"Yes, stood up to the Beetle—the fellow they call Wyndham; then the hooting stopped, and our fellows cheered madly, specially when Newall came forward and backed up Moncrief major."
"Newall! backed up Moncrief!" repeated Paul, bewildered. "Do you mean to say Moncrief fought with Wyndham?"
"Yes, wildly—madly."
Paul closed his eyes, shuddering. He could see the two confronting each other, and staggering about in the sand-pit. For some moments he could not speak, and when his hands came from his face, it was as white as the boy's before him.
"And who—who came off best, Hibbert?"
"I don't know. I—I could not stop. To see them fighting so made me—made me feel bad all over. I'm not like other boys. And—and all the time I was thinking of you; so I hastened here, and—and found you."
"They were still fighting as you left?"
"Yes, yes; but where are you going?"
Paul had seized his cap and turned to the door.
"To see what has happened."