CHAPTER XLIV
IN THE GARDEN
"It's tiring work getting up stairs, especially these stairs--ugh!" saidWaterman, as he entered. "If you don't mind, I'll take a seat."
And without waiting for Paul to answer, Waterman dropped down, with hishands still in his pockets, beside him on the bed.
"It was very good of you to give me a helping hand just now, Waterman."
"Oh, humbug! I've got a wretched sort of memory. Fact is, it's too greata fag trying to recollect half the things crammed into you at school,but I seem to have a better memory than most fellows for some things.And there's one thing I can't forget--I can't forget you coming acrossthe ground with that little chap, so like a drowned rat, in your arms. Ishall have to be blind, deaf, and silly before I forget it."
Waterman spoke in his usual drawling tone, but its underlying note ofearnestness was quite unusual. Strange that Paul, too, had just beenthinking of Hibbert, but in a scene far different from that to whichWaterman had referred. God had been very good to him after all. He hadbeen thinking how utterly lonely he was, and yet a friend--true, asomewhat indolent one--had come to him in his hour of adversity.
"And look here, Percival," went on Waterman, "there's something else Iremember. I don't know why, you know, but I do."
"What's that? Seems to me your memory's improving," said Paul.
"Oh, my memory's fairly good when it's not grubbing about amongst Latinroots, or making a fellow bald-headed worrying over problems invented bya fiend calling himself Euclid ever so many years ago. Why theundertakers couldn't have buried them along with old Euclid, or stowedthem away with his mummy, is one of those things I could neverunderstand. Then if people wanted to dig them up again, they'd have beenin their right place--in the mummy department of the British Museum.Where was I? Oh, on memory. Yes, there's one thing I remember, in spiteof the Latin roots and weary old Euclid. I recollect what you told me onthat day when you surprised every one by turning tail at the sand-pits.I've kept it to myself all this time. Is it necessary to keep it asecret any longer?"
"Yes, Waterman," answered Paul firmly.
"Why? Let me set you right with the Form? It'll be an awful fag, I know.Still, the vac's coming on, and one can have a good long rest afterone's pulled through."
"No, Waterman," said Paul, shaking his head; "I'm not going to curryfavour that way. You've been a friend to me--a friend where I leastexpected to find one. Bear with me a little longer."
"But you don't understand the dust that Newall, Parfitt & Co. arekicking up? Can't you see that they've got Moncrief major completelyunder their thumb? They'll make Garside too hot to hold you."
"We'll see. I'm not beaten yet."
"Better let me speak," persisted Waterman.
Paul shook his head.
"I give you up. You are worse than old Euclid!" exclaimed Waterman,plunging his hands deeper into his pockets.
With a yawn he strolled towards the door, edged his shoulder round ituntil he had opened it wide enough for his body to pass through, closedit by a like man[oe]uvre, and with the same measured step went on hisway.
"After all, I've got one friend at Garside," thought Paul, with a smile,"though he does like to take his time over things."
He looked in the glass. His cheek was swollen and bruised. Hisappearance was very much what Stanley's had been when he had returnedfrom the sand-pits after his encounter with Wyndham.
"I hope Stanley is satisfied," he said, smiling grimly at himself in theglass.
Then he remembered that he hadn't carried out the purpose for which hehad gone to the common room. He had gone there for the purpose ofspeaking to him about Mr. Moncrief's letter. It was useless to think ofdoing so now. He would put the letter in his desk till a more convenientseason. His hand went to his pocket. The letter had gone!
The old feeling came over him that had come over him on the day when hehad lost that other letter on his way to Redmead. It had disappearedfrom his pocket just as mysteriously. He looked around. There was notrace of it in the room. Then he remembered that he had pulled out hishandkerchief in the common room to staunch the blood from his cheek. Hemust have pulled out the letter with it.
It would not have mattered much had it been an ordinary letter. But itwas not an ordinary one. Far from it. It contained references to Zukerand Mr. Weevil which might cause no end of mischief were it to get intothe wrong hands.
He did not like the idea of returning to the common room; it was likeswallowing a nauseous draught of medicine. Probably the boys were stillthere, laughing over his discomfiture. Yet, nauseous though the draughtwas, it had to be swallowed, and it was best to swallow it quickly.
So he again descended to the common room. He faintly hoped that it mightbe deserted, but that hope vanished as he reached the room. This time heheard the voice of Newall. He paused for a moment; then went boldlyforward.
Stanley had gone--he saw that at a glance; so had most of the others;but Newall, Parfitt, and two or three more had remained, and wereevidently discussing recent events.
They could not have been more startled had a ghost entered, instead ofa being of flesh and blood. Paul searched round the room in the hope offinding some trace of the missing letter, but found none.
"Dotty!" came the voice of one of the boys, who had by this timerecovered from their surprise at the unexpected return of Paul.
"Looking for the courage that oozed out at his heels," sneered Parfitt.
