The Hero of Garside School Part 12

"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. G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+ndy 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.

CHAPTER X

TORN FROM THE BLACK BOOK

Mr. Weevil came to his desk. The other masters took up their positions at the head of the different forms. Mr. Weevil half closed his eyes for an instant; then, opening them, fixed them fully upon the eager boys before him as he said:

"I have a few words to say to you before work commences, boys, and I regret to say they are not of a very pleasant character. A most discreditable act--a criminal act--has been committed since we last met in this hall. This desk"--he turned from the boys to the desk, and brought his hand down upon it sharply--"has been forced open during the night, and five pages torn from the Black Book. That is not all. Admiral Talbot--one of the esteemed governors of this school--has offered a valuable prize, as you are all aware, for the best essay on 'The Invasion of Great Britain.' I have taken a great interest in the subject, and had prepared a few notes, together with a rough plan of the attempt made by the Dutch under Admiral Tromp to reach these sh.o.r.es.

Those notes have gone."

The boys glanced from one to the other as Mr. Weevil paused. Who was guilty? They had no great love for the Black Book, for in the pages of that black-bound ledger were entered the names of every culprit who had been guilty of breaking the rules and had received punishment at the hands of the masters. It could be brought forward at any time in evidence against them. They would willingly have stood by and seen it burnt, but forcing open the master's desk, stealing from it important papers, and tearing leaves from the dreaded book was another matter. It was theft--theft, too, under its worst guise, for the desk had been opened at night-time, when the rest of the school were supposed to be sleeping.

"The last entry I made in this book," went on Mr. Weevil, holding up the Black Book, "was last evening, immediately after school was over. I had entered in it the reason of my sending Moncrief to Dormitory X. Before returning the book to its place, I glanced through my notes; then placed the book on top of them, and locked the desk. I entered the room about half-past eight this morning, and, on going to my desk, at once found that it had been opened--for what despicable purpose I have explained to you. In the absence of Dr. Colville, I consulted with my colleagues--your masters. That is the reason why the school has not commenced at the usual hour. We have looked at the matter in every way, and can only come to the conclusion that some one amongst you has been guilty of this petty felony. The culprit is pretty well sure to be found out in the long run, so that it will be much better for him to speak up now. The longer he keeps silent, the heavier will be his punishment.

Now, then, I am waiting."

Deep silence fell upon the school. Still, the boys glanced from one to the other. Parfitt flashed a look along the form to where Paul was sitting. Baldry quietly pinched Plunger, and Plunger returned the compliment by kicking him under the form; but no word broke the silence.