The Hero of Garside School

by J. Harwood Panting

  CHAPTER XVIII

  PAUL WRITES A LETTER

  Stanley's head had fallen to his breast as Leveson read that bitterparagraph from the _Record_. He looked up quickly as Paul entered theroom. For the moment it seemed as though he would speak; then he bit hislips fiercely to keep back the words that sprang to them, and went fromthe room. Newall followed him, then Arbery. One by one they followed hisexample--Third Form boys as well as Fifth--until one onlyremained--Waterman, who had been comfortably resting in a chair by thefire throughout the scene described in the last chapter. As the last boywent out, he glanced up.

  "Hallo, Percival! Is that you?"

  "Why don't you do the same as the rest of the fellows, and clear out?"asked Paul bitterly.

  "I'm quite comfortable where I am, thank you."

  And Waterman stretched out his legs, and settled himself morecomfortably in his chair. Paul could see that it was not altogether aquestion of comfort with Waterman. His laziness was only a cloak todisguise a real feeling of friendship towards him.

  "The fellows were discussing me as I came in?"

  "I don't quite know what they were discussing. Oh, young Plunger hadmade himself an ass, as usual, over some paragraph in the _Record_. Thatwas it."

  Leveson had screwed up the paper, it will be remembered, when he hadread the paragraph about the honour of the Fifth, and, as Paul entered,had flung it contemptuously from him into a corner of the room. Paul'seye went to it as Waterman was speaking.

  "Paragraph in the _Record_," he repeated, as he smoothed it out. "Whathave they got to say about Plunger?"

  He quickly read the paragraphs which had reference to Plunger, and thenhe read the one which he knew well enough had reference to himself.Waterman rose from his chair as the paper dropped from Paul's hand andplaced a hand on his shoulder.

  "You're cut up, Percival. I wouldn't let that paragraph worry me. It'sreally not worth it. There's nothing in the world worth worryingabout--there really isn't."

  "You don't mean what you say, Waterman--though it's kind of you to sayit. Honour's worth troubling about--one's own honour; the honour ofone's form; the honour of one's school; and I know that, disguise it asyou may, you're just as keen on it as any in the school. And all thefellows believe that I've dragged it through the mud."

  "Oh, well, things will clear up some day, Percival; then you'll comeinto your own," said Waterman cheerfully.

  "Some day I suppose they will; but it may be a long time first, andthere's no game so hard to play as the waiting game."

  "That's where you're wrong, Percival. There's no game in the world likeit--the waiting game, I mean. There's no fag about it, and that's what Ilike. Just wait your time, you know--take it easy--no flurry--go as youplease. It's the game of all games for my ha'pence. It really is,Percival. So don't worry, old fellow--and don't flurry."

  Paul could not help smiling to himself at Waterman's easy view ofthings, but the smile quickly disappeared when he was once more alone.Waterman had talked about "things clearing up," and "coming into hisown"; but would things ever clear up? Would he ever win back the honourof the Form, and the confidence of those who belonged to it? Saddest ofall was the memory that Stanley, who had been his greatest friend, nowappeared to be his greatest enemy.

  Suddenly it occurred to him--he would write to Mr. Walter Moncrief, andtell him what had happened that night when he went to Dormitory X. Theidea had occurred to him before, but he had put it off in the hope thathe might have surer evidence to go upon. No further evidence had beenforthcoming, but delay might be dangerous; so he determined to write.

  So he went into the writing-room, and wrote to Mr. Moncrief, telling himexactly what had happened on the night he went to Dormitory X.

  "I am pretty well certain," he went on, "that the man I saw with Mr.Weevil is one of the men who came after me on the night I came to yourhouse at Redmead--the chief of the two. It was night-time, but I had afairly good view of his face. What he has to do with Mr. Weevil, I can'tmake out. I should be sorry to think that Mr. Weevil has anything to dowith a traitor to his country; but there must be something at the bottomof it all. What that something is, you may be able to find out betterthan I can. Dr. Colville, our Head, is away, so I cannot go to him. Whatought to be done? Will you let me know what you think?"

  Having written this letter, Paul felt more comfortable. So soon as heheard from Mr. Moncrief, his lips would be unsealed, and he might takesteps to clear his own honour. He would then be able to explain to hisForm--to all the school if need be--what had prevented him fromconfronting Wyndham at the sand-pit.

  But having finished his letter, there was one great difficulty in theway. All letters written in the school were supposed to pass, first ofall, through the hands of the master. How could he let that letter passthrough the hands of Mr. Weevil? As he was thinking over this dilemma,Hibbert entered the room, and told him that Mr. Travers wished to speakto him. Mr. Travers was master of the Fifth.

  Paul rose to his feet, and thrust the letter in his pocket, wonderingwhat Mr. Travers could want with him. Then it occurred to him thatHibbert was just the boy he wanted; he could trust Hibbert withanything. Hibbert would post the letter for him.

  "Hibbert, I want you to do me a great favour," he said, drawing theletter from his pocket. "I want you to post this letter for me. There'snothing wrong in it, I give you my word of honour; but, I don't want Mr.Weevil to know. That's why I am not sending it through the school post."

