"FORGIVE, AND YE SHALL BE FORGIVEN"
The two boys looked at each other blankly. How were they to act? What
was to be done? If they refused to obey the summons from the "Mystic
Brethren," they knew not what would be the penalty. The more they looked
at the letters, with their grotesque design, the more imposing they
seemed.
"What's to be done, Freddy?" asked Harry, when they were outside the
shop.
"We shall have to go, I suppose!" answered Plunger despondently. "We've
given ourselves away, you see. We're one of them--one of the wretched
Beetles. We've taken the vow of allegiance. They've got us in a tight
corner."
"What's the 'realms of Creepy-crawly, Shivery-shaky' I wonder?" asked
Harry, in an equally dejected tone.
"Some ditch with plenty of toads and slime about it, I expect. You
needn't be anxious. We'll know soon enough!" groaned Plunger. "I wish to
goodness you'd been anywhere before you let me in for this mess! Why did
they ever let you loose from Gaffer Quelch's?"
"Oh, shut up, Plunger! You're tiring! After all, you wouldn't make such
a bad Beetle. You can crawl a lot better than you can punt, and----Oh,
oh!"
Plunger had caught him by the ear and given it a vigorous pull. Harry
returned it by kicking Plunger on the shins. Having thus equalised
matters, they became once more on friendly terms.
"Look here, Harry, we're both in the same boat. Supposing we don't go?"
"Then what'll happen?"
"I don't know. We shall have to chance that. They can't eat us."
"Oh, but I'm not afraid! It's not that; but--but I don't somehow like
breaking my word."
"Neither do I. It's jolly awkward; yet, come to think of it, I don't see
why we shouldn't."
"We promised to be true to the cause."
"Yes; but the promise was got from us by force, and that isn't binding.
I've heard my pater say so."
"Oh, he's in the glue line, and ought to know what's binding! Stop it,
Plunger!"--as Plunger seized him once more by the ear. "That's the worst
of you. You don't know a compliment when you hear one. Don't I wish my
pater was in the glue line! It's fine stuff. Made out of horses' hoofs,
isn't it? Well, go on. Not binding, you said. How do you make that out?"
"Haven't I said, stupid--because it was got from us by force? But don't
take my word for it. Let's ask your cousin. Will that satisfy you?"
Harry at once consented. He still had the highest admiration for his
cousin, notwithstanding the fact that he had been defeated by a Beetle.
They returned to the school, where they were not long in finding
Stanley, who had just been joined by Newall.
"We want to talk with you alone, if--if you wouldn't mind, Stan," said
Harry.
"You don't think that I'm going to clear out for any of you Lower Form
cubs, do you?" sneered Newall.
"Oh, you can speak before Newall as you would before me, Harry! Come,
fire away!"
Harry still hesitated. He could not forget how Newall had served him
when he first came there, but while he was hesitating Plunger began:
"This is what we want to know. Supposing any fellows in this school--we
won't mention names--happened to be captured by the enemy, and supposing
the enemy forced them into a--a----"
"Secret society," put in Harry, as Plunger came to a standstill.
"Yes, secret society. A kind of brotherhood--vendetta, with masks and
knives and forks--daggers, I mean--and that sort of thing----"
"Now, look here, Master Plunger, stop plunging! Drop it, and come to the
point!" said Stanley firmly. "What do you want to know? Come, Harry;
you're not so gassy. Perhaps we can get some sense out of you."
Harry explained as well as he was able what they wanted to know. Stanley
at once decided that a promise given under such circumstances was not
binding, and his opinion was, of course, backed up by Newall, who was
eager to know what this mystery could mean. Thus assured, Plunger and
Harry told them all that had happened on the afternoon they had been
captured by the "Mystic Brethren." As may be imagined, Stanley and
Newall were greatly excited by the story--especially that portion of it
referring to Paul.
"Now are you satisfied?" cried Newall triumphantly. "Didn't I always say
what Percival was? He's not only a cur, but a traitor!"
And Stanley, who in days gone by would have fiercely resented the
slightest reflection on Paul, allowed the words to go unchallenged.
"You're quite certain that it was Percival you saw?" he at length asked.
"Am I certain that I see you?" answered Plunger. "Besides, Harry saw
him, too. Both of us couldn't be mistaken."
"There wasn't much mistake, Stan. I wish there had been. That makes the
second time I've seen them together."
"If you don't believe us, you'd better put to him the question straight.
Send for him now, and put him face to face with us. See if he'll deny it
then!"
"I think you're right, Plunger. We'll send for Percival, and see what he
has to say. You go and fetch him, Harry. You'll find him somewhere about
the grounds.
"One moment. Don't be in a hurry. We've got an artful young gentleman to
deal with, and if we want to find things out, and pay back the Bedes in
their own coin, we shall have to be artful as well. We mustn't show our
hand too soon."
