"I wish you could make it right with the fellows," he remarked, as he took leave of Paul.
"All in good time. I'm grateful that you haven't turned your back on me, Waterman."
"Oh, don't butter me for that. I can't turn my back on any one—it's too great a fag."
And Waterman strolled away with his hands in his pocket as though they had been glued there, whistling "Hail, smiling morn."
Paul's talk with him had put him in a more cheerful mood.
"I've only to find Stan and explain things. I don't care a snap of my fingers for the other fellows—they can go to Halifax," Paul told himself, as he went in search of Stanley. But though he searched for him in every direction, he could not find him.
"He don't like to show himself just yet, with so many beauty spots on his face. Perhaps he's lying down," thought Paul, as he made his way to the dormitory. But Stanley was not in the dormitory—it was empty. "Strange. Where can he have got to?"
Descending the stairs, the first boy he ran against was Plunger.
"Seen anything of Moncrief major?" he asked.
Plunger simply stared at him, while his eyebrows went up, in the way they had, till they disappeared into the stubborn thatch above.