The boy stared at him, as Murrell had stared at Paul when he had visited St. Bede's. It was not till he had repeated his message that he seemed to comprehend.
"Quick, there isn't much time to lose!" exclaimed Waterman, as though it were a matter of life and death.
Then the boy hurried off, and a minute or two later Wyndham appeared. Waterman was unknown to him; so that he was just as much astonished at seeing him as the smaller boy had been.
"I'm a Gargoyle, you can see that. My name's Waterman, and I've come here about a fellow named Percival. Spare me the fag of explaining too much."
"Percival! What about him!" demanded Wyndham, at once interested.
"There's a strong movement on foot to get him expelled from Garside. It's chiefly over the flag. His best friend, or one who was, has turned against him; and things are looking as black for Percival as they can look. I'm afraid that he'll get the worst of it, unless something's done. I can do nothing; so I've come to you. There's some beastly mystery about the whole business. Percival won't explain because of somebody else, and that somebody else is you. I'm certain you won't see Percival kicked from Garside, if a few words from you will set things right."
"Kicked from Garside!" exclaimed Wyndham. "Tell me what happened?"
Waterman, feeling that the time for speaking frankly had come, told Wyndham all that had happened—from the day Wyndham had fought and conquered Stanley in the sand-pits.
They remained a long time in conversation, and when Waterman at length returned to Garside, Wyndham returned with him.
In the meantime an interview of a different nature was taking place at Garside. After the meeting in the Forum, Stanley, feeling very wretched, had retreated to his dormitory, where in a few minutes he was joined by his cousin Harry, who was looking just as miserable and uncomfortable.