"I don't quite understand."
"No; but I'll make all clear in a word or two. If we call in Percival,
we shall not get much from him. It isn't likely he'll give himself away.
He'll say that Plunger was mistaken; that it wasn't him, but somebody
else who was talking to the fellow up at Bedes. What we've got to do is
to meet craft with craft, and go one better than Percival at his own
game."
"Hear, hear!" cried Plunger. "But how are you going to do it? Strikes me
you'll have to get up very early in the morning to score off Percival."
"We sha'n't score if you keep that noisy tongue of yours wagging, Mr.
Plunger. All you've got to do is to keep quiet till to-morrow evening,
and then you can let it wag again as much as you please. My scheme is
this: We've first got to make good your word about the flag. If we can
get it from that shed in which you say it is, we can prove that you
haven't been dreaming. With the flag in our possession, we'll call a
meeting of the principal fellows from each Form down to the Third. You
and Moncrief minor can tell the story. Percival can then say what he
pleases. We can produce the flag to prove our case--and--there you are!
Percival will be kicked out of Garside!"
Stanley did not speak. The chasm between him and Percival had gone on
widening instead of narrowing, but it was no pleasure to him to hear
those words. Percival kicked from Garside! Then Garside would no longer
be Garside to him. Harry, too, was silent. He did not know why, but he
began to think they were not doing the right thing by Percival. They
were trying to trap him, and the one setting that trap was the one who
hated him.
"A jolly good idea, Newall!" exclaimed Plunger enthusiastically.
"Smart--real smart! But how are you going to work it? How are you going
to get the flag?"
"To-morrow's Wednesday; so we've got the whole of the afternoon before
us. You're supposed to meet the Beetles at half-past three, aren't you?"
"Yes; half-past three sharp."
"Well, we'll be beforehand--half an hour, say. That will give us plenty
of time to get possession of the flag, and away with it before your
brethren of the Mystic Circle put in an appearance."
"You--you won't want me?" asked Plunger anxiously. He had a keen
recollection of what had happened at the shed the last time he was
there.
"Of course we shall. You'll have to take us to the shed and show us
what's inside it."
Plunger did not like this suggestion. Why couldn't Newall have selected
Moncrief minor? But he could not very well raise any objection. So,
making a virtue of necessity, he raised his eyebrows to their fullest
extent, and said he should be "delighted."
Then came the question as to who should go with Plunger. It was not
advisable to take too many, for fear of the risk of discovery. So Newall
decided that only three should accompany Plunger--Stanley, Parfitt, and
himself. Stanley would gladly have given way to anybody else, but Newall
insisted that he should be one of the party. He seemed determined to
leave no stone unturned to blacken Paul in the eyes of his one-time
friend.
Stanley crept away as soon as he could to the solitude of his dormitory.
He was very wretched. He felt as though he were acting a mean part. It
might be true that Paul was not the friend to him that he had at one
time been--that he had gone over to the Bedes, and acted a mean part;
but that was no reason why he should act a mean part, too. Two blacks
did not make a white. "Percival will be kicked out of Garside!" Newall's
words kept repeating themselves in his brain. He could not forget them.
Percival would be kicked out of Garside, and he would be one of those
who had helped to kick him out.
No, no; whatever wrong Paul had done him, he could not do that. But how
could he prevent it? How could he put him on his guard? He thought for a
long time; then he got a half-sheet of notepaper, and wrote on it in a
disguised hand:
"Beware! Steer clear of Bedes. Plot on foot to turn you from Garside."
The next difficulty to get over was--how to get that note to Paul
without rousing suspicion. It must be read by him, and him alone. He was
a long time before he could think of any means of accomplishing this
purpose; then he remembered that Paul was in the habit of reading a few
verses every night before going to rest from a Bible given to him by his
mother. He went to Paul's dormitory--the dormitory in which he had once
slept, and to which he had often longed to get back.
Glancing cautiously in, he found that it was empty. He crept softly to
Paul's locker, and drew out his Bible. There was a bookmark in it. He
opened it at the bookmark. The first words that met his eyes were:
"Judge not, and ye shall not ye judged; condemn not, and ye shall not be
condemned; forgive, and ye shall be forgiven.... With the same measure
that ye mete, withal it shall be measured to you again."
Forgive, and ye shall be forgiven! The words seemed in a mist before
Stanley's eyes. Pshaw! What had he to do with forgiveness?
His eyes went again to the Bible:
"With the same measure that ye mete, withal it shall be measured to you
again."
He read the words thrice, then placed the note inside the Bible and
closed it.
"He's sure to see it, I should think, and won't suspect who put it
there," he told himself, as he stepped softly to the corridor.
Scarcely had he reached it when he heard a footstep coming along it.
Looking in the direction whence it came, he saw that it was he of whom
he had been thinking--Paul Percival!