"Wrong? Nothing wrong! What do you mean?" retorted Devey, quite blushing at thus suddenly becoming the object of general attention.

"Thought you were trying to laugh. Never heard such a screech. Like a laughing hyena with the toothache. Don't do it again, there's a good chap. It'll get on our nerves."

"I haven't done anything, I tell you," exclaimed the indignant Devey. "I didn't laugh."

"It came from your corner. It must have been some of those youngsters of the Third eavesdropping outside. Chase 'em away a bit, Arbery."

Arbery, accompanied by Leveson, darted out with the object of giving the "youngsters of the Third" a bad time, but after searching around the shed, could find no sign of their presence.

"They must have scooted before we could get to them," reported Arbery on his return to the shed. "I can guess pretty well who it was--Plunger and his set."

Again that sound from Devey's corner which Hasluck had described as "a laughing hyena with the toothache"; and again all eyes went to Devey.

"Well, what the d.i.c.kens are you staring at?" Devey indignantly demanded, when he thought that he had borne this scrutiny with enough patience.

"Beetles are bad enough, Devey, without paroquets," remarked Hasluck reproachfully. "If you feel bad, you'd better go out. We'll excuse you."

"It's not me, I tell you. I didn't laugh. It came from outside, or the roof, or--or somewhere," protested Devey.

Arbery and Leveson darted out again, with the same result as before. But they saw shadows in the distance which they believed to be some of their tormentors, and it was decided that they should take up a position close to the door, and at once dart out if the sound were repeated.

Devey was, of course, perfectly truthful when he had denied making the curious sound which had so startled his companions. Nor had it come from the "youngsters of the Third" outside. It came, as the reader has guessed, from the box in which Mr. Freddy Plunger was reposing. At first, when the heavy weight of Devey had rested on the box, he thought that he would have been suffocated. But when, in the excitement caused by the unexpected entrance of Mellor with his challenge from St. Bede's, Devey had risen with the other fellows, and remained standing, Plunger breathed more freely, and began to feel quite light-hearted again.

He felt just as excited as any of those outside at what was happening and entered just as thoroughly into the scene, so that when Leveson and Arbery began to question Mellor about the peculiarities of "a Beetle,"

he felt that he must laugh or choke. The result was the curious noise which had been put down first to Devey, then to the boys outside. No one guessed for a moment that it came from the box before which Devey was standing. When the stir caused by this incident had subsided, attention was once more turned to Mellor.

"Well, Mellor, you haven't answered our questions yet," said Parfitt, taking up the fire. "What does it feel like to be a Beetle?"

Mellor flamed up the instant Parfitt spoke. It was Parfitt who had set upon him and badgered him, and written the note which had stirred up so much feeling at St. Bede's against Garside.

"You're a cad and a coward!" he cried hotly. "I don't want to answer you or speak to you either."

Parfitt, stung by the boy's words, moved towards him to clutch him by the ear. But Paul was quicker, and stood between them.

"Hands off, Parfitt! Mellor's here as a messenger from the Fifth of St.

Bede's to us, the Fifth of Garside. Don't drag us in the mud! Let's be fair! They've sent us a challenge. Let's be polite enough to answer it."

"Interfering again," sneered Parfitt. "Always poking your nose where it isn't wanted!"

"Don't get waxy, Parfitt," remonstrated Hasluck. "Percival's quite right. It isn't nice perhaps to know that one of our fellows has gone over to the Beetles, but there it is. It can't be helped. What's done can't very well be undone. Let's be fair, and let's be polite. There, I'm with Percival, and so, I think, are the rest of you." ("Hear, hear, hear," from the rest, with the exception of Parfitt, who felt rather small.) "Shall we send an answer?"

"Yes, yes."

"I knew well enough you'd say 'Yes.' Well, the next point is, what's the answer to be?"

"I think there can be only one answer," exclaimed Newall, speaking for the first time. "The Fifth Form Gargoyle is quite ready to meet the Fifth Form Beetle at the sand-pit, Cranstead Common, to-morrow afternoon, three sharp."

At once a cheer broke out in favour of Newall's suggestion.

"As Parfitt wrote the elegant little note which has brought this storm upon us, he'd better write the answer," said Hasluck.

This suggestion also met with general approval. Parfitt hesitated, but at length wrote the note as dictated by Newall. Hasluck read it out.

"Will it do?" he questioned when he had finished.

"Agreed, agreed!" was the answering shout. Paul alone remained silent.

His face was unusually grave. He had come there on a peaceful mission, and the peaceful mission had ended in a declaration of war.

"There you are, Mellor; take that and give it to your brother Beetles, with the compliments and best wishes of the Fifth," he said, as he folded up the note and handed it to Mellor. "Now cut!"

"Cut isn't the word," said Arbery, as he opened the door. "Crawl!"

Mellor darted out of the shed with the note, without waiting for any further references to the new t.i.tle conferred upon him.

"Won't you eat your words in the sand-pit to-morrow!" he cried as a parting shot.

"The cheeky beggar got the last word in anyhow," quoth Arbery as he closed the door.

Dead silence followed for a minute or two, then it was broken by Hasluck.

"You called us here, Percival," he said, turning to Paul, "to talk over the triangular squabble between you and Moncrief and Newall. You don't mind us putting that off for a bit? This is the thing we've got to settle, this cheeky challenge from the Beetles."

Paul, seeing there was no help for it, nodded a.s.sent.

"And you, Newall?"

Newall nodded in turn.

"Good! Well, then, having decided to take up the challenge from St.

Bede's, the next thing to settle is, who's to be our champion at the sand-pit to-morrow?"

No one seemed in a great hurry to answer that question, but at length Newall, a curious smile hovering about his lips, said:

"We're all of us anxious for the job, that's the reason we're so silent.

But I'd like to propose one as our champion who'd do us credit--Percival."

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the shed, the boys of the Fifth could not have been more startled than when they heard Paul's name. Was Newall in earnest, or was he poking fun? It was hard to tell, for the curious smile that had hovered about his lips was there no longer. It had quite vanished, and his face was the gravest amongst them.

"Percival!" he repeated with emphasis. "He's done me a lot of honour.

He's done me the honour of calling you fellows together to settle a quarrel between Moncrief and me. He's done me honour in the nice things he has said of me. Well, I'd like to do him a little in turn. There can't be a greater honour than representing the Fifth as champion of the Form. It's one that I'd jump at myself, but after what has taken place, after all that Percival has said about the honour of the Form, I can only take a back seat. He comes first. So I again say, let Percival be our champion."

Notwithstanding that Paul had rarely been seen in a school fight, it was well known amongst his companions that he was a fine athlete and perfectly able to take care of himself, so with ready shouts they hailed the suggestion.

"Percival, Percival, Percival!" resounded on all sides.