THE CHAMPION OF HIS FORM
Paul, as may be imagined, was as much startled by Newall's proposal that he should be the champion of the Form as at the readiness with which it was taken up by his class-mates.
"Well, Percival"—the voice of Hasluck broke the silence which had followed as they waited eagerly Paul's answer—"you've heard what Newall has said, and what the Form thinks of it. What's your answer?"
A keen struggle went on in Paul's mind as the question came to him. He had come there to settle a dispute—to ward off a meeting between Moncrief and Newall. And now, by an adroit move on the latter's part, he had been forced to accept or decline a challenge from outside. If he refused, he would have to eat his own words about the honour of the school; he would be regarded as a contemptible coward; and the quarrel between Newall and Moncrief would still remain unsettled. If he accepted, he would be held in honour by his Form, and, in fighting its battle, he might be able to settle the quarrel between Moncrief and Newall. So, coming to a swift decision, he turned to the latter:
"If I fight for the Form, will that settle the quarrel between you and Moncrief? Will you shake hands with him?"
"Yes," came the prompt answer.
"Very well; then I'll do my best to keep up the honour of the Form at the sand-pit to-morrow."
"Bravo—bravo; hip, hip, hurrah!" cried Devey, jumping on the box in which Plunger was concealed, and waving his cap wildly.
The cheers were taken up by most of the Form, but Parfitt, who took no part in the cheering, remarked, loud enough for all to hear:
"Seems to me we'd better save our shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"For once I agree with Parfitt," answered Paul calmly. "Keep your shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"And even then it may all be on the other side," added Parfitt, with a sneer.
"Trust Parfitt for throwing cold water on anything," said Devey, jumping down from the box. "He must have been born in a refrigerator."
He gave the box an indignant kick. Plunger shivered. He was glad that Devey's foot came on the box instead of on him.
The meeting was over, and the boys went in twos and threes from the shed discussing the forthcoming battle in the sand-pit. Plunger, greatly excited at all he had heard, was waiting eagerly the moment he could emerge from his hiding-place, when he heard Arbery shout:
"Don't all run off without lending a hand. We shall have to get the boxes back, and the shed ship-shape. Devey and I can't do all the work."
Plunger groaned. He knew what Arbery's appeal meant. One by one the boxes were shifted back to their places; then it came to the turn of the box in which Plunger was concealed, and once again he was bumped about from side to side till he got painfully mixed ideas as to where he began and where he ended—as to which was his head and which were his feet, and whether he would ever be able to stand straight again.
At last the box was rolled back to the corner in which it had previously reposed, and Arbery and his assistants followed in the footsteps of their companions. When Plunger could gather together his scattered senses, he raised the lid of the box and scrambled out.
"My!" he groaned, as he leaned against the side of the shed and felt his limbs. "Seems to me I'm all bruises. It's a wonder I've come out alive. I'd just like to put the fellow who's been putting my frontispiece on that pane inside the box I've come from for half an hour!"
Gradually, however, the worried look on Plunger's face gave place to one of satisfaction as he remembered that he was the only one outside the Fifth who knew what had taken place at the meeting, and that he alone knew what was to take place on the morrow. He had no chance of relating to his companions the secret which was burning within him till he reached the dormitory that night.
"Well," asked Baldry breathlessly, as soon as lights were out, "how did you get on, Freddy? What happened?"
"You'd never guess. There's to be a fight to-morrow between one of the Fifth fellows and a Beetle."
Every ear in the dormitory pricked up at this unexpected piece of information.
"Who's our fellow?" demanded Sedgefield, breaking the silence which followed this announcement.
"Percival."
Baldry gave a prolonged whistle of surprise.
"How's that? Why, Percival has always set his back against fighting, and all the fellows are saying that it was to keep Moncrief major from fighting Newall that he called a meeting of his form."
"I dare say. He seemed to be steering that way till that little turncoat, Mellor, came on the scene with a challenge from the Beetles."
"A challenge from the Beetles!" cried Baldry. "Tell us all about it."
Plunger told them all about it. And never had any one more attentive listeners than Plunger had as he related to them all that had happened at the meeting in the shed. Not the least interested were Harry Moncrief and Hibbert.
"Paul going to fight," Harry repeated to himself. "I do so hope he'll win!" Then, remembering the words in which his father had once spoken of Paul, he added: "Win or lose, I'm certain Paul will bear himself bravely."
Hibbert closed his eyes in the darkness, and prayed: "Watch over Percival—keep him from harm. For Christ's sake. Amen."
The boy had not forgotten Paul's kindness to him. It stood out as the one bright spot in his memory since he had come to Garside. For once he was allowed to sleep without pillows being thrown at him, the clothes pulled from him by means of a carefully-arranged cord, and playful tricks of that sort, of which both he and Harry had been the victims as the latest recruits to the dormitory. The great event of the morrow caused everything else to be forgotten.
