"You're cut up, Percival. I wouldn't let that paragraph worry me. It's really not worth it. There's nothing in the world worth worrying about—there really isn't."
"You don't mean what you say, Waterman—though it's kind of you to say it. Honour's worth troubling about—one's own honour; the honour of one's form; the honour of one's school; and I know that, disguise it as you may, you're just as keen on it as any in the school. And all the fellows believe that I've dragged it through the mud."
"Oh, well, things will clear up some day, Percival; then you'll come into your own," said Waterman cheerfully.
"Some day I suppose they will; but it may be a long time first, and there's no game so hard to play as the waiting game."
"That's where you're wrong, Percival. There's no game in the world like it—the waiting game, I mean. There's no fag about it, and that's what I like. Just wait your time, you know—take it easy—no flurry—go as you please. It's the game of all games for my ha'pence. It really is, Percival. So don't worry, old fellow—and don't flurry."
Paul could not help smiling to himself at Waterman's easy view of things, but the smile quickly disappeared when he was once more alone. Waterman had talked about "things clearing up," and "coming into his own"; but would things ever clear up? Would he ever win back the honour of the Form, and the confidence of those who belonged to it? Saddest of all was the memory that Stanley, who had been his greatest friend, now appeared to be his greatest enemy.
Suddenly it occurred to him—he would write to Mr. Walter Moncrief, and tell him what had happened that night when he went to Dormitory X. The idea had occurred to him before, but he had put it off in the hope that he might have surer evidence to go upon. No further evidence had been forthcoming, but delay might be dangerous; so he determined to write.
So he went into the writing-room, and wrote to Mr. Moncrief, telling him exactly what had happened on the night he went to Dormitory X.
"I am pretty well certain," he went on, "that the man I saw with Mr. Weevil is one of the men who came after me on the night I came to your house at Redmead—the chief of the two. It was night-time, but I had a fairly good view of his face. What he has to do with Mr. Weevil, I can't make out. I should be sorry to think that Mr. Weevil has anything to do with a traitor to his country; but there must be something at the bottom of it all. What that something is, you may be able to find out better than I can. Dr. Colville, our Head, is away, so I cannot go to him. What ought to be done? Will you let me know what you think?"
Having written this letter, Paul felt more comfortable. So soon as he heard from Mr. Moncrief, his lips would be unsealed, and he might take steps to clear his own honour. He would then be able to explain to his Form—to all the school if need be—what had prevented him from confronting Wyndham at the sand-pit.