CHAPTER XLIII
THE STORM BREAKS
As Paul approached the common-room, the sound of voices came through theopen door, and clear above the hubbub rose the voice of some one makingfree use of his name. He knew the voice well enough. It was Stanley's.Why were they discussing him?
On entering the room, the voices ceased as by magic. Every eye wasturned in his direction. Several boys were gathered round the fireplace.Foremost in the group were Newall, Parfitt, and Stanley.
"I thought I heard my name?" Paul exclaimed, as he stepped into theroom.
"Quite right," said Stanley, coming from the group and confronting him."I've been looking for you."
Paul was on the point of saying that he also had been looking forStanley, but the silence that followed Stanley's words, the concentratedgaze of that group of boys, and, above all, the face of Stanleyhimself--white, yet with a burning, feverish light in the eyes--keptback the words.
"Looking for me?" he repeated.
"Yes; I did hope that I should never have to speak to you again, but oneor two things that have just happened make me. All the fellows here knowhow much it's against the grain."
Paul's face fell. He had come in search of Stanley with the hope ofbringing about a reconciliation. That hope receded in an instant to thefar distance.
"If it's against the grain, I wonder you should trouble," he could nothelp answering.
"Oh, we have to swallow things we don't like sometimes." Then he brokeoff into a tone of banter. "So you've brought the flag back to Garside?"
Paul did not answer. He was only conscious that the group had drawncloser to him, and that Stanley's eyes were burning at a fiercer heat.It seemed some other than Stanley who was speaking. He had assumed thetone and manner of Newall; but he was forcing himself into a part whichdid not suit him, so that he acted it badly.
"The worst of Percival is that he's so modest. He doesn't know what asmart thing he's done," went on Stanley. "It isn't to be wondered atthat the kids of the Third and Fourth have been cheering him like mad.Why should we be left out in the cold, eh?"
"Why?" echoed Parfitt. "Let's give him a rouser."
Parfitt led off the cheers--cheers which fell with a hollow sound onPaul's ears, for he knew well enough they were only mocking him.
"When we hear about a smart thing, we're naturally anxious to know howit was done," jeered Parfitt.
"Naturally," echoed Newall, followed by cries of assent from the rest.
"Order! Order for Percival!" exclaimed Stanley, holding up his hand forsilence.
Silence instantly reigned. You might have heard a pin drop as theywaited for Paul to speak; but they waited in vain. He neither spoke normoved. He was not thinking of himself, nor of the boys that stood aroundhim. He had ears and eyes for Stanley, and no other. It was atransformed Stanley--not the Stanley he had once known.
"Lost your tongue?" cried Stanley, breaking the silence. "Come, out withit. We can't wait here all day! How did you manage to get hold of theflag? Who had it, and how did you get it back to Garside? Don't be soawfully modest? You've hidden your light under a bushel too long."
"The flag is back at Garside," answered Paul firmly, ignoring the taunt."For the rest you had better ask Mr. Weevil. I don't owe any explanationto you or any other fellow in the Form!"
He turned away, but Stanley sprang between him and the door.
"That won't do? You do owe us an explanation, and I mean having it!"
"You?"
There was more of sorrow than anger in Paul's voice, but to thesensitive ears of Stanley, strung to the highest tension, it soundedstrangely like contempt.
"I! What were you doing with the Beetle we saw you with near thesand-pits this afternoon?"
"The Beetle you ran away from, you know," added Newall. "The Beetle youleft Moncrief to fight for you!"
This wholly unnecessary piece of information sent the scarlet back for amoment into the white face of Stanley. His hands opened spasmodically;then closed in a firmer grip than before.
The gibe acted differently on Paul. He recalled that Stanley had reallysuffered for him; he recalled too, the note of warning that had beenleft for him in his dormitory. Perhaps, after all, it had been writtenby Stanley? The Stanley he had once known as a friend. And there cameover him the old longing to clasp him by the hand.
"I will try to explain to you if you will meet me somewhere alone," hesaid, drawing near to Stanley, and speaking in a little more than awhisper.
"Speak out! I want no secrets!" cried Stanley.
"All the fellows in the Form have as much right to hear as I have! WhatI can hear they can hear! I don't want to go about sneaking andwhispering in corners!"
Murmurs of applause greeted this expression of opinion.
"If that's the way you look at it," answered Paul sorrowfully, "thething's ended. I've nothing more to say."
"But I have, and you must hear--must!" repeated Stanley, with emphasis,as Paul tried to pass him. "It's your honour I'm thinking of, as much asthe honour of the school. Do you know what they are saying?"
"I don't know or care," came the swift answer. "As for my honour, it canvery well take care of itself."
"Like it did at the sand-pits," put in Parfitt, amid an outburst oflaughter.
