CHAPTER XIX
THE SCHOOL OF ADVERSITY
Paul took up a pen as he sat and waited, and idly traced words upon theblotting-paper. But his thoughts were far away. He was thinking of theinterview he had just had with Mr. Travers. He was still thinking of itwhen the door opened and Hibbert entered.
"Have you posted the letter?" Paul asked.
"Yes; the postman was just clearing the box when I slipped it in."
Paul would almost as soon that he had not succeeded in posting it--thathe had brought the letter back with him. Perhaps it was best as it was,however.
"Thanks, Hibbert."
He did not notice that the boy was looking uncomfortable--as though hehad something on his mind but dared not speak it.
"You have seen Mr. Travers?"
"Yes." Then noticing for the first time the nervous, apprehensive lookin the boy's eyes, and thinking it was due to the fear that he had gotinto further trouble with the master, he added: "Nothing happened. Hewas quite nice with me."
"I'm glad of that."
By this time Hibbert was standing by Paul's side. Suddenly anexclamation came from his lips.
"Hallo! What's wrong?"
Paul, looking at the boy, saw that his eyes were fixed upon theblotting-paper.
"That--that! Do you know anybody of that name?" he asked, as he pointedto a name Paul had unconsciously traced on the blotting-paper--that ofZuker.
"Why? Do you?" Paul asked.
"Y-yes," answered the boy, with hesitation. "I--I once knew a boy ofthat name."
"Where?" asked Paul, at once interested.
"When I was at school in Germany; but there are a good many Zukersthere, you know, and the boy I speak of is dead."
"Dead! Did you know his father?"
Hibbert shook his head. Paul tore up the blotting-paper. It was justpossible that Mr. Weevil might catch sight of the name, just as Hibberthad done.
"You--you don't like the name?" the boy asked, as he watched Paul.
"Oh, it's as good as any other, I suppose."
"You must have known some one of that name--I'm certain of it,"persisted the boy.
"Well, I don't mind telling you, Hibbert--you've been such a good littlechap to me--it was through a man of that name my father lost his life."
"A man of the--of the name of Zuker?" stammered Hibbert.
"Yes."
"Tell me--do tell me--all about it?" pleaded the boy, clutching Paulsuddenly by the arm.
"Oh, it's a sad tale, and it won't interest you."
"Indeed it will--very, very much. Anything that has to do with youinterests me. Tell me."
Without intending to compliment Paul, the boy had paid him the mostdelicate compliment he could have done. Besides, Paul was now very muchalone, and in his loneliness it was nice to have some one to speak to;so he told his eager listener the tragic circumstances that had cost hisfather his life. Hibbert scarcely spoke or moved all the time Paul wastelling the story. He hung upon every word.
"How noble of your father to jump overboard and save the man--the manZuker," said the lad, when Paul had finished. "There's not many whowould have risked their life to save an enemy. I think you said Zukerwas an enemy."
"Well, I don't know about an enemy. He seems to have been a wretched,contemptible spy; but what's wrong with you?" he suddenly exclaimed, ashis eyes went to the boy's face. It was of an ashen pallor, and he wastrembling in every limb.
"Nothing wrong, except--except that I can't help thinking what a lot youand your mother must have suffered after your father's death."
"I didn't suffer much, because I was too young to remember him. I wasonly a little more than a year old when it all happened. Still, I shouldso like to have known my father. They say he was very brave, and kind,and true, and one of the best captains in the Navy; and when sometimes Ithink of him, and what he might have been to me, I feel very bitteragainst the man for whom he gave his life. Then I battle against thefeeling, and a better takes its place. I think to myself--What noblerdeath could a man die than in trying to save the life of one who haddone him wrong."
"Yes, Percival," said the boy, looking away; "it was a noble death--verynoble--and your father must have been a noble man. What was it the spydid?"
"Got into my father's cabin, and tried to get at his privatedespatches."
"And where were they taking this man--the spy--when he jumpedoverboard?"
"To Gibraltar, where he was to be tried by court-martial."
"And after they'd tried him by court-martial?"
"If the court-martial had found him guilty, they would have shot him."
"Shot him?"
"Yes, they showed no quarter at that time, I believe, to one who stole,or tried to steal, State secrets."
"Oh, how horrible!" cried the boy, covering his face with his hands.
"Don't you think that a man like that deserves to die, Hibbert?Remember, it isn't only one life he places in peril, buthundreds--thousands. He betrays a country."