Paul, meantime, had not had a very pleasant time of it. It had been with the greatest difficulty he had induced Stanley to stay away from the meeting of his form. After the meeting, one or two pointed allusions were made to his absence by his class-mates, and to make these cut the deeper, he overheard Parfitt say to Devey:
"You were quite right in shouting for Percival. He came out better than I thought. It's the other fellow who's so contemptible—getting his friend to call a meeting to white-wash him, and do all the dirty work. He'd be hounded out of any decent school."
These remarks were made loud enough for Stanley to hear, and for his special benefit. Though he knew well enough that he was "the other fellow" referred to, he could not speak. Nevertheless, he felt angry with himself for allowing Paul to persuade him to stay away from the meeting. Then, from feeling angry with himself, he felt angry with Paul, and the reception he gave him on his return was not a very cordial one.
"What have you been saying about me?" he demanded.
"Nothing that could harm you," smiled Paul. "It's all right between you and Newall. The quarrel's settled."
"But how is it settled? You haven't made me swallow dirt, have you?"
"I think not," answered Paul, wounded at the suggestion. "You ought to know me better than that."
For the first time there was a rift between the two friends. Paul did not tell Stanley what had happened at the meeting, but left him to find out. He heard all about it from Waterman—the easy-going, indolent Waterman.
"Going to fight a Beetle, is he?" said Stanley, when Waterman had ended. "It was good of him to take my part, but I wish he hadn't let me down so."
But when he met Paul in the dormitory that night, he only remembered that he was his friend, and that he was going to fight for the honour of the Form on the morrow.
"I'm sorry I spoke so hastily, Paul," he whispered. "Forgive me."
The next afternoon was a holiday for both Garside and St. Bede's. It was for this reason that the challenge had been fixed for that date. Cranstead Common was midway between the two schools, and the sand-pit was in an open part of the common, where the ground for some little distance round was destitute of grass or furze.
The Fifth Form had kept to themselves the fact that an encounter was to take place in the sand-pit, for fear it might reach the ear of some of the masters, and be stopped. They were not aware that Plunger knew all that had transpired at the meeting. Plunger was as loyal to his Form as the Fifth were to theirs, and the secret of what was to happen at the sand-pit was communicated in confidence to them on the distinct understanding that it wasn't to travel farther.
When, therefore, the afternoon came, and the boys of the Fifth set out in little parties of three or four to make for the sand-pit, they could not understand how it was that little parties of the Third were found to be travelling in the same direction. Still more curious were the various articles borne by these little bands of stragglers. One group bore a football; another shouldered a butterfly net, without regard to the fact that butterflies had not been seen for many weeks; a third group fishing-rods, and so on.
Freddy Plunger was amongst the anglers. He was talking loudly about his achievements at different times with rod and line, when Devey, Arbery, and Leveson came up with him.
"What are you fishing for, Plunger?" asked Devey, catching him gently by the ear. "Whales?"
"No—eels!" retorted Plunger snappily, having good cause to remember Devey the night before. "Slippery things, eels, aren't they?"
"Not half so slippery as you are, Mr. Plunger. But don't be cheeky."
"Never am, Mr. Devey. That's my fault—always too polite. Born like it, so can't help myself. Where are you going to, Mr. Devey?"
"That's my business, Mr. Plunger. Little boys shouldn't ask questions—they should be seen and not heard. If you have a good catch, ask us to supper, won't you? Ta-ta, Plunger!"
And Devey and his companions went on, leaving Plunger and his companions chuckling in their sleeves.
"Mr. Devey thinks himself mighty clever now, but he looked an awful ass in the shed last night when all the fellows turned on him for laughing like a paroquet," grinned Plunger. "I nearly killed myself trying to keep my feelings under. It was enough to make a cat scream. Oh, dear; oh, my!"
And Plunger went off at the recollection, till he received a dig in the ribs from Baldry which made him gasp.
"Shut up, Freddy; here comes the noble champion of the Fifth! He doesn't look over-pleased with himself."
As he spoke, Paul and Stanley passed them. Baldry was not far wrong. Paul was far from pleased with himself. He was going to fight in cold blood a boy with whom he personally had no quarrel, and he had not the slightest notion who his opponent was. He might be a noble-hearted fellow, as much averse to quarrelling and fighting as he was, but compelled to fight—as he had been—for "the honour of the Form." He—Paul—had faced danger, and had not shrunk from it; but somehow, he shrunk from the encounter before him.
"Look! There's quite a crowd at the sand-pit already," exclaimed Stanley, who was a great deal more excited at the coming encounter than Paul was.
By this time they had come within sight of the sand-pit. Paul, looking up, saw that on one side had gathered most of the boys of the Fifth, while on the other side were the boys from St. Bede's.