THE CHAMPION OF HIS FORM
Paul, as may be imagined, was as much startled by Newall's proposal that
he should be the champion of the Form as at the readiness with which it
was taken up by his class-mates.
"Well, Percival"--the voice of Hasluck broke the silence which had
followed as they waited eagerly Paul's answer--"you've heard what Newall
has said, and what the Form thinks of it. What's your answer?"
A keen struggle went on in Paul's mind as the question came to him. He
had come there to settle a dispute--to ward off a meeting between
Moncrief and Newall. And now, by an adroit move on the latter's part, he
had been forced to accept or decline a challenge from outside. If he
refused, he would have to eat his own words about the honour of the
school; he would be regarded as a contemptible coward; and the quarrel
between Newall and Moncrief would still remain unsettled. If he
accepted, he would be held in honour by his Form, and, in fighting its
battle, he might be able to settle the quarrel between Moncrief and
Newall. So, coming to a swift decision, he turned to the latter:
"If I fight for the Form, will that settle the quarrel between you and
Moncrief? Will you shake hands with him?"
"Yes," came the prompt answer.
"Very well; then I'll do my best to keep up the honour of the Form at
the sand-pit to-morrow."
"Bravo--bravo; hip, hip, hurrah!" cried Devey, jumping on the box in
which Plunger was concealed, and waving his cap wildly.
The cheers were taken up by most of the Form, but Parfitt, who took no
part in the cheering, remarked, loud enough for all to hear:
"Seems to me we'd better save our shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"For once I agree with Parfitt," answered Paul calmly. "Keep your
shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"And even then it may all be on the other side," added Parfitt, with a
sneer.
"Trust Parfitt for throwing cold water on anything," said Devey, jumping
down from the box. "He must have been born in a refrigerator."
He gave the box an indignant kick. Plunger shivered. He was glad that
Devey's foot came on the box instead of on him.
The meeting was over, and the boys went in twos and threes from the shed
discussing the forthcoming battle in the sand-pit. Plunger, greatly
excited at all he had heard, was waiting eagerly the moment he could
emerge from his hiding-place, when he heard Arbery shout:
"Don't all run off without lending a hand. We shall have to get the
boxes back, and the shed ship-shape. Devey and I can't do all the work."
Plunger groaned. He knew what Arbery's appeal meant. One by one the
boxes were shifted back to their places; then it came to the turn of the
box in which Plunger was concealed, and once again he was bumped about
from side to side till he got painfully mixed ideas as to where he began
and where he ended--as to which was his head and which were his feet,
and whether he would ever be able to stand straight again.
At last the box was rolled back to the corner in which it had previously
reposed, and Arbery and his assistants followed in the footsteps of
their companions. When Plunger could gather together his scattered
senses, he raised the lid of the box and scrambled out.
"My!" he groaned, as he leaned against the side of the shed and felt his
limbs. "Seems to me I'm all bruises. It's a wonder I've come out alive.
I'd just like to put the fellow who's been putting my frontispiece on
that pane inside the box I've come from for half an hour!"
Gradually, however, the worried look on Plunger's face gave place to one
of satisfaction as he remembered that he was the only one outside the
Fifth who knew what had taken place at the meeting, and that he alone
knew what was to take place on the morrow. He had no chance of relating
to his companions the secret which was burning within him till he
reached the dormitory that night.
"Well," asked Baldry breathlessly, as soon as lights were out, "how did
you get on, Freddy? What happened?"
"You'd never guess. There's to be a fight to-morrow between one of the
Fifth fellows and a Beetle."
Every ear in the dormitory pricked up at this unexpected piece of
information.
"Who's our fellow?" demanded Sedgefield, breaking the silence which
followed this announcement.
"Percival."
Baldry gave a prolonged whistle of surprise.
"How's that? Why, Percival has always set his back against fighting, and
all the fellows are saying that it was to keep Moncrief major from
fighting Newall that he called a meeting of his form."
"I dare say. He seemed to be steering that way till that little
turncoat, Mellor, came on the scene with a challenge from the Beetles."
"A challenge from the Beetles!" cried Baldry. "Tell us all about it."
Plunger told them all about it. And never had any one more attentive
listeners than Plunger had as he related to them all that had happened
at the meeting in the shed. Not the least interested were Harry Moncrief
and Hibbert.
"Paul going to fight," Harry repeated to himself. "I do so hope he'll
win!" Then, remembering the words in which his father had once spoken of
Paul, he added: "Win or lose, I'm certain Paul will bear himself
bravely."
Hibbert closed his eyes in the darkness, and prayed: "Watch over
Percival--keep him from harm. For Christ's sake. Amen."
The boy had not forgotten Paul's kindness to him. It stood out as the
one bright spot in his memory since he had come to Garside. For once he
was allowed to sleep without pillows being thrown at him, the clothes
pulled from him by means of a carefully-arranged cord, and playful
tricks of that sort, of which both he and Harry had been the victims as
the latest recruits to the dormitory. The great event of the morrow
caused everything else to be forgotten.