"Yes, yes, I dare say you are right, Percival--I'm certain you areright; but none the less, it sounds very terrible. Is it the same now asit was then--that no quarter would be given to a spy, I mean?"
"I think so. But I'm sorry I told you the story," said Paul, looking atthe boy apprehensively. His face was still deathly pale, while hetrembled in every limb. "I didn't think it would cut you up so. Any onewould think," he added, with a sad smile, "that it was your father'sdeath I'd been talking about instead of mine."
"Yes, my father"--and the boy gave a little, stifled laugh. "I--I'vebeen putting myself in your place, you see. How was it the spy gotaway?"
"He was tried by court-martial, but nothing could be proved against him,you see; for my father was the principal witness, and he was at thebottom of the sea."
"At the bottom of the sea," repeated the boy, as a tear stole slowlydown his cheek. "And you don't know what became of the spy?"
"Oh, I suppose he returned to his own country after that," said Paulcarelessly; for he did not want to tell Hibbert his suspicions thatZuker was still in England and not so far away. "But be off now, andhave a good run in the open. You've had enough of my yarn, and will bedreaming about spies and drowning all night."
Hibbert brushed the tear from his eye. It seemed as though his heartwere too full for speech; for he went out without a word.
"What a sensitive little chap he is!" thought Paul. "He was full tooverflowing as I told him that story. I wonder what his people arelike?"
He got up as he spoke and went out. A throng of boys were playing in thegrounds. Too absorbed in their games, they took no notice of Paul, forwhich he was devoutly thankful. He walked out of the grounds, along theroad leading to St. Bede's. Scarcely noticing the direction in which hewas travelling, he was rudely awakened from his reverie by the shout of"A Gargoyle--a Gargoyle!" And before he could move a step farther hefound himself surrounded by a dozen boys, who danced wildly round him,shouting the name of contempt again and again, as though they were aband of savages, and had suddenly discovered a victim for the sacrifice.
Paul saw at a glance that he had fallen into the hands of the enemy--inother words, into the hands of the rival school. There were senior boysand junior boys. Prominent amongst the latter he noticed Mellor, who wasquite ecstatic with delight at having trapped a Gargoyle.
"Why, hanged if it isn't the fellow who turned tail and ran!" cried oneof the seniors.
"Yes, Percival. Didn't you see that?" said Mellor.
"So it is," came in a chorus.
"The noble champion of the Gargoyles--ho, ho!" cried the senior.
"Ho, ho!" came in a chorus, and they commenced dancing round Paul, in awilder, madder fashion than before. "Ho, ho, ho! The noble champion ofthe Gargoyles."
"'And he bared his big right arm,'" cried one, when this chorus hadceased.
"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 wasresumed to the old chorus.
"Ho, ho! ho! The noble champion of the Gargoyles!"
Paul stood motionless as a statue and as white as one in the midst ofthe jeering, mocking throng. He made no answer to the jibes, but waiteduntil they had exhausted themselves. It was some time before thathappened. At length the cries grew feebler, the wild dancing slackened.
"Well, have you nearly finished?" Paul asked.
"Listen. The noble champion of the Gargoyles is speaking. He's got atongue," 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 observationwhich drew out another shriek of laughter. From white Paul turnedscarlet.
To keep silent under provocation, more especially provocation that isundeserved, is one of the hardest lessons that can be learned, boys andgirls. Paul was only a boy, with a boy's impulses, passions, andfeelings. But some time was to pass before he was to learn the greatlesson of how to keep these passions under perfect control--and manythings were to happen in the interval--but he had begun the task. Roughand bitter though the schooling was, in no better way could the lessonhave been taught than in that school of adversity through which he wasnow passing.
"When you've quite finished," said Paul, as they once more came to apause, "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 prettywide berth," some one answered.
"Why not take him there? He doesn't know what a nice place it is for apicnic."
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 bloodcould 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 andleft. With so much vigour did he strike that he might have made his waythrough the howling, struggling pack, but just at the moment he had gothimself free, Mellor, who was one of those who had been knocked to theground, caught him by the legs and brought him with a crash to theground.
"On him--on him!" was the cry.
"Back--back! Cowards all!"
At the instant they were about to seize Paul a figure dashed into theirmidst, scattering the struggling pack to right and left.
The Hero of Garside School Page 20