d threw them contemptuously into the
air.

Waterman thrust his hands deep in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders,
and returned to Paul.

"You saw what happened, Percival?" he said.

"Yes, I saw what happened," came the slow answer. "What was it he asked
for?"

"He only asked who it was from. I told him."

"And then he deliberately tore my letter up and tossed the pieces in the
air. Waterman, I'm sorry that you were so insulted."

"Don't think of me. I rather liked it--really. A snub does one good on a
lazy sort of morning like this--it really does."

He was about to pass on, but, checking himself, said in a more serious
tone:

"I wish I could have brought you a better answer, Percival."

That day was one of the longest days Paul ever remembered: it dragged so
slowly along. There was Stanley in the same room, sitting at times
within a few feet of him, and yet they did not look at each other. No
word passed between them.

"I will never hold out my hand to him again," said Paul in the
bitterness of his heart. He had done all that could be done to bring
Stanley to reason, but every effort failed. "He must go his own way, and
I must go mine. Some day, perhaps, he'll be sorry that he did not read
my letter."

Belonging to the Fourth Form was a boy named Dick Jessel. He was a
fair-haired, blue-eyed boy--quite a Saxon type--with a shrewd, sharp
wit. His father was the editor of a provincial paper, and Jessel ran a
journal of his own at the school, by the aid of a hectograph and Jowitt,
of the same Form, who was sub-editor, reporter, and "printer's devil"
rolled into one. They were called the "two J's."

A couple of days after the struggle at the sand-pit a number was issued
of the _Gargoyle Record_--so the journal was named. Among other items of
news appeared the following:

_Motto for the Fifth._

He who fights and runs away
Will live to fight another day.

"Lost, stolen, or strayed.--A few pages from the Black Book.
Whoever will bring the same to the P. D., at the office of this
paper, will be rewarded."

"Hints on Fashion.--A fresher of the Third is prepared to give
hints on the correct style in trousers, spats, and white
waistcoats. How they should be worn, and why. References exchanged
and given--through the matron--preferably by carte-de-visite."

"Lost, stolen, or strayed.--Missing Link from the Third. Last seen
in all his native beauty on a window