CHAPTER XXIX
AN UNEXPECTED VISITOR ARRIVES AT GARSIDE
Two things, outside the ordinary school routine, occupied attention onthe morrow. The first was the adventures which had so nearly costHibbert his life; the second the loss of the school flag. The report asto the condition of Hibbert was neither good nor bad. There was noimprovement, but neither had he gone back. His condition, in fact, wasjust what it had been the night before.
The loss of the flag caused the greatest excitement. The masters held ameeting about it, but nothing was done. The Sixth Form held a meetingabout it, but nothing was done--for the simple reason that nothing couldbe done. So far there was not the slightest clue as to what had becomeof it. It had disappeared just as mysteriously as the pages torn fromthe Black Book.
But in one thing there was a manifest change. A manifest improvementtook place in the school's attitude towards Paul. Whereas previouslynearly all the school was opposed to him, the greater proportion of theGarsiders now came over to his side with a swing; but his own Form, withthe exception of Waterman, still held aloof. He received a communicationfrom Stanley, however, through his cousin.
"Stanley's sorry that he did not lend you a helping hand when he met youwith Hibbert yesterday," said Harry. "He did not dream that anythingserious had happened."
Paul had felt it even more than he dared admit to himself that Stanleyhad not come forward on the previous day and given him a helping handwhen he was struggling along with Hibbert.
"How could he dream that anything serious had happened unless heinquired?" he asked, with some bitterness. "Did he really send thatmessage?"
"Really."
"It's very kind of him. When you next see him say how obliged I am. It'snice to find people so thoughtful, though it may be a little late in theday."
Harry felt uncomfortable. He could detect the accent of bitternessunderlying the words.
"Tell you what, Percival, I wish you and Stan were friends again, likeyou used to be. It's all through that beastly Beetle, Wyndham. I wishsome one had stepped on him and squashed him first."
"I don't. I can admire a plucky fellow when I see one, even though hehappens to be a Beetle."
Harry opened his eyes, and stared at Paul. Paul, annoyed at thesecond-hand message he had received from Stanley, and seeing theastonished expression on Harry's face, could not help adding: "Yes, Ican admire pluck wherever I see it. I'm not quite sure whether Wyndhamisn't worth half a dozen fellows here."
Harry stayed to hear no more. A Beetle worth half a dozen Gargoyles! Itseemed rank treason to listen to it. Paul felt a savage thrill ofdelight in praising Wyndham and seeing the consternation it had causedin Harry.
"He will tell Stanley every word I have said. Getting his cousin tobring his mean, petty message. Didn't dream that anything so serious hadhappened, indeed! Pah!"
Alas! alas! The breach between the two former friends, instead ofclosing, was widening.
All the boys who had taken part in the raft incident were severelylectured by Mr. Weevil, and were debarred from the usual half-holidaysduring the next fortnight, as well as receiving a heavy number of linesto keep them busily occupied during the same period. Then the masterwent on to say:
"Percival has done a brave act. He went to the assistance of Hibbert ina moment of extreme peril. He placed his life in jeopardy to save him.God grant that his act of bravery may not have been in vain!"
Mr. Weevil paused for an instant, with closed eyes, as though he werepraying; then, when he opened them again, it seemed as though theincident and all connected with it had passed from his mind, as, in afew cold words, he turned to the duties of the day.
Paul was more than gratified with this brief allusion to what he haddone, but he could not help noticing that no reference was made by Mr.Weevil to the part he had played in the rescue of Baldry and Plunger.His whole thought seemed centred on Hibbert.
"Strange, his liking for the little chap," thought Paul.
It was as though the master were trying to make up to the frail,deformed boy for the neglect of others. And whenever Paul now thought ofhim, it was not as he remembered him on that night when he had peepedthrough the dormitory window, and had seen him talking to Israel Zuker,but as he had seen him kneeling by Hibbert's bed and babbling to himtenderly in an unknown tongue.
The next number of the _Gargoyle Record_ made various indirectreferences to the "Crusoe incident" in the editor's usual vein.
"Missing Link has turned up in the neighbourhood of the river--latestmania--punting and desert islands.... Our poet is much obliged for theresponse given to his appeal in our last issue. He was stuck, it will beremembered, for a rhyme to 'hunger,' and the rhyme was to be a name ofsome kind--bird, beast, or fish. Curious to say, all our correspondentshave hit upon the same rhyme and name.
"Honour of the Fifth looking up a bit. Tarnished near sand-pit onCranstead Common, it has just had a washing in the river. Better for itsbath, though not yet up to its former lustre.
"The Fresher of the Third who was prepared to give hints on the correctstyle in trousers, spats, and white waistcoats has thought better of it.Gave it up in order to get some experience of desert islands and puntingin company with the aforesaid Missing Link. Experience disastrous andnot likely to be repeated. Has since taken to stamp-collecting andping-pong."
