what happened to you, Percival?"

"Yes, it really happened to me."

"Then why didn't you explain?"

"Because I couldn't. My tongue's tied for the present. I'm only
explaining to you in confidence, and I want you to promise me that you
won't let it go any further."

"I hate mysteries, they're so worrying. Why should there be any
mystery?"

"Why? I can't explain, except--except that there's something more
important than the honour of the Fifth; than the honour of the school
even. That's the reason why I'm obliged to keep silent."

"Oh, I say, this is getting more and more worrying. But if you don't
want me to speak, of course, I'll keep quiet!"

Paul knew that he could trust Waterman. In spite of his slackness--in
spite of his indolence--he could be relied on to keep his word. In fact,
he had one or two good qualities in reserve. If he made no close
friendships, he had no enemies. "It was too great a trouble," he would
have told you. "Too great a fag." That was only half the truth; the
whole truth was that Waterman had, at bottom, a very good heart, though
it was not often seen. It was hidden under his indolence of manner.

He allowed a corner of it to be seen in a curious fashion on the way
back to the school. He stuck to Paul's side--both hands in his pocket,
of course--and made no attempt to "cut him," as the others had done.
They passed several of the Gargoyles as they reached the school grounds,
and directly Waterman's ears caught the suggestion of a jibe--and he had
rather sharp ears considering how lazy he was--he would start whistling
a popular tune, so that the jibe had a good deal of the sting taken from
it by the time it reached its mark.

"I wish you could make it right with the fellows," he remarked, as he
took leave of Paul.

"All in good time. I'm grateful that you haven't turned your back on me,
Waterman."

"Oh, don't butter me for that. I can't turn my back on any one--it's too
great a fag."

And Waterman strolled away with his hands in his pocket as though they
had been glued there, whistling "Hail, smiling morn."

Paul's talk with him had put him in a more cheerful mood.

"I've only to find Stan and explain things. I don't care a snap of my
fingers for the other fellows--they can go to Halifax," Paul told
himself, as he went in search of Stanley. But though he searched for him
in every direction, he could not find him.

"He don't like to show himself just yet, with so many beauty spo