As he was speaking, in fact, three of the four entered—Bember, Sedgefield, and Harry Moncrief. After they had spent some time on the raft, drifting aimlessly on the river, a boatman had towed them ashore. Fixing the raft in its place by the bridge, they had returned in all haste to the school, anxious to know what had happened to their companions. When they had learned all particulars, Sedgefield exclaimed:
"I don't care what those Fifth Form fellows say or think, but will you take my hand, Percival?"
Paul willingly gripped the hand extended to him. Bember and the others, with the exception of Harry, followed suit. Harry struggled with himself for a moment. He could not help remembering, in spite of his effort to forget it, that Paul was responsible for the thrashing that his cousin had received at the hands of a Beetle, and that he had seen him shaking hands with the same obnoxious creature. Yet what could have been nobler, Harry told himself, than the way in which, at the risk of his own life, Paul had gone to the rescue of Hibbert, and had returned a few minutes later to save Plunger and Baldry? He had witnessed it all from the raft, with his heart in his mouth. Yes, it was a noble deed. He had never seen a nobler. What was the defeat of Stanley—the wound of his pride—compared with it? Instinctively his hand went out to Paul as the other hands had done, when Viner entered the room.
"Have you heard the news?" he questioned, greatly excited.
"The news! What news?" demanded Sedgefield.
"The school flag. It's gone!"
"Gone!" they echoed, as with one voice.
Paul's mind went back with a rush to when he had entered the grounds with Hibbert in his arms. His eyes had not deceived him, then. The flag had really gone.
"Nonsense!" cried Sedgefield.
"Not much nonsense about it. If you don't believe me, you'd better go and look for yourself."