THE HILL

A Romance of Friendship

by

HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL

LondonJohn Murray, Albemarle Street First Edition . . . . . . . . . . . April, 1905 Thirty-second Impression (3/6) . . . April, 1928 Reprinted (2/-) . . . . . . . . . . November, 1928 Reprinted . . . . . . . . . . . . . September, 1930 Reprinted . . . . . . . . . . . . . June, 1935 Reprinted . . . . . . . . . . . . . October, 1937

To

GEORGE W. E. RUSSELL

I dedicate this Romance of Friendship to you with the sincerestpleasure and affection. You were the first to suggest that I shouldwrite a book about contemporary life at Harrow; you gave me theprincipal idea; you have furnished me with notes innumerable; you haverevised every page of the manuscript; and you are a peculiarly keenHarrovian. 

In making this public declaration of my obligations to you, I take theopportunity of stating that the characters in "The Hill, " whethermasters or boys, are not portraits, although they may be called, truthfully enough, composite photographs; and that the episodes ofDrinking and Gambling are founded on isolated incidents, not onhabitual practices. Moreover, in attempting to reproduce the curiousadmixture of "strenuousness and sentiment"--your own phrase--whichanimates so vitally Harrow life, I have been obliged to select the lesscommon types of Harrovian. Only the elect are capable of suchfriendship as John Verney entertained for Henry Desmond; and few boys, happily, are possessed of such powers as Scaife is shown to exercise. But that there are such boys as Verney and Scaife, nobody knows betterthan yourself. 

Believe me, Yours most gratefully, HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL

BEECHWOOD, February 22, 1905. 

CONTENTS

 I. THE MANOR II. CAESAR III. KRAIPALE IV. TORPIDS V. FELLOWSHIP VI. A REVELATION VII. REFORM VIII. VERNEY BOSCOBEL IX. BLACK SPOTS X. DECAPITATION XI. SELF-QUESTIONING XII. "LORD'S" XIII. "IF I PERISH, I PERISH" XIV. GOOD NIGHT

THE HILL

CHAPTER I

THE MANOR

 "Five hundred faces, and all so strange! Life in front of me--home behind, I felt like a waif before the wind Tossed on an ocean of shock and change. 

 "_Chorus_. Yet the time may come, as the years go by, When your heart will thrill At the thought of the Hill, And the day that you came so strange and shy. "

The train slid slowly out of Harrow station. 

Five minutes before, a man and a boy had been walking up and down thelong platform. The boy wondered why the man, his uncle, was sostrangely silent. Then, suddenly, the elder John Verney had placed hishands upon the shoulders of the younger John, looking down into eyes asgrey and as steady as his own. 

"You'll find plenty of fellows abusing Harrow, " he said quietly; "buttake it from me, that the fault lies not in Harrow, but in them. Suchboys, as a rule, do not come out of the top drawer. Don't look sosolemn. You're about to take a header into a big river. In it arerocks and rapids; but you know how to swim, and after the first plungeyou'll enjoy it, as I did, amazingly. "

"Ra--ther, " said John. 

In the New Forest, where John had spent most of his life at his uncle'splace of Verney Boscobel, this uncle, his dead father's only brother, was worshipped as a hero. Indeed he filled so large a space in theboy's imagination, that others were cramped for room. John Verney inIndia, in Burmah, in Africa (he took continents in his stride), movedcolossal. And when uncle and nephew met, behold, the great travellerstood not much taller than John himself! That first moment, theinstant shattering of a precious delusion, held anguish. But now, asthe train whirled away the silent, thin, little man, he began to expandagain. John saw him scaling heights, cutting a path throughimpenetrable forests, wading across dismal swamps, an ever-movingfigure, seeking the hitherto unknowable and irreclaimable, introducingorder where chaos reigned supreme, a world-famous pioneer. 

How good to think that John Verney was _his_ uncle, blood of his blood, his, his, his--for all time!

