A keen struggle went on in Paul's mind as the question came to him. He had come there to settle a dispute—to ward off a meeting between Moncrief and Newall. And now, by an adroit move on the latter's part, he had been forced to accept or decline a challenge from outside. If he refused, he would have to eat his own words about the honour of the school; he would be regarded as a contemptible coward; and the quarrel between Newall and Moncrief would still remain unsettled. If he accepted, he would be held in honour by his Form, and, in fighting its battle, he might be able to settle the quarrel between Moncrief and Newall. So, coming to a swift decision, he turned to the latter:
"If I fight for the Form, will that settle the quarrel between you and Moncrief? Will you shake hands with him?"
"Yes," came the prompt answer.
"Very well; then I'll do my best to keep up the honour of the Form at the sand-pit to-morrow."
"Bravo—bravo; hip, hip, hurrah!" cried Devey, jumping on the box in which Plunger was concealed, and waving his cap wildly.
The cheers were taken up by most of the Form, but Parfitt, who took no part in the cheering, remarked, loud enough for all to hear:
"Seems to me we'd better save our shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"For once I agree with Parfitt," answered Paul calmly. "Keep your shouting till to-morrow afternoon."
"And even then it may all be on the other side," added Parfitt, with a sneer.
"Trust Parfitt for throwing cold water on anything," said Devey, jumping down from the box. "He must have been born in a refrigerator."