  Hibbert expressed his willingness to post it, and Paul handed him theletter, then went to Mr. Travers' room. Hibbert hastened off with theletter, but, as ill-luck would have it, he ran full tilt against Mr.Weevil, just as he reached the outer door. In doing so, he stumbled, andwould have fallen to the ground had not the master caught him by thearm.

  "AS ILL-LUCK WOULD HAVE IT, HIBBERT RAN FULL TILT AGAINSTMR. WEEVIL, JUST AS HE REACHED THE OUTER DOOR."]

  "Hallo! Where are you running to in such a hurry?" he asked, in thatgentle voice he always used to Hibbert--softer than that used by him toany other boy in the school.

  "Out--in--the grounds, sir."

  In stumbling, Hibbert's hand had been jerked from his breast, and Mr.Weevil caught sight of the letter.

  "What's that--a letter?"

  Hibbert did not answer. It was useless denying it.

  "Step this way."

  Mr. Weevil's tone had now become quite stern. He led the way into one ofthe class-rooms; then closed the door.

  "Now have the goodness to hand me that letter," he said, gazing atHibbert through half-closed eyes.

  Hibbert dared not refuse; so he handed him the letter.

  Mr. Weevil's eyes opened to their fullest extent when he saw the addresson it:

  W. MONCRIEF, Esq., Redmead, Oakville (Kent).

  "For whom were you posting this letter--Moncrief major, or Moncriefminor?"

  "Neither," came the low answer.

  "Who, then? Come; no harm shall befall you if you speak the truth."

  "I don't mind myself, but--but--I don't want any harm to happento--to----"

  "The one who sent you--eh? Well, we'll see. Just tell me frankly whosent you with this letter? It is quite easy for me to find out byopening it, you know; but I would much rather hear it from you."

  "Percival," answered the boy, hesitatingly, seeing there was no help forit.

  "Percival!" echoed the master. "Wait here a moment."

  He left the room with the letter. Hibbert wondered what he intendeddoing with it. Would he open it, or would he send for Percival? He wason thorns. Percival had particularly wished to keep the note from Mr.Weevil. The very first thing he had asked him to do--and that sosimple--he had made a mess of.

  "How stupid of me! How stupid of me! Percival will never trust me withanything again."

  In a few minutes Mr. Weevil returned. His face had not lost itssternness.

  "In sending you with that letter, Percival knew well enough he wasacting against the rules of the school."


  "I--I--dare say it slipped his memory, sir."

  "Nothing of the sort. He knew well enough he was breaking the rules ofthe school, and, worse still, that he was making you an accomplice inthe act. However, I do not intend to deal severely with the case, foryour sake. You are quite new to the ways and rules of this place. Takethe letter. Post it; but don't say a word to Percival that I stoppedyou. Do you understand?"

  "Yes; I understand," said the boy, as he took the letter, and ran offwith it to the post. He looked at the letter as he ran. Was it the same?Yes, the very same--the same address, in Paul's handwriting. It was verykind of Mr. Weevil, and he would always be grateful to him for hiskindness.

  Paul, meanwhile, had gone to Mr. Travers, wondering what he could wantwith him. The master of the Fifth was a man of about thirty, who led astudious, secluded life. He was a capable master, but had not succeededin winning the sympathies of the scholars. One of the chief reasons wasthat, though he took an interest in their studies, he took littleinterest in their sports. He preferred instead long, solitary rambles.Paul was, therefore, the more surprised when he found that the object ofMr. Travers in sending for him was to question him as to the relationsbetween him and his class-mates.

  "I've noticed that you do not appear to be on very good terms with theForm, Percival," he said. "I should not have said anything about it,only I happened to be near the Common Room this afternoon when youentered, and found that that was a signal for the others to march out. Idon't like a feeling of that kind in my Form. I know well enough thatboys will have their quarrels, and that they can be usually trusted tosettle them alone; but this seems to me deeper than an ordinary quarrel,otherwise I should not have spoken. I have no wish to press for yourconfidence, but if you will tell me what the cause of this ill-feelingis, I might do something to bring about a better understanding betweenyou and the Form."

  "Oh, it's only a bit of a dispute between me and Moncrief major."

  "And for a dispute between you and Moncrief major all the Form areagainst you?"

  "They take his side, sir. They think that he is right and I'm in thewrong--that is all."

  "That is all!" echoed the master. "And that is all the explanation youcan give? Remember, I'm not forcing an explanation from you. I'm notasking you as your master, but as your friend."

  Paul was drawn to him as he had never been drawn before, such is thepower of sympathy. He regretted more than ever that he had sent theletter to Mr. Moncrief; but it was impossible to recall it. Hibbert wason his way with it at that moment to the post.

  "That is all the explanation I can give, sir."

  "Very well, Percival"--the manner of Mr. Travers changed as the wordsfell from Paul's lips; he was again the master, and frigid as ice--"thenthere is nothing more to be said. I regret that I sent for you."

  Thus curtly dismissed, Paul went out, feeling miserable. At the timewhen he so wanted a friend he had lost one. And yet how else could hehave acted? There was no other way. He must wait and see what theletter to Mr. Moncrief would bring forth. And with this thoughtuppermost in his mind he went to the writing-room to await the returnof Hibbert.