Paul put the letter in an envelope and handed it to Waterman, who was still stretching and yawning, as though not quite awake.
"Do you mind giving this to Moncrief major. You're about the only fellow in the Form who wouldn't mind doing me a favour," he said.
"Moncrief major. Yes, yes; of course I will. It's an awfully lazy sort of morning, don't you think, Percival?" answered Waterman, stretching himself as he took the letter.
That was Waterman's opinion of mornings generally. Every morning was a "lazy sort of a morning."
"Yes, Watey," answered Paul, taking him by the arm and hurrying him towards the grounds where most of the scholars were. In a little while he espied Stanley, playing with Newall and Parfitt in the fives-court.
"How fellows can fag about at that stupid game I could never make out," remarked Waterman. "Am I to wait for an answer?"
"If you wouldn't mind."
"Mind? Not in the least. Waiting is so restful."
He strolled off leisurely with the letter. Paul watched him. He reached the fives-court, and, waiting his opportunity, handed the note to Stanley. He looked at it; then questioned Waterman. A laugh went up from Newall and Parfitt as he did so. Then Stanley, without opening the letter, tore it into fragments and threw them contemptuously into the air.
Waterman thrust his hands deep in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders, and returned to Paul.