The Hero of Garside School Part 10

He turned on his heel and walked away. There was so much pa.s.sion and hatred in the words that even the lightest-hearted amongst the boys were impressed by them.

"Newall's got his dander up," said Sedgefield, a rather good-looking, fair boy, another of the occupants of Harry's dormitory. "And Weevil looked as though he meant business. What a start for the term!"

They strayed away one by one. Paul, turning over in his mind what had happened, thought he was alone. But presently he was conscious that some one was standing by his side. It was Harry Moncrief.

"Have you forgotten me, Percival?" the boy asked timidly, for his confidence in himself had been shaken by the events of the last half-hour.

"Oh, no; I beg pardon for not speaking to you. I'm glad to see you at Garside."

"And I--I'm beginning to be very sorry that I ever came here. I've made an a.s.s of myself, and got Stan into a mess in the bargain. What's to be done?"

"Nothing--just yet. It won't hurt Stanley to be by himself a little while. I'm as much to blame as anybody, perhaps, as I ought to have put you on your guard against Plunger. But it's bad form here to spoil the fun of any one, and that is why I was silent. We shall all survive it.

It doesn't hurt us to be laughed at sometimes. Most of us have had our turn at it; so don't be down in the mouth."

He linked his arm in Harry's, and under the influence of Paul's cheerful talk the younger boy threw off the depression that had begun to steal over him, and was more cheerful. And all the time he was speaking a strong resolve was silently forming in Paul's breast. Whatever happened he would visit Stanley in Dormitory X that night!

CHAPTER VIII

FOR THE SAKE OF A CHUM

Nine--half-past! The clock in the tower had chimed the half-hour when lights were out in Paul's dormitory. In the senior dormitories there were only four beds--two less than in the junior. In that where Paul slept there were, therefore, three other occupants beside himself--Stanley Moncrief, Waterman, and Parfitt.

Parfitt was not on particularly good terms with most of the fellows. He was one of Newall's cronies. Waterman was an easy-going fellow, who was on friendly terms with everybody, so long as they did not disturb him too much. He was one of those indolent boys, with plenty of talent, if they only care to exercise it. The disposition to do so, however, only came by fits and starts. In another respect, too, he was like a great many other boys--ay, and girls, too--and that was--he would often go to a great deal more pains to avoid a difficulty than it would have caused him by boldly facing it. So true is the proverb that lazy people often take most pains.

Ten o'clock! Paul looked from his bed. There was the bed in which Stanley ought to have been sleeping--empty! Next to that, Waterman. He had been asleep for some time. Beyond his bed was Parfitt's.

Was he sleeping? Paul was not quite certain, but he thought he was. It would be better to wait a little longer, however. There was no hurry.

He could see in outline, on the wall beyond Parfitt's bed, the motto for the year, "Be ye stedfast, unmovable." He liked that motto. It had appealed to him when he had first seen it on the wall, and he had often repeated it to himself since. He had repeated it frequently to himself that night.

"Be ye stedfast"--stedfast to his friend.

The empty bed beside him made him sad. Stan ought to have been resting there. By the stern decree of Mr. Weevil he had been turned from his bed, and was at that moment a prisoner, in solitary confinement. For what? Simply because he had refused to speak. Oh, it was bitterly unjust. If any one ought to have been sent to Dormitory X it was Newall, but he had escaped without even a word of blame.

Half-past ten! Paul listened again. He felt certain that Parfitt was at last sleeping; so he slipped out of bed as he had slipped into it--with his trousers and stockings on. He drew on his coat; opened the dormitory door, and glanced along the corridor. As he did so, the figure in the end bed moved, and glanced in the direction of Paul; then breathed hard, as though it were sleeping.

Paul, unconscious that Parfitt had seen him, pa.s.sed into the corridor.

Dormitory X was in the room next to that occupied by Mr. Weevil, on the floor above. Paul crept up the stairs. They seemed to creak horribly, but it was the silence of the building that magnified the sound to Paul's ears. He glanced along the pa.s.sage. A light was still burning in Mr. Weevil's room. He could see it stealing faintly through a crack in the door.

"Studying late. Trying some scientific experiment, I expect. The fellows say that he burns the midnight oil a lot. That's what gives him such a sleepy look sometimes, I suppose. No wonder he's such a dab at science."

Paul knew that it was useless to try to get to Stanley along the pa.s.sage. He might succeed in getting past the master's room, but what then? The door would be locked, and he could not pa.s.s through a locked door. Dormitory X had a window looking on to the parapet outside, and it was by this window he hoped to gain Stanley's room. There was a small lavatory at the end of the corridor, and this likewise had a window leading to the roof.