"I've lost a letter," said Paul, on whom these facetious remarks werequite lost. "You don't happen to have seen it?"
No one answered him. They stared blankly at him. They did not mindspeaking at him. Speaking to him was quite a different thing.
It was perfectly useless to expect an answer from them; so Paul wentout, feeling far from comfortable. He could only hope that no bad usewould be made of the letter, supposing it had fallen into their hands.
_The Gargoyle Record_ came out next day. Among other items ofinformation were the following:
"Old flag back to tower. Brought back by 'two P's' of the Fifth. Greatenthusiasm--little waddlers of the Third cheering like lunatics; bigcacklers of the Fifth hissing like geese. Mystery in three volumes. Vol.I.--How the flag disappeared from Garside. Vol. II.--Where it went to.Vol. III.--How 'two P's' got it back again. Snorters of the Fifthgetting excited. A commission of inquiry into the conduct of 'two P's.'
"Rumours of a scrum in common room. 'Two P's' again distinguisheshimself. Still living up to his old motto:
"He who fights and runs away Will live to fight another day."
"What has become of that promising junior whose name rhymes with hunger?Nothing has been seen or heard of him for the last day or two. What hascome over him? His native modesty seems to have left him. He hasretreated to a back seat. Is he projecting further adventures in desertislands, or giving lessons in punting? Anxious inquiries are being madeat the offices of the _Record_. Colonial papers in the neighbourhood ofdesert islands, please copy."
Paul, on reading these paragraphs, knew well enough who was meant by"two P's." They were the initials of his own name--Paul Percival.
But his mind was taken from these happenings by a message from thesick-room. Hibbert had been up for a few hours each day, and had pleadedhard with the doctor to be allowed to go out; so the doctor at last gavethe nurse permission. On two days the invalid went out with the nurse.
On the third day he asked Paul, as a special favour, to take him out.Paul willingly consented, only too pleased to feel that he could be ofsome help to him again. There was one favourite spot to which thesolitary boy used to go when he was well. It was in the garden attachedto the schoolhouse, apart altogether from the playing-fields. It wasmarked "Private," and the boys, as a rule, were not allowed there. Itwas chiefly used by the masters.
It was because it was so tranquil, so different from the playing-fields,and because the sun seemed to linger around this old garden longer thananywhere else, that the dreamy boy loved
it, and used to steal therewhen he was well.
"I'm so glad to feel you on my arm again, Hibbert!" said Paul, as he ledhim to a basket-seat, with cushions, beneath a wide-spreading elm.
"I feel better now than I've felt for a long time, Paul. How I must havewearied people lying up there!"
He glanced in the direction of the school.
"Don't say that, Hibbert. It sounds as though there was no one in theworld who cared for you."
"I know it sounds ungrateful; but even when we care for people, we mustget weary of them when they're ill a long time. I don't mean you, butthe nurse, and doctor, and--other people."
Paul knew that Hibbert was thinking chiefly of his father, who, absorbedin his own schemes, had only been to see him once since his illness--onthat afternoon when Mr. Weevil had introduced him to Zuker.
To turn the boy's mind from these sad thoughts, Paul told him some ofthe latest exploits of Plunger, winding up with his recent discovery ofhim under the bed in his dormitory. Hibbert was amused and interested.
"Plunger's a funny lot. He makes me smile to think of him. I hope he'snever worried himself much about that raft accident?"
"Plunger's not the sort of fellow to worry himself much about anythingfor long; but he's often asked me about you."
"I was thinking a good deal about what happened on the raft last night.I could not sleep for thinking of it; and then, when I went to sleep, Idreamed--dreamed that my mother was standing by me all in white. She wassmiling down at me, and held out her arms to me. I tried to get to her,and in trying to get to her I awoke. Do you know, I was so disappointed!The dream was better than the awaking. I so wished my mother had lived,for then you would have known her, Paul. I'm sure you would have likedher, and that she would have liked you. But perhaps it is best as itis."
"I'm sure it's for the best, though it seems hard to say so. Everythingis for the best, Hibbert. We don't see it, because we're only blindpeople leading the blind. But God sees, and God knows. That's what mymother has told me so often that I've never forgotten it. It has helpedme a lot--more than I can tell you. You've talked about your mother, letme tell you a little about my own."
And Paul talked to Hibbert about his own mother. The boy listenedeagerly, with one hand resting in Paul's, a smile upon his lips.Suddenly he drew a deep sigh of content; the fragile head fell back uponthe chair; the hand in Paul's grew suddenly cold.
Paul looked into the boy's face. The smile still hovered about his lips,but he saw something in the face he had never seen there before.
"Hibbert!" he cried. But there was no response.
Paul gently withdrew his hand and ran to the house. He met Sedgefield,and sent him for the nurse, while he hurried back to Hibbert.
The little fellow was still lying back in the chair. A wren had percheditself lovingly upon his shoulder, but Hibbert knew nothing of itspresence. He was fast asleep--in the long, last sleep that knows nowaking.