There was one way left. He would write to him on the morrow.

"He has refused to listen to an explanation, but he can't refuse to read
my letter."

So Paul rose early in the morning and wrote a letter. He explained as
briefly as he could the reasons which had made him act as he had done at
the sand-pit.

"Wyndham was the fellow who acted so nobly when I went with your
father's letter to Redmead that night, Stan. I could not raise my hand
against him, and I never dreamed that you would. I hurried away because
it was impossible for me to explain to the fellows what happened on that
night--you alone know why. It would have got all over the place, and
would have soon reached Weevil's ears. Then the last chance of finding
out what is between him and Zuker would have gone. I can quite
understand your soreness against me, old fellow, and I'm sorry--very
sorry--that things turned out as they did at the sand-pit; but I hope
you now see that I'm not so much to blame as you thought me. It is our
first fall-out. Let it be our last. We were never meant to be enemies,
old fellow. It mustn't be--mustn't. If all are against me, and you are
with me, I shan't so much mind; so let's shake hands."

Paul put the letter in an envelope and handed it to Waterman, who was
still stretching and yawning, as though not quite awake.

"Do you mind giving this to Moncrief major. You're about the only fellow
in the Form who wouldn't mind doing me a favour," he said.

"Moncrief major. Yes, yes; of course I will. It's an awfully lazy sort
of morning, don't you think, Percival?" answered Waterman, stretching
himself as he took the letter.

That was Waterman's opinion of mornings generally. Every morning was a
"lazy sort of a morning."

"Yes, Watey," answered Paul, taking him by the arm and hurrying him
towards the grounds where most of the scholars were. In a little while
he espied Stanley, playing with Newall and Parfitt in the fives-court.

"How fellows can fag about at that stupid game I could never make out,"
remarked Waterman. "Am I to wait for an answer?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

"Mind? Not in the least. Waiting is so restful."

He strolled off leisurely with the letter. Paul watched him. He reached
the fives-court, and, waiting his opportunity, handed the note to
Stanley. He looked at it; then questioned Waterman. A laugh went up from
Newall and Parfitt as he did so. Then Stanley, without opening the
letter, tore it into fragments an