WHAT HAPPENED AT THE SAND-PIT
Though the boys of St. Bede's and those of Garside regarded themselves
as adversaries, to their credit be it said no outbreak of temper had
resulted from their meeting at the sand-pit. There had been some amount
of good-humoured chaff bandied to and fro across the pit, but nothing
more. All were eager for the coming struggle.
A cheer went up from the Garsides directly they caught sight of Paul.
The Bedes eyed him critically.
"Looks grim enough--as though he meant business," said one, as Paul
advanced to the pit.
The cheer of his comrades put fresh life into Paul. His blood, which had
seemed stagnant, began to race through his veins.
"For the honour of the Form," he said to himself, between his clenched
teeth, "I must--I will win!"
As though his comrades wished to give him all the encouragement in their
power, another cheer went up as he entered the pit, and took up his
position on the floor of hard-pressed sand below.
"Where's the other fellow?" he asked.
"Doesn't seem to have turned up yet," said Arbery; "but I don't think
it's quite time. How goes it, Levy?"
Leveson had a stop-watch and was very proud of it. He usually acted as
timekeeper at the school sports, when the stop-watch was very much to
the fore. He prided himself on one thing--always knowing the right time.
His was the only watch that kept the right time at Garside--so, at
least, Leveson said. To ask Leveson the "correct time" was one of the
greatest compliments you could pay him. It was a tacit acknowledgment
that the time kept by Leveson's stop-watch was superior to any other.
"Three minutes eighteen seconds to three," answered Leveson, after
examining the watch.
"Oh, we'll make you a present of the seconds," said Arbery. Then he
shouted across to the Bedes: "I say, Beetles, is that champion of yours
coming on an ambulance?"
"No; that's coming after," cried a bright-eyed lad named Sterry, from
the other side, "to take your champion home!"
A loud laugh from the Bedes greeted this retort.
"He scored over you there, Arbery," said indolent Waterman.
Scarcely had the laughter died away than it was followed by a loud
cheer.
"Their man's coming at last. What's the time, Levy?"
"One minute thirty secs. to the hour. He's cut it rather fine--must be a
cool sort of bounder," answered Leveson. "Hallo, look there! Hang me if
there isn't Master Plunger and a lot of the howlers from his form."
Arbery looked in the direction indicated. Plunger and his companions
were lying at full length on the banks of the pit, peering over its
sides and taking the deepest possible interest in the proceedings below.
"So it is. How did the little beggar get to know what was going on, I
wonder?"
"Said he was going eel-fishing. Thought it was a blind," said Devey.
"Hallo, they're peeling!"
Paul had taken off his coat, and rolled back his sleeves. The champion
of the other Form could not at first be seen because of the throng which
had gathered round him, but presently he came from the group that
surrounded him with his coat off, and his arms bared, just as Paul
stepped into the ring.
Their eyes met. Paul staggered back, as though he had been struck. The
youth who stood before him was Gilbert Wyndham, he who had helped him on
the night he was fleeing from Zuker. Fight him? Impossible! Not though
his life depended on it!
The excited murmur of voices that followed the two into the ring ceased.
A strange silence rested on the place, as the two boys confronted each
other. Then as the two schools were waiting eagerly for the first blow
to be struck, they saw Paul's hands fall helpless to his side; saw the
colour go from his face; saw the white lips move. What did it mean? They
stared in wonder, and the wonder grew as Paul turned away and took his
coat from Moncrief.
"I cannot fight," he murmured.
With his coat on his arm he hastened from the pit. Then the silence was
broken by the Bedes. They howled, and jeered and hooted. And above the
hooting and the jeers there rose the cry:
"The noble champion of the Gargoyles!"
Heedless of the shouting and the jeers, Paul walked swiftly away, as one
seized with sudden fear. His own Form still remained silent. They might
have been struck dumb. It was all so strange--so unexpected.
Then they in turn shouted and jeered after the retreating figure.
Paul heard the shouts. Those from the Bedes made him shiver. These from
his own Form cut into him like whips.
"They do not understand! How--how can I tell them?" he murmured as he
pressed on, anxious to get away from the place as quickly as possible.
He did not pause till he came in sight of the old flag waving above the
school. Had he disgraced that flag--the legacy of a brave soldier? Had
he dishonoured it? God would be his judge.
He passed three or four boys as he entered the grounds. They knew
nothing of what had happened at the sand-pit. One boy spoke to him, but
Paul took no heed of him. He had not heard him. He was as though deaf
and blind to all around him. He did not pause till he reached one of the
class-rooms; then his head fell on his arms.
The shouts and jeers followed him, and broke harshly in upon the
stillness of the room. With startling distinctness he could hear them,
and the cry went ringing through his brain:
"The noble champion of the Gargoyles!"