And, long ago, John, senior, had come to Harrow; had felt what John, junior, felt to the core--the dull, grinding wrench of separation, thesense, not yet to be analysed by a boy, of standing alone upon the edgeof a river, indeed, into which he must plunge headlong in a fewminutes. Well, Uncle John had taken his "header" with a stoutheart--who dared to doubt that? Surely he had not waited, shiveringand hesitating, at the jumping-off place. 

The train was now out of sight. John slipped the uncle's tip into hispurse, and walked out of the station and on to the road beyond, theroad which led to the top of the Hill. 

_The Hill. _

Presently, the boy reached some iron palings and a wicket-gate. Hisuncle had pointed out this gate and the steep path beyond which led tothe top of the Hill, to the churchyard, to the Peachey tomb on whichByron dreamed, [1] to the High Street--and to the Manor. It waspleasant to remember that he was going to board at the Manor, with itstraditions, its triumphs, its record. In his uncle's day the Manorranked first among the boarding-houses. Not a doubt disturbed John'sconviction that it ranked first still. 

The boy stared upward with a keen gaze. Had the mother seen her son atthat moment, she might have discerned a subtle likeness between uncleand nephew, not the likeness of the flesh, but of the spirit. 

September rains, followed by a day of warm sunshine, had lured from theearth a soft haze which obscured the big fields at the foot of theHill. John could make out fences, poplars, elms, Scotch firs, andspectral houses. But, above, everything was clear. Theschool-buildings, such as he could see, stood out boldly against acloudless sky, and above these soared the spire of Harrow Church, pointing an inexorable finger upwards. 

Afterwards this spot became dear to John Verney, because here, wheremists were chill and blinding, he had been impelled to leave the broadhigh-road and take a path which led into a shadowy future. Inobedience to an impulse stronger than himself he had taken the shortcut to what awaited him. 

For a few minutes he stood outside the palings, trying to choke down anabominable lump in his throat. This was not his first visit to Harrow. At the end of the previous term, he had ascended the Hill to pass theentrance examination. A master from his preparatory school accompaniedhim, an Etonian, who had stared rather superciliously--so Johnthought--at buildings less venerable than those which Henry VI. Raisednear Windsor. John, who had perceptions, was elusively conscious thathis companion, too much of a gentleman to give his thoughts words, might be contrasting a yeoman's work with a king's; and when theEtonian, gazing across the plains below to where Windsor lay, a softshadow upon the horizon, said abruptly, "I wish Eton had been builtupon a hill, " John replied effusively; "Oh, sir, it _is_ decent of youto say that. " The examination, however, distracted his attention fromall things save the papers. To his delight he found these easy, and, as soon as he left the examination-room, he was popped into a cab andtaken back to town. Coming down the flight of steps, he had seen a fewboys hurrying up or down the road. At these the Etonian cocked atwinkling eye. 

"Queer kit you Harrow boys wear, " he said. 

John, inordinately grateful at this recognition of himself as anHarrovian, forgave the gibe. It had struck him, also, that the shallowstraw hat, the swallow-tail coat, did look queer, but he regarded themreverently as the uniform of a crack corps. 

To-day, standing by the iron palings, John reviewed the events of thelast hour. The view was blurred by unshed tears. His uncle and he haddriven together to the Manor. Here, the explorer had exercised hispeculiar personal magnetism upon the house-master, a tall, burly man oftruculent aspect and speech. John realized proudly that his uncle wasthe bigger of the two, and that the giant acknowledged, perhapsgrudgingly, the dwarf's superiority, The talk, short enough, hadwandered into Darkest Africa. His uncle, as usual, said little, replying almost in monosyllables to the questions of his host; but Johnjunior told himself exultantly that it was not necessary for Uncle Johnto talk; the wide world knew what he had done. 

Then his house-master, Rutford, had told John where to buy his firststraw hat. 

