ss of boys who never seem to have anything to do, and plenty of
time to do it in.

"I wonder if he will shun me like the rest?" thought Paul. And then he
added with a smile: "At any rate he won't run away from me. It'll be too
much trouble."

As Paul anticipated, Waterman made no attempt to avoid him, but he would
have passed on without speaking, had not Paul stood directly in his
pathway.

"You were at the sand-pit this afternoon, Waterman?"

"Of course I was."

"And saw what happened?"

"Yes," was the curt answer, and Waterman endeavoured to pass on, but
Paul still stood in his pathway.

"You're not in a hurry, Watey."

"Hurry!" repeated the boy indignantly, with raised eyebrows, as though
that were one of the most offensive words Paul could use. "I never fag
over things, you know."

"Then you can spare me a minute or two. I'll turn back with you, if you
like."

Waterman neither assented nor dissented. So soon as Paul turned, he kept
on his way, with both hands in his pockets, as though unconscious of
Paul's presence.

"I want to know what happened at the pit after I left."

"Haven't you seen any of the other fellows? Why didn't you get them to
explain? I'm never good at explanations."

"I meant speaking to them, but they booed and hissed at me, like geese."

"Really?" And Waterman's eyebrows went up, as though he marvelled at so
much unnecessary exertion being expended on Paul. "I don't see the good
of that, but it's the way some fellows have of showing their feeling.
And come to think of it, I don't wonder. You cut up badly at the
sand-pit. I really don't know whether I'm doing quite right in speaking
to you--I really don't."

"You can settle that point after. Tell me first what happened at the
sand-pit, Watey," urged Paul.

"Moncrief took your place when you turned tail----"

"Yes, yes; I've heard that. After--after----"

"Well, unfortunately for Garside, Moncrief got the worst of it. He made
a very plucky stand, but he wasn't a match for the Beetle--what's the
fellow's name?--Wyndham. Moncrief stood well up to him, but it was no
good. He was knocked down once or twice, until Newall, who was backing
him, you know, threw up the sponge. Moncrief would never have given in
himself. I never saw a fellow look so wretched and miserable as he did
when, after coming to, they told him it was all over and he had lost.
But the fellows cheered him for his pluck, and some of the Beetles
joined in after t