"That's what puzzles me. The only explanation I can see is that Weevil came across him in his travels, and is rubbing up his German by talking with him. Or perhaps they're interested in the same branch of science."
"It's rather a late hour to patter German or science, isn't it?"
The same thing occurred to Paul, but he could think of no other explanation of the mystery.
"I wonder if the light's out now?"
Paul climbed to the dormer, and, gently opening the window, looked along to that of the next room. It was now in darkness.
"Well, now you had better get back to your own bed," said Stanley, when Paul had communicated to him the news.
"I've come here for a night's lodging, and you're not going to be so hard-hearted as to turn me out."
Stanley did not speak—in fact, he would have found it difficult at that moment. The fidelity of his friend appealed to him as few things could have done. It made him feel awfully soft, like a big girl or one of the kids in the junior forms. A senior schoolboy has always a great aversion to the display of emotion. He has a notion that it's unmanly and weak; so that when Stanley did speak he assumed a gruffness he was far from feeling.
"Well, you're a muff—that's all I've got to say. I kick in my sleep sometimes—fearfully; so if you should find yourself on the floor in the night time, don't say that I haven't warned you."
Paul smiled as he coiled himself up by the side of his chum; and soon they were fast asleep. Paul woke up at daybreak, and having expressed a hope that he would see Stanley back in his place that day, returned without mishap to his dormitory. The light was only just stealing into the room as he entered. His three companions seemed to be sleeping as placidly as they had done when he left them.