"Be stedfast!" he whispered to himself, as he climbed through the window to the parapet. It was a rash thing to do--a wrong thing. Though Paul might have questioned the justice of what Mr. Weevil had done in putting his chum in Dormitory X., he had no right, from a chivalrous feeling of friendship, to run the risk of a foolhardy adventure at night. But Paul thought that he was right, and that, by visiting Stanley, he was interpreting in the best way he could the school motto, "Be stedfast."

There were but few stars in the heavens as he stepped on to the parapet.

The wind blew freshly, and the clouds were scurrying quickly across the moon. It was a plain Gothic parapet, in keeping with the time-worn building. It rose a couple of feet above the gutter, and the latter, in turn, was nearly of the same width; so that there was not much difficulty in walking along it to the dormers.

Glancing along the gutter, Paul saw that the light was still burning in Mr. Weevil's room. The window beyond was in darkness. That was where Stanley was? Would it be possible for him to reach it without being seen by Mr. Weevil? He meant trying. Stealing cautiously along the gutter, he stopped within a yard or so of the master's window.

What was that? The sound of voices, and it came from Mr. Weevil's room.

"Chewing over science with one of the other masters," thought Paul.

"It's jolly late to be talking that dry stuff. But hanged if I don't think Weevil talks it in his sleep; he's so hot on it. He ought to be amongst the fossils in the museum. I don't believe he's got any warm blood in him. He was never meant for a human being. Steady--steady."

He knelt on the gutter, and stretched himself along till he was just able to peer into the room. A lamp was burning on the table, on which were strewn a number of papers and doc.u.ments. Over these two men were leaning, as though they were earnestly discussing their contents.

"Some musty old parchments from the a.s.syrians or the lost Ten Tribes, I expect," Paul told himself. "But who's the other fossil? I don't seem to know him. Not one of the masters here."

He could not see either of the faces very clearly as they bent over the doc.u.ments; but one he knew to be Mr. Weevil's. The other was a stranger's.

"Why doesn't he look up?" Paul asked himself, growing curious.

The man was tracing something with his finger on the doc.u.ment before him, and Mr. Weevil was following the direction of his finger with the closest attention. Presently the man raised his head. In spite of himself Paul cried out. The men heard the cry, and he had only just time to draw back as they turned to the window.

Paul lay there breathing hard. Would he be found out? His heart beat violently as he heard footsteps approach the window. It was opened, and the head of the master thrust out. Paul thought that he must be found out. There seemed no help for it. He gave himself up for lost.

Fortunately, the light of the moon was quite obscured at this moment, and Paul seemed only a part of the shadows that were flitting over parapet and roof.

"It sounded very much like the cry of a human being," said the master, peering out, "but it couldn't have been. It must have been the wind, or a night-bird."

Then, to Paul's inexpressible relief, he heard the window close. Some seconds elapsed, however, before he ventured to look up. He feared, in spite of the closed window, to find the eyes of the master fixed upon him. Should he turn back? No; that would be acting the coward's part.

Besides, he must catch another glimpse of the face he had seen.

Presently he heard the murmur of voices within, and knew that the two had resumed their interrupted interview. So, taking his courage in both hands, Paul peeped once more into the room.

Yes, he was sure of it. The man with whom Mr. Weevil was talking was Israel Zuker, the German Jew--the man who had tried to wrest from him Mr. Moncrief's letter--the man for whom he believed his father had sacrificed his life!

Why had Zuker come there? Paul would have given a good deal to know what the two were talking about, but not a word of their conversation reached his ears. They were bending low, and spoke in little more than whispers.

For one thing, that was an advantage. They were so earnestly engaged in conversation, that they were the less likely to notice anything that happened outside. Paul therefore determined not to put off any longer the effort to reach Stanley.

He crept quickly to the other side of the window, then waited. He could still hear the hum of voices, so he felt sure that he had not been seen.

"Now for old Stan. I'm sure he won't be asleep."

Paul crept close to the window, and tapped on it with his nail.

"Who's there?" said Stanley.

The window was cautiously opened, and Paul slipped into the room.

"Paul! You don't mean to say it's you!" exclaimed Stanley as their hands met in the darkness. "What's brought you here?"

"To see you, of course."

"Well, you can't see much of me, I'm thinking, by this precious light; so, if you won't mind me saying it, old chap, it was silly of you to come."