Paul bit his lip to keep back the angry words that sprang to his tongue.And the gibe went again as a poisoned shaft to the wound that was lyingas a canker in the breast of Stanley.
"Well, we'll leave your honour out of it, if you don't care to stick upfor it. But there's the honour of the school, and do you know whatthey're saying? They're saying that the flag business was all adodge--that it's been engineered between you and the Beetle you wouldnot stand up to in the sand-pits!"
"Engineered! How do you mean?" demanded Paul, staggered by this freshaccusation.
"That it was all arranged between you and the Beetle."
"I--I can't quite see. I don't understand. Do you mean----"
"Let him have it straight; so that he can't wriggle out of it!"exclaimed Newall, as Paul paused, unable to get out the words that cameas a torrent to the lips.
"I mean that the theft of the flag was arranged between you and thatfellow at St. Bede's; and that it's come back again by the same cleverpiece of trickery."
"Is that what they're saying?" demanded Paul.
"That's what they're saying."
"And--and--what do you say, Stan?" The name came out in a gulp.
Had Stanley only followed his better impulse, he would have answered:
"I don't believe it. Though appearances are against you, I cannotbelieve it. I still have faith in you, as I used to have. We havewandered apart, but Garside has never been what it was since we ceasedto speak. I have been unhappy--miserable."
But the gibes of Newall and Parfitt were still rankling in his breast.He seemed to feel again the blows of Wyndham on his face. So instead ofanswering as his better nature dictated, he replied:
"I stand by the Form. I say the same."
"Then it's a lie--a dirty lie. Let me pass."
Paul was choking. It would not so much have mattered what his Form said.He could trust to time to bring them round again; but that Stanley couldhave believed him guilty of such mean, despicable trickery--there wasthe sting. Stanley had felt the blows of Wyndham on his face, but thatwas as nothing to the torture endured at that moment by Paul. It was asa flail cutting deep down into his very flesh.
Stanley still barred the way to the door, and did not move.
"Let me pass!" came again the hoarse, choking cry.
Stanley did not budge. Neither did he answer. He was as dumb, asimmovable, and as white as a block of marble. Paul could endure it nolonger. He caught him by the arm to turn him aside. His touch startedthe statue before him into life. As though it were an insult to be wipedout, Stanley struck out blindly with his fist. Paul received the blowfull on the face, and fell to the ground like a log.
It was a cruel blow. Stanley knew it the mome
nt he had struck hisone-time friend, and he would have given all he possessed to haverecalled it. But it was too late.
"Well hit!" applauded Parfitt, as though Stanley had just made abrilliant drive in the cricket-field instead of striking his bestfriend.
"First knockdown and blood to Moncrief!" exclaimed Newall. "Oh, he's allright, Waterman. He doesn't want any help from you."
Waterman, who had been standing in the background, leaning in his usualindolent manner against the most comfortable corner of the fireplace,shook on his lethargy as Stanley struck the blow which felled Paul tothe ground, and at once left his favourite spot by the fireplace andwent to his assistance.
"Hurt, Percival?" he asked as, heedless of Newall's remarks, he wipedaway the blood that was trickling down Paul's cheek.
Paul had been momentarily dazed by the unexpected blow; but he wasstrong, and soon shook the feeling off.
"Thanks, Waterman. No; I'm not hurt," he whispered, rising slowly to hisfeet.
The boys gathered round. The excitement had grown from the moment Paulhad entered the room. From that instant the storm-clouds had begun togather, and with the blow struck by Moncrief major they had burst.
What would happen?
"Steady yourself, Percival," whispered Waterman. "So--Are you sure youare all right?"
"Quite."
Waterman let go his arm. The blood still trickled down Paul's face, buthe walked steadily up to Stanley, who had thrown up his arms in defence,as though expecting a return of the blow.
"You can put down your hands, Stanley. I'm not going to fight you," saidPaul calmly.
"He's moulting again--more feathers!" cried Newall.
"And aren't they white ones?" added Parfitt.
"I'm not going to fight you," repeated Paul, looking Stanley squarely inthe face; "but I'll pay you back again--some day."
Stanley did not attempt to stop him this time; so Paul made his way backto his room, and sank upon his bed thinking. He had done nothing ofwhich he was ashamed, but the blow of Stanley was burning on his cheek,and he felt wretched, miserable. He had striven for the best, butsomehow things had turned out for the worst. Once before when thingswere at their blackest, there was one who had come to him, and placed alittle hand in his; but now there was no one, save the good God above.
He was thinking thus, when there was a tap on the door; the door wasjerked open with a shoulder; and Waterman, with his hands thrust deepinto his pockets, strode indolently in--just for all the world as thoughhe were coming to a picnic.
The Hero of Garside School Page 44
