GOOD ADVICE
Instantly Paul crept under the bed, while Stanley as quickly crept in.
Not an instant too soon, for the next moment the door opened and Mr.
Weevil, candle in hand, entered. He held the light up, and glanced round
the room; then came softly to the bed, and glanced down at Stanley.
Stanley feigned sleep, but directly the light fell on his face he
started up as though suddenly wakened, and, staring at the master with
bewildered eyes, cried:
"Where--where am I? What--what's the matter? Oh, it's Mr. Weevil. I beg
your pardon, sir; but you so startled me. Is anything wrong?"
"No; nothing wrong." Then the master added with a grim smile: "I only
wanted to see if you were quite--comfortable."
"As comfortable as one can be in a place like this, sir."
"It was your own fault you came here, remember, and it is an easy matter
for you to come out. I hope you've decided to give me an explanation
to-morrow of that disgraceful scene I witnessed in the grounds."
Stanley did not answer; and Mr. Weevil went out, locking the door once
more behind him. It was not till he had gained his room that Paul crept
from under the bed.
"I put him off the scent, didn't I?" whispered Stanley. "If I hadn't
started up like I did, he would have looked under the bed. I'm certain
he would."
"Very likely. The fat would have been in the fire then, with a
vengeance. But how about the explanation he asks for? Why not? A few
words will do it."
"It's not coming from me, if I stick here the term through," came the
dogged answer. "Let Newall speak first; I'll follow."
Paul knew that it was extremely difficult to move Stanley from his
purpose, when once he had decided on it. So he did not press the matter
further just then, hoping that the morning would bring some change in
the situation. His mind went back to the scene in the next room, and
Stanley's went in the same direction, for the next moment he changed the
subject by asking:
"How did Weevil get to know that man Zuker, I wonder?"
"That's what puzzles me. The only explanation I can see is that Weevil
came across him in his travels, and is rubbing up his German by talking
with him. Or perhaps they're interested in the same branch of science."
"It's rather a late hour to patter German or science, isn't it?"
The same thing occurred to Paul, but he could think of no other
explanation of the mystery.
"I wonder if the light's out now?"
Paul climbed to the dormer, and, gently opening the window, looked along
to that of the next room. It was now in darkness.
"Well, now you had better get back to your own bed," said Stanley, when
Paul had communicated to him the news.
"I've come here for a night's lodging, and you're not going to be so
hard-hearted as to turn me out."
Stanley did not speak--in fact, he would have found it difficult at that
moment. The fidelity of his friend appealed to him as few things could
have done. It made him feel awfully soft, like a big girl or one of the
kids in the junior forms. A senior schoolboy has always a great aversion
to the display of emotion. He has a notion that it's unmanly and weak;
so that when Stanley did speak he assumed a gruffness he was far from
feeling.
"Well, you're a muff--that's all I've got to say. I kick in my sleep
sometimes--fearfully; so if you should find yourself on the floor in the
night time, don't say that I haven't warned you."
Paul smiled as he coiled himself up by the side of his chum; and soon
they were fast asleep. Paul woke up at daybreak, and having expressed a
hope that he would see Stanley back in his place that day, returned
without mishap to his dormitory. The light was only just stealing into
the room as he entered. His three companions seemed to be sleeping as
placidly as they had done when he left them.
"I wonder if I've been missed?" he asked himself, as he looked at the
sleepers. "I don't think so."
Had he seen the figure in the end bed--the same that had watched him the
night before--open his eyes cautiously, and watch him curiously when his
back was turned, he would have come to a different conclusion. However,
he was just as unconscious that Parfitt was watching him as he had been
the night before. He lay down for another hour, then rose before first
bell had sounded, washed, dressed, and went out into the grounds.
Early as it was he found Harry Moncrief there before him. He wore rather
a dejected appearance.
"I've had a beastly night, Paul," he said, coming forward to greet him.
"I couldn't sleep thinking of Stan. It's the longest night I've ever
had, and all the other fellows were snoring like steam-engines, except
that new chap, Hibbert. I rather fancy Plunger had been playing pranks
with his bed, but he didn't shout out or take on; so he was pluckier
than I was. Do you think the fellows here will look down on me for
snivelling?"
"I cannot say. I hope so. Is young Hibbert out?"
"He's somewhere about the ground, I think."
Paul searched about the ground, but could see nothing of him. He turned
into the field adjoining, and there he found him, sitting on the trunk
of a tree, quite apart from the other boys, with his face resting on his
hands.
"He's just as soft as young Moncrief, but he's too proud to show it.
He's been crying, I know."
If the boy had been, he brushed away all sign of it when he heard Paul's
footsteps, and started quickly to his feet. The frightened look in his
eyes disappeared when he saw who it was. They grew quite bright in an
instant.
"What are you doing here, youngster?" said Paul kindly, placing a hand
upon the boy's shoulder. "You're not going to be a moper, are you? That
will never do."
"A moper? No; but I'm different, I think, from most other boys. God has
made me different, you see"--with a feeble attempt at a smile, as he
glanced at his shoulder, "I don't care for the games most boys care for,
and--and I like quiet places like this, away from the crowd."
Paul could not help a feeling of pity as he followed the boy's glance to
his deformed shoulder. He was acutely sensitive to his deformity, and
that, perhaps, was the main reason why he shrank from the society of
other boys--why he preferred solitude.
"Have the youngsters in your dormitory been ill-treating you?" he asked,
regarding Hibbert closely as he put the question.
"Oh, no!" came the quick answer. "They've had their fun, of course,
which I enjoyed as much as any of them. I never mind a joke--indeed I
don't; so don't think they put upon me."
Paul did not inquire what the jokes were. It was not well to inquire too
curiously into the jokes of the juniors. He had been through that mill
himself. Besides, though he pitied Hibbert, he didn't want to encourage
him to tell tales out of school, especially as the boy seemed averse to
the practice.
"You're a plucky little chap and as good as you're plucky, I'll
warrant."
"Good--good? No, don't say that!" cried Hibbert, so earnestly that Paul
could not help regarding him in wonder.
He stood with his thin hands pressed tightly into each other, so that
the nails seemed piercing into his flesh; and the eyes that looked into
Paul's were quite wild and restless. In that moment it flashed into
Paul's mind that he had seen eyes like Hibbert's before, but where he
could not for the life of him make out.
"Well, I won't say it if you don't like it," he laughed; "but you're the
first one I've ever met with who objected to being thought good. I won't
ruffle your feathers again. Come, let's get back to the ground!"
On entering the ground one of the first they came across was Newall,
along with his crony, Parfitt. Remembering the cruel jibe Newall had
flung at Hibbert on the previous day, and what had afterwards happened
between him and Stanley, Paul tried to avoid him. He felt as though he
could hardly trust himself in his presence. But Newall would not be
avoided. He came straight to them, and great was Paul's surprise when he
said:
"I think the advice you gave me yesterday was right enough, Percival. I
ought to have spoken when the master asked for an explanation of the
shindy between Moncrief and me. It might have saved him a night in that
solitary hole--Dormitory X. But I mean speaking up this morning."
"I'm very glad to hear it. I'm sure it's the right thing. Moncrief will
be as pleased as I am."
"Do you think so? Well, I'm glad of that; and I'm glad you think it's
the right thing. I've slept on it, and that's what it's come to. Do you
know, Percival, I'm beginning to think you an authority on the right
thing to do? Parfitt is of the same mind. We were talking it over as you
came up, so your ears must have been burning."
Paul regarded him quickly. Was he in jest or earnest? His face was
perfectly grave; so was the face of Parfitt.
"Thanks for your flattering opinion. I shall know exactly how much to
take to myself after you've spoken to Mr. Weevil."
In spite of the apparent frankness of his manner and sincerity of tone,
Paul could not help thinking that Newall was quietly mocking him--that
he had no intention whatever of speaking to the master.
"That's the boy who called me a dromedary," said Hibbert, as they turned
away. "I shan't forget him. He has a cruel face."
Hibbert spoke with more bitterness than Paul had yet heard from him, and
there was a sparkle in his eyes, which sometimes had so much pain in
them, that Paul had never seen in them before.
"Now, look here, youngster, if you're going to remember every rough word
you hear at Garside, you'll have to have a very good memory. So take my
advice, forget all the things that aren't worth remembering, and
remember only those that are. The jibe that fell from Newall isn't worth
remembering. It's one of the things to forget. Promise me that you'll
forget it?"
"I'll try, as you ask me," said the boy sincerely, "though it'll be
jolly hard. Things worth remembering! Yes, I know of one--your kindness.
I shall always remember that."
And before Paul could answer him he was gone.
"A queer little beggar!" thought Paul. "He's got a good heart, though,
in spite of the queer outside of him. Poor little chap, how lonely he
seems!"
Paul was more anxious than he had been for a long time for school to
begin that day. It seemed for the sole purpose of thwarting him that it
commenced later instead of earlier. Instead of commencing at the usual
hour only one of the masters out of the six entered as the clock struck
nine. Ten minutes elapsed, and still no masters. The boys commenced
talking in whispers. What had happened? Something was wrong. An accident
must have happened. Or could it be that the illness of the Head had
taken a turn for the worse?
Paul feared that the absence of the masters must be in some way due to
Stanley. Perhaps they had discovered the visit he--Paul--had paid him in
the night. Perhaps they were discussing what was to be done with him.
These and a hundred other suspicions flashed through his mind as he
waited the entrance of the masters.
The hubbub in the school had grown louder. The boys no longer talked in
whispers; their tongues were wagging loudly. Mr. Travers, the master in
charge, made no effort to restrain them. He was himself talking to one
of the Sixth Form boys.
Suddenly, however, he broke off, and pressed the bell.
"Silence!" he cried.
In an instant the hubbub of voices ceased, as the door opened and the
masters, headed by Mr. Weevil, entered the room.