"You can get one without an order at the beginning of each term, " saidhe, in a thick, rasping voice. "But you must ask me for an order ifyou want a second. "

Then he had shown John his room, to be shared with two other boys, andhad told him the hour of lock-up. And then, after tea, came the walkdown the hill, the tip, the firm grasp of the sinewy hand, and afinal--"God bless you. "

Coming to the end of these reflections, confronted by the inexorablefuture, and the necessity, no less inexorable, of stepping into it, John passed through the gate. His heart fluttered furiously, and thelump in the throat swelled inconveniently. John, however, had providedhimself with a "cure-all. " Plunging his hand into his pocket, hepulled out a cartridge, an unused twenty-bore gun cartridge. Lookingat this, John smiled. When he smiled he became good-looking. Theface, too long, plain, but full of sense and humour, rounded itselfinto the gracious curves of youth; the serious grey eyes sparkled; thelips, too firmly compressed, parted, revealing admirable teeth, smalland squarely set; into the cheeks, brown rather than pink, flowed awarm stream of colour. 

The cartridge stood for so much. Only a week before, Uncle John, onhis arrival from Manchuria, had handed his nephew a small leather caseand a key. The case held a double-barrelled, hammerless, ejector, twenty-bore gun, with a great name upon its polished blue barrels. 

The sight of the cartridge justified John's expectations. He put itback into his pocket, and strode forward and upward. 

Close to the School Chapel, John remarked a curly-headed younggentleman of wonderfully prepossessing appearance, from whom emanatedan air, an atmosphere, of genial enjoyment which diffused itself. Thebricks of the school-buildings seemed redder and warmer, as if theywere basking in this sunny smile. The youth was smiling now, smiling--at John. For several hours John had been miserably aware thatsurprises awaited him, but not smiles. He knew no Harrovians; at hisschool, a small one, his fellows were labelled Winchester, Eton, Wellington; none, curiously enough, Harrow. And already, he had passedhalf a dozen boys, the first-comers, some strangers, like himself, andin each face he had read indifference. Not one had taken the troubleto say, "Hullo! Who are you?" after the rough and ready fashion of theprivate school. 

And now this smiling, fascinating person was actually about to addresshim, and in the old familiar style----

"Hullo!"

"Hullo!"

"I met your governor the other day. "

"Did you?" John replied. His father had died when John was seven. Obviously, a blunder in identity had created this genial smile. Johnwished that his father had not died. 

"Yes, " pursued the smiling one, "I met him--partridge-shooting athome--and he asked me to be on the lookout for you. It's queer youshould turn up at once, isn't it?"

"Yes, " said John. 

"Your governor looked awfully fit. "

"Did he?" Then John added solemnly, "My governor died when I was akid. "

The other gasped; then he threw back his curly head and laughed. 

"I say, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to laugh. If you're notHardacre, who are you?"

"Verney. I've just come. "

"Verney? That's a great Harrow name. Are you any relation to theexplorer?"

"Nephew, " said John, blushing. 

"Ah--you ought to have been here last Speecher. [2] We cheered him, Ican tell you. And the song was sung: the one with his name in it. "

"Yes, " said John. Then he added nervously, "All the same, I don't knowa soul at Harrow. "

Desmond smiled. The smile assured John that his name would secure hima cordial welcome. Desmond added abruptly, "My name, Desmond, is aHarrow name. My father, my grandfather, my uncles, and three brotherswere here. It does make a difference. What's your house?"

"The Manor, " said John, proudly. 

"Dirty Dick's!" Then, seeing consternation writ large upon John'sface, he added quickly, "We call _him_ Dirty Dick, you know; but thehouse is--er--one of the oldest and biggest--er--houses. " He continuedhurriedly: "I'm going into Damer's next term. Damer's is alwayschock-a-block, you know. "

"Why is Rutford called 'Dirty Dick'?" John asked nervously. "Hedoesn't _look_ dirty. "

"Oh, we've licked him into a sort of shape, " said Desmond. "I_believe_ he toshes now--once a month, or so. "

"Toshes?"

"Tubs, you know. We call a tub a 'tosh. ' When Dirty Dick came here hewas unclean. He told his form--oh! the cheek of it!--that in hisfilthy mind one bath a week was plenty, " unconsciously the boy mimickedthe thick, rasping tones--"two, luxury, and three--superfluity! Afterthat he was called Dirty Dick. There's another story. They say thatyears ago he went to a Turkish bath, and after a rare good