives-court.

  "How fellows can fag about at that stupid game I could never make out,"remarked Waterman. "Am I to wait for an answer?"

  "If you wouldn't mind."

  "Mind? Not in the least. Waiting is so restful."

  He strolled off leisurely with the letter. Paul watched him. He reachedthe fives-court, and, waiting his opportunity, handed the note toStanley. He looked at it; then questioned Waterman. A laugh went up fromNewall and Parfitt as he did so. Then Stanley, without opening theletter, tore it into fragments and threw them contemptuously into theair.

  Waterman thrust his hands deep in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders,and returned to Paul.

  "You saw what happened, Percival?" he said.

  "Yes, I saw what happened," came the slow answer. "What was it he askedfor?"

  "He only asked who it was from. I told him."

  "And then he deliberately tore my letter up and tossed the pieces in theair. Waterman, I'm sorry that you were so insulted."

  "Don't think of me. I rather liked it--really. A snub does one good on alazy sort of morning like this--it really does."

  He was about to pass on, but, checking himself, said in a more serioustone:

  "I wish I could have brought you a better answer, Percival."

  That day was one of the longest days Paul ever remembered: it dragged soslowly along. There was Stanley in the same room, sitting at timeswithin a few feet of him, and yet they did not look at each other. Noword passed between them.

  "I will never hold out my hand to him again," said Paul in thebitterness of his heart. He had done all that could be done to bringStanley to reason, but every effort failed. "He must go his own way, andI must go mine. Some day, perhaps, he'll be sorry that he did not readmy letter."

  Belonging to the Fourth Form was a boy named Dick Jessel. He was afair-haired, blue-eyed boy--quite a Saxon type--with a shrewd, sharpwit. His father was the editor of a provincial paper, and Jessel ran ajournal of his own at the school, by the aid of a hectograph and Jowitt,of the same Form, who was sub-editor, reporter, and "printer's devil"rolled into one. They were called the "two J's."

  A couple of days after the struggle at the sand-pit a number was issuedof the _Gargoyle Record_--so the journal was named. Among other items ofnews appeared the following:

  _Motto for the Fifth._

  He who fights and runs away Will live to fight another day.

  "Lost, stolen, or strayed.--A few pages from the Black Book. Whoever will bring the same to the P. D., at the office of this paper, will be rewarded."

  "Hints on Fashion.--A fresher of the Third is prepared to give hints on the correct style in trousers, spats, and white waistcoats. How they should be worn, and why. References exchanged and given--through the matron--preferably by carte-de-visite."

  "Lost, stolen, or strayed.--Missing Link from the Third. Last seen in
all his native beauty on a window in the Forum. Believed to have hidden himself in a box so as to escape the notice of his pursuers."

  "Notice.--Our poet is stuck for a rhyme to 'hunger.' If any one can oblige the poet we'll give him a paragraph all to himself in the next number. N.B.--The rhyme must be a name of some kind--bird, beast, or fish."

  "Dropped. Somewhere near the sand-pit on Cranstead Common. Honour of the Fifth. When last seen was covered by crawlers--believed to be Beetles."

  Plunger was one of the earliest to obtain a copy of the _GargoyleRecord_. He read the first two paragraphs, and then raced into thecommon room bubbling over with excitement.

  Several boys were standing round the fire--some of the Third Form,including Harry Moncrief, Baldry, and Sedgefield; one or two of theFourth, and three or four of the Fifth, including Stanley Moncrief,Newall--the two were now almost inseparable--Arbery, and Leveson.

  "Oh, I say, have you seen the last number of the _Record_? It's aslashing number, I can tell you," Plunger burst out.

  Immediately everybody was eager to get possession of the _Record_.Baldry made a snatch at it.

  "No, you don't, Baldhead," said Plunger, putting it behind him, withhis back to the wall. "Manners! If you can't listen like a gentleman,you'd better git."

  "Don't mind him, Plunger. He's only an outsider," said Arberysoothingly. "Read."

  "Read--read!" came in a chorus.

  "And keep your eyebrows out of your head while you're about it," saidLeveson. "I never saw such eyebrows."

  Plunger glared at Leveson.

  "Never mind him, Plunger," came the soothing voice of Arbery. "It's onlyenvy, you know. I wish I had eyebrows like 'em. Get on."