Then resting there, with his head bowed on his arms, he searched his
conscience, and asked himself the question--"Have I done right?" Had he
acted as his father would have wished him to act had he been living? Had
he done right in the sight of God? Yes, he felt confident he had done
right in refusing to fight Wyndham, though he could not explain to his
class-mates why he had so acted. That night ride was known only to
Stanley and him. It was impossible for him to divulge the secret to his
Form. He must suffer their taunts in silence, trusting that the time
would soon come when he might speak.
"There's one good thing, old Stan will understand me. I can make it
clear enough to him. He ought to be here by this time. Why doesn't he
come?" he asked himself.
He tried to shake off the gloom that oppressed him, but could not. His
head went to the desk again, and again he heard the yells and hooting of
the boys at the pit; but the cries seemed fainter.
"Why doesn't Stan come--why doesn't Stan come?" he kept asking himself.
He rested thus for some time--how long he knew not--when he was roused
by a timid hand resting on his arm, while a gentle voice whispered:
"Percival."
He looked up quickly. Hibbert was standing beside him, his face, usually
so pale, was slightly flushed, as the brown eyes turned to Paul.
"I haven't disturbed you, have I?" he asked.
"What do you want with me, Hibbert?" Paul asked rather sharply; for he
did not like the lad breaking in upon him so quietly.
"You looked so wretched and miserable I could not help coming in. You're
not angry with me, are you?"
"Angry with you? No; why should I be?" answered Paul, forcing a smile to
his face at the boy's eager question.
"Oh, I'm so used to people being angry with me, except you and--and Mr.
Weevil."
"Mr. Weevil! Doesn't he ever get angry with you?"
"No; he's very good to me."
Paul was rather astonished at this piece of information, knowing that
Weevil had a reputation for harshness.
"Glad to hear it. He makes it up on the other fellows." Paul's mind
flitted back to the night when Stanley was sent to Dormitory X. "But why
aren't you outside, enjoying yourself with your class-mates?"
"They never want me to play with them. I'm no good at their games,"
answered the boy sadly; "but I've been with some of them this afternoon.
I was at the--sand-pit."
He volunteered the information with some hesitation. Paul flushed. What
had happened would soon be known, then, to every boy in the school.
"We found out what was going to happen in our Form; and so I went with
the rest to see you--to see you----"
Again the boy hesitated.
"To see me turn tail and run. Out with it. Don't be afraid of hurting my
feelings," cried Paul bitterly. "The other fellows won't. You'll hear
what they'll be calling me presently--quite a choice collection of
names--cur, pariah, coward, and the rest of it."
"No, not coward. I know you couldn't be," said the boy confidently. "Any
one can see that by looking in your face. I know you had some reason for
going away. It's that made you so wretched. I knew you would be, and
so--and so after waiting a little time to see what would happen, I
followed after you."
Paul was touched at Hibbert's devotion. In that one moment the boy had
repaid a hundredfold the little act of kindness he had shown him when he
first entered the school. He had come to Paul in his loneliness, and had
brought a ray of sunshine into the gloom that had suddenly sprung up
around him.
"Do you know, Hibbert, you're a very good little chap to speak of me as
you do, and to think of me as you do? I'm a long way off deserving it, I
can tell you. You waited after I left the sand-pit, you say, to see what
would happen? What did happen? They kept up the groans for me till they
were tired, I suppose?"
"Don't speak of it," said the boy, shivering.
"You needn't be afraid of giving me pain, I tell you. I'm getting pretty
tough. After they'd done hooting me----"
"While they were still hooting you, Moncrief threw off his jacket, and
leapt into your place."
"What!" cried Paul, starting to his feet, and staring at the boy. "Leapt
into my place?"
"Yes, stood up to the Beetle--the fellow they call Wyndham; then the
hooting stopped, and our fellows cheered madly, specially when Newall
came forward and backed up Moncrief major."
"Newall! backed up Moncrief!" repeated Paul, bewildered. "Do you mean to
say Moncrief fought with Wyndham?"
"Yes, wildly--madly."
Paul closed his eyes, shuddering. He could see the two confronting each
other, and staggering about in the sand-pit. For some moments he could
not speak, and when his hands came from his face, it was as white as the
boy's before him.
"And who--who came off best, Hibbert?"
"I don't know. I--I could not stop. To see them fighting so made
me--made me feel bad all over. I'm not like other boys. And--and all the
time I was thinking of you; so I hastened here, and--and found you."
"They were still fighting as you left?"
"Yes, yes; but where are you going?"
Paul had seized his cap and turned to the door.
"To see what has happened."
"It will be all over by now; don't go," pleaded the boy.
But Paul was deaf to Hibbert's pleading.
"What have I done--what have I done?" he asked himself as he rushed into
the grounds. "Fool--fool, not to have guessed what would happen!"
Somehow we do rarely guess what will happen. Things which seem so clear
to us after they have happened are quite hidden from our sight
beforehand. The best of us grope about in the dark, and stumble blindly
along as Paul Percival had done.
Paul rushed on--back--back to the sand-pit. Suddenly he came to a dead
stop. The hum of many voices reached his ears. A crowd of boys were
coming towards him.