Then, among the usual notices of "Lost, stolen, or strayed," appearedthe following:
"Pages from the Black Book still missing. Greatest loss of all--the oldflag of the school. It waves over the school no longer. We have doffedthe cap and bells, and gone into sackcloth and ashes. Our heart isheavy. We can smile no longer. We can only whistle one tune--the DeadMarch. Our heart will continue heavy. Our noble frontispiece will neverbeam again. Our lips will continue to warble the same melancholy tuneuntil the old flag once more waves over Garside!"
Stripped of its note of bombast, this last paragraph echoed prettyaccurately the feeling of the Garsiders at the loss of their flag. Theirpride had been more sorely wounded even than it had been by the affairat the sand-pit. They had been flouted and dishonoured, and, though noproof was forthcoming, they felt sure that this insult had been placedupon them by their rivals--at St. Bede's.
Paul, meantime, had seen nothing of Hibbert since the day when hisconfession had been interrupted by Mr. Weevil. Frequently he recalledthat strange scene--the boy's eerie-looking, pain-drawn face, the sadeyes fixed on his, the earnest voice, with its suppressed note offear--as he began to unfold to him the secret that weighed upon hisheart and conscience. It seemed so real, yet so unreal. The face lookingup into his seemed real enough. It was the words he could not make sureof. Hibbert must have been wandering.
At any rate, he had not sent for him since the afternoon he had spokensuch strange words, and that was nearly a week since.
"Of course, he was wandering, poor little chap, and has forgotten allabout it by this time. I shall have a good laugh with him about it whenhe gets on his legs again," he told himself.
It was the sixth day after the accident on the river that Paul wasinformed by Bax that a visitor wished to see him in the visitors' room.A visitor! Who could it be? Paul had very few visitors to see him.
"Ah, it's Mr. Moncrief; come at last in answer to my letter!" hethought, as he made his way to the room.
He was doomed to disappointment, however, for he found, on entering theroom, that the visitor was a perfect stranger to him--a slim,wiry-figured gentleman, with a frock-coat buttoned closely over hischest, reddish-brown full beard, and glasses, through which a sharp pairof eyes at once went to Paul. Mr. Weevil was standing beside the visitoron the hearthrug.
"This is the lad I spoke of, Mr. Hibbert--Paul Percival."
The master briefly introduced them. Paul was at once interested. Thisgentleman with the tawny beard, and erect, alert, military bearing, wasHibbert's father.
"I have only recently returned to England, and have but just heard ofthe accident that has befallen my son," said Mr. Hib
bert. "You saved hislife. I was anxious not to go before I had thanked you."
He took Paul's hand in his, and pressed it hard. A boy less strong thanPaul would have winced under that grip of steel.
"I'm glad to know Hibbert's father."
"And I'm glad to know Paul Percival. It isn't often one meets with abrave lad like you."
Again he gripped Paul's hand, and seemed to be regarding him as keenlyas ever through his glasses to see if he stood his grip withoutflinching.
"I think you would find many who would do as I did--even here atGarside. It was my luck to be a good swimmer. And that luck--if I maycall it luck--I owe to my father."
"Your father taught you, you mean."
"No," said Paul, shaking his head sadly; "I wish he had. He died when Iwas very young--when I could scarcely more than walk; but he was in theNavy, and it was by his wish that I was taught swimming. The saddestpart is that he was drowned--drowned in saving another man's life."
"Really? That is sad. I hope that the man whom your father saved from awatery grave was as grateful to him as I am to you."
Paul was silent. He was thinking that if Mr. Hibbert's gratitude were nogreater than the gratitude of the spy whom his father had saved fromdrowning it would not count for much.
"I trust this will not be our last meeting. When my son gets well again,I hope to see more of you. Perhaps we may see a few of the sights ofLondon together, if your mother has no objection."
Paul thanked him and went out. He was glad that he had met Hibbert'sfather, though he was not a bit like the man he had pictured. He hadsomehow pictured him with something of the deformity that markedHibbert, with the same sad, pathetic eyes; but they were as unlike ascould be, except the voice. Hibbert's voice had somehow struck afamiliar note when he first heard it. So did the father's. But there theresemblance began and ended.
That same evening Paul went to the sick-room as usual, and inquiredafter Hibbert. This time Mrs. Trounce beckoned him in.
"He's always asking after you, and it's cruel to keep you out," shewhispered.
"Who wants to keep me out?"
"Mr. Weevil thinks it makes the lad feverish, but I asked the doctorexpressly to-day, and he says it will do him good rather than harm tosee any friend he asks for. Poor little dear, he hasn't many friends.His father didn't seem to care over much for him, and his visit was ashort one. He asked after you directly his father was gone. I've beenobliged to deny him all this time, but I can't deny him any longer. He'sdozing now. Step softly to the bed. Won't he be pleased when he wakes upand sees you! I've never had a boy on my hands who is half so good andpatient as he is--I fear he is too patient, poor dear."
It was quite certain that during this time of trouble, Hibbert had foundone more friend in Mrs. Trounce--the kind-hearted matron, who alwaystried to make the boys believe that she was a perfect virago with aheart of flint. Paul followed her on tiptoe to the bed and looked downon the sleeper. And as he looked, it seemed as though ice-cold fingerswere clutching him by the heart-strings, so strangely still were theface and form of the little sleeper.