"What do you want with me, Hibbert?" Paul asked rather sharply; for he did not like the lad breaking in upon him so quietly.
"You looked so wretched and miserable I could not help coming in. You're not angry with me, are you?"
"Angry with you? No; why should I be?" answered Paul, forcing a smile to his face at the boy's eager question.
"Oh, I'm so used to people being angry with me, except you and—and Mr. Weevil."
"Mr. Weevil! Doesn't he ever get angry with you?"
"No; he's very good to me."
Paul was rather astonished at this piece of information, knowing that Weevil had a reputation for harshness.
"Glad to hear it. He makes it up on the other fellows." Paul's mind flitted back to the night when Stanley was sent to Dormitory X. "But why aren't you outside, enjoying yourself with your class-mates?"
"They never want me to play with them. I'm no good at their games," answered the boy sadly; "but I've been with some of them this afternoon. I was at the—sand-pit."
He volunteered the information with some hesitation. Paul flushed. What had happened would soon be known, then, to every boy in the school.