"I'm not forgetting, Stan. It's you. Supposing I confessed what actually happened--that I was with you, and did not go near the master's desk last night; and supposing you said exactly the same thing--what then?

You forget what happened. Mr. Weevil looked in the dormitory, you remember; looked round the dormitory, you remember, and spoke to you. He saw nothing of me, because I was hiding. If I said that I was in Dormitory X last night, therefore, the master himself would accuse me of falsehood; and he would have the same answer for you if you backed me up."

Stanley did not at once answer. He could now see clearly enough the false position in which his friend had been placed in coming to share with him in his punishment. But he could only see the chivalry of it. He did not see that the step, chivalrous though it might be, had been a wrong step, and was bringing in its train the consequences of wrong-doing.

"Mr. Weevil questioned the school this morning before you returned,"

Paul went on. "'Had any one left his dormitory during the night?' he asked. Perhaps I ought to have spoken then; but I let the chance go."

"And Parfitt did not speak?"

"No; but I can see plainly enough now that it wasn't out of any kindness to me. He kept quiet so that he should hold the secret over me like a whip. He gave me the first taste of the thong just now, and--and--it cuts into a fellow."

Stanley could see the pain in Paul's face, as though he could feel the thong descending upon his shoulders at that moment. He, too, could feel something of the same pain. His head fell to his breast. He blamed himself for having been the cause of all this misery. But suddenly he looked up again, and his face brightened.

"The game's ours!" he cried.

"What do you mean?"

"You twitted me just now about forgetting things, but we've both forgotten something--Weevil and Zuker. You've forgotten what you saw in the master's room when you came to me last night."

"Supposing I had; how does that help?"

"Cannot you see?" went on Stanley, quite excited. "Let's put our heads together for a moment and work it out. Supposing you go to Weevil and tell him straight out that you weren't in your dorm last night, but with me. He contradicts you point-blank. 'You could not have been with Moncrief, because I looked in at his dormitory at midnight and saw that no one else was there.' Then you bring forward your next piece, and cry, 'I think I can prove to you, sir, that I was in Dormitory X last night.'

'Your proof, quick!' 'My proof is that as I was pa.s.sing by your room I happened to glance in at the window, and saw you with another gentleman--ahem!--looking over some papers.' Check! You have the master on toast, Paul. The case for the defence will be clear. Do you follow me?"

Paul did not answer. He saw that this was one solution of the problem; but he was not certain that it was the best.

"Well, what are you thinking about, old chap? Your face is as long as a fiddle."

"Your suggestion is a good one, Stan," answered Paul slowly, as though he were still following his thoughts; "but I don't think that I'll act upon it--just yet."

"Why not?"

"Let's work my reasons out as you worked yours--shall we? Reason number one: We have cause to be suspicious of Mr. Weevil, the master in charge of this school during the absence of the Head. Heaven grant that our suspicions may be wrong, but we have reason to suppose that he is in league with a traitor. Am I clear, Stan?"

"Quite."

"Reason number two: If I told Mr. Weevil what I saw through his window on my way to you I might clear myself, but it would at once put him on his guard, and we should never have another chance of proving whether our suspicions are true or false. Is that clear, too?"

"Yes, yes."

"Well, thirdly and lastly: Don't you think it will be better to keep what we know up our sleeves for the present, in view of what may come after?"

"You're right, Paul, as you always are!" exclaimed Stanley enthusiastically.

"No, old fellow, there is only One who is always right," answered Paul earnestly. "We're always patting ourselves on the back and fancying ourselves mighty clever; but we're not. We're a.s.ses--always slipping and tumbling about, and when not doing that, running down the wrong road and b.u.t.ting our stupid heads against posts or walls. a.s.ses, all of us--some big, some little."

"Where do you come in, Paul?" laughed Stanley.

"Amongst the mediums," Paul laughed back; but as he turned towards the school his face grew grave again. He had tried to reason things out, but the way before him did not seem so clear as he could have wished. There were pitfalls before him, into one of which he might stumble at any moment. And as he thought there came to him the lines of a hymn he had often heard his mother sing:

"Lord, bring me to resign My doubting heart to Thee; And, whether cheerful or distressed, Thine, Thine alone to be.

My only aim be this-- Thy purpose to fulfil, In Thee rejoice with all my strength, And do Thy Holy will."

Entering the school, he sought out Hasluck, head of the Fifth. He was a quiet, studious boy, with gla.s.ses. He did not take a very prominent part in the sports, but none the less he was keen on the honour of his form, inside or outside the school.

"I want you to call a meeting of the Form, Hasluck--to-night."

"What about?"

"A little matter between Newall, Moncrief, and me. It touches the honour of the Form."

And Hasluck at once consented.

CHAPTER XII

THE FORUM

"Meeting of the Fifth in the Forum."

The whisper had travelled from form to form, and, as invariably happened, conjecture was busy as to what the meeting of the Fifth could be for.

"It's a breach-of-promise case they've got on!" said Freddy Plunger confidentially to half a dozen members of the Third who had been discussing the event.

"Breach of promise?" repeated Baldry. "None of your gammon, Freddy!"

"Fact! Haven't you heard? One of the freshers has been making desperate love to the matron--giving her his portrait, with his love, and that sort of thing. You wouldn't wonder at it from an old stager like you, Baldry, or Sedgeley; but from a fresher--well, it's awful, isn't it?

What's the school coming to--that's what I should like to know?"

Harry Moncrief blushed to the roots of his hair as the boys standing round Plunger turned to him and t.i.ttered.

"What are the damages?"

"A broken topper, a pair of plaids, a white waistcoat, and spats over patents."

More t.i.tters, and more glances in the direction of Harry. He knew well enough that this reference on Plunger's part was meant for him to the costume with which he had adorned himself on his coming to Garside.

"Plunger's been crowing it over me ever since I came here. I shall have to take it out of him," he thought.

The outburst of laughter that followed did not mend matters. So he hastened away, in no pleasant mood, without any regard to whither he was going. He came to a stop when he reached the cricketing-shed, in the playing-fields adjoining the school. It was this shed which was known as "The Forum." Here it was that the meeting of the Fifth was to be held.

Harry stopped and regarded it with some interest.

"Stan will be at the meeting, I suppose, and Paul Percival. Wouldn't I like to know what it's all about!"

He had an uncomfortable feeling that things weren't going quite smoothly with his cousin and Paul Percival. Bit by bit the glamour with which he had viewed the school was wearing off. He no longer regarded it through rose-coloured gla.s.ses. Plunger had lorded it over him and made fun of him; his cousin and Paul, whom he had expected to find on the same footing as himself, might have been in a different world, so great was the difference between the upper and lower forms.