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.