  "I will get on--I will," said Plunger, with a last savage glance atLeveson. "Listen to this--here's a splendid hit against the Fifth." Andhe read: "'Motto for the Fifth. He who fights and runs away, Will liveto fight another day.' Isn't it just splendid!"

  Those of the Fifth who were present maintained a gloomy silence, whilethose of the lower forms giggled and chuckled softly to themselves. Theydared not do it too openly, for fear of bringing down upon their headsthe wrath of the senior Form.

  When Plunger thought his first item of news had soaked itself thoroughlyinto the "bounders" of the Fifth, he read the second item. This fellrather flat and elicited no comment.

  Then Plunger began to bubble over again. He could not get on for aminute or two.

  "What's the ass giggling for?" "Get on, get on," and so forth, were someof the comments that greeted him.

  "'Hints on Fashion,'" read Plunger. "'A fresher of the Third'--ho,ho!--'is prepared to give hints on the correct style in trousers, spats,and white waistcoats. How they should be worn, and why.'--Ho, ho! Holdme up.--'References exchanged and given--through the matron--preferablyby carte-de-visite.' Ho, ho! Hold me up."

  Plunger's eyebrows disappeared into his thatch of hair, and he laughedtill he was black in the face, while all eyes went to poor HarryMoncrief, who devoutly wished that the ground might open and he mightsink through.

  "Is that all, Plunger?" inquired Arbery. "Get on to the next paragraph,or you'll choke."

  "I couldn't get any farther for laughter," explained Plunger. "I thoughtyou fellows would like that little tit-bit, so I rushed in here." Hetook up the paper again, and glanced at the next item. "This seemsrather a good bit. 'Lost, stolen, or strayed. Missing Link from theThird. Last seen in all his native beauty on--on----"

  Plunger came to an abrupt pause, hummed and hawed, and began to lookexceedingly uncomfortable.

  "'Last seen in all his native beauty----' Well, Plunger, what are youstopping for now?" cried Leveson. "If you can't read it yourself, handover the _Record_ to some one who can."

  "Shan't; it's my paper, and I'm not going to hand it over to anyone--see," answered Plunger defiantly, putting the paper behind hisback.

  "Well, read on," shouted Arbery. "We're dying to hear who the MissingLink can be."

  "You'd better get a paper of your own, then; I'm not going to read anymore of the trash."

  "Thought it was a slashing number? What's come over you, Freddy?" askedBaldry.

  "Shut up--oh!"

  The exclamation came from Plunger as he felt the paper snatched frombehind him by Leveson; then, as he tried to regain possession of it, hisarms were pinioned behind him by one of the Fifth Form boys.

  "Oh, oh, just listen!" laughed Leveson, "and see if you can guess whyPlunger put the brake on. 'Lost, stolen, or strayed. Missing Link fromthe Third. Last seen in all his native beauty in the Forum. Believed tohave hidden himself in a box so as to escape the notice of hispursuers.'"

  There was an outburst of laughter, as all eyes went to Plunger, who wasmaking furious efforts to get away.

  "When it's a question of beauty, there's only one person in it," went onLeveson calmly, "and that is----"

  "Plunger!" came in a chorus.

  "When we do agree, our unanimity is wonderful, as the Head used to tellus," went on Leveson. "Any other pretty bits? Oh--ah! Listen to this:'Notice. Our poet is stuck for a rhyme to "hunger." If any one canoblige the poet, we'll give him a paragraph all to himself in the nextnumber. N.B.--The rhyme must be a name of some kind--bird, beast, orfish.' Ho, ho! Don't squirm so, Plunger. What branch of the animalkingdom do you belong to?"

  While they were shrieking with laughter at his discomfiture Plungershouted above it all:

  "Go on--go on! As you have gone so far, you'd better go on a bitfarther. Ah, you're not quite so ready with your reading now, Mr.Leveson."

  The laughter suddenly stopped.

  "Read--read," came in a chorus.

  And Leveson read: "'Dropped--somewhere near sand-pit on CransteadCommon--Honour of the Fifth. When last seen, was covered bycrawlers--believed to be Beetles.'"

  There was an ominous silence on the part of the senior boys. The juniorstittered. Leveson screwed up the paper in his hand.

  "Mind what you're doing, Leveson. That's my paper," cried Plunger. Thenthere was silence again, as Paul Percival entered the room.