Paul, meantime, had not had a very pleasant time of it. It had been with
the greatest difficulty he had induced Stanley to stay away from the
meeting of his form. After the meeting, one or two pointed allusions
were made to his absence by his class-mates, and to make these cut the
deeper, he overheard Parfitt say to Devey:
"You were quite right in shouting for Percival. He came out better than
I thought. It's the other fellow who's so contemptible--getting his
friend to call a meeting to white-wash him, and do all the dirty work.
He'd be hounded out of any decent school."
These remarks were made loud enough for Stanley to hear, and for his
special benefit. Though he knew well enough that he was "the other
fellow" referred to, he could not speak. Nevertheless, he felt angry
with himself for allowing Paul to persuade him to stay away from the
meeting. Then, from feeling angry with himself, he felt angry with Paul,
and the reception he gave him on his return was not a very cordial one.
"What have you been saying about me?" he demanded.
"Nothing that could harm you," smiled Paul. "It's all right between you
and Newall. The quarrel's settled."
"But how is it settled? You haven't made me swallow dirt, have you?"
"I think not," answered Paul, wounded at the suggestion. "You ought to
know me better than that."
For the first time there was a rift between the two friends. Paul did
not tell Stanley what had happened at the meeting, but left him to find
out. He heard all about it from Waterman--the easy-going, indolent
Waterman.
"Going to fight a Beetle, is he?" said Stanley, when Waterman had ended.
"It was good of him to take my part, but I wish he hadn't let me down
so."
But when he met Paul in the dormitory that night, he only remembered
that he was his friend, and that he was going to fight for the honour of
the Form on the morrow.
"I'm sorry I spoke so hastily, Paul," he whispered. "Forgive me."
The next afternoon was a holiday for both Garside and St. Bede's. It was
for this reason that the challenge had been fixed for that date.
Cranstead Common was midway between the two schools, and the sand-pit
was in an open part of the common, where the ground for some little
distance round was destitute of grass or furze.
The Fifth Form had kept to themselves the fact that an encounter was to
take place in the sand-pit, for fear it might reach the ear of some of
the masters, and be stopped. They were not aware that Plunger knew all
that had transpired at the meeting. Plunger was as loyal to his Form as
the Fifth were to theirs, and the secret of what was to happen at the
sand-pit was communicated in confidence to them on the distinct
understanding that it wasn't to travel farther.
When, therefore, the afternoon came, and the boys of the Fifth set out
in little parties of three or four to make for the sand-pit, they could
not understand how it was that little parties of the Third were found to
be travelling in the same direction. Still more curious were the various
articles borne by these little bands of stragglers. One group bore a
football; another shouldered a butterfly net, without regard to the fact
that butterflies had not been seen for many weeks; a third group
fishing-rods, and so on.
Freddy Plunger was amongst the anglers. He was talking loudly about his
achievements at different times with rod and line, when Devey, Arbery,
and Leveson came up with him.
"What are you fishing for, Plunger?" asked Devey, catching him gently by
the ear. "Whales?"
"No--eels!" retorted Plunger snappily, having good cause to remember
Devey the night before. "Slippery things, eels, aren't they?"
"Not half so slippery as you are, Mr. Plunger. But don't be cheeky."
"Never am, Mr. Devey. That's my fault--always too polite. Born like it,
so can't help myself. Where are you going to, Mr. Devey?"
"That's my business, Mr. Plunger. Little boys shouldn't ask
questions--they should be seen and not heard. If you have a good catch,
ask us to supper, won't you? Ta-ta, Plunger!"
And Devey and his companions went on, leaving Plunger and his companions
chuckling in their sleeves.
"Mr. Devey thinks himself mighty clever now, but he looked an awful ass
in the shed last night when all the fellows turned on him for laughing
like a paroquet," grinned Plunger. "I nearly killed myself trying to
keep my feelings under. It was enough to make a cat scream. Oh, dear;
oh, my!"
And Plunger went off at the recollection, till he received a dig in the
ribs from Baldry which made him gasp.
"Shut up, Freddy; here comes the noble champion of the Fifth! He doesn't
look over-pleased with himself."
As he spoke, Paul and Stanley passed them. Baldry was not far wrong.
Paul was far from pleased with himself. He was going to fight in cold
blood a boy with whom he personally had no quarrel, and he had not the
slightest notion who his opponent was. He might be a noble-hearted
fellow, as much averse to quarrelling and fighting as he was, but
compelled to fight--as he had been--for "the honour of the Form."
He--Paul--had faced danger, and had not shrunk from it; but somehow, he
shrunk from the encounter before him.
"Look! There's quite a crowd at the sand-pit already," exclaimed
Stanley, who was a great deal more excited at the coming encounter than
Paul was.
By this time they had come within sight of the sand-pit. Paul, looking
up, saw that on one side had gathered most of the boys of the Fifth,
while on the other side were the boys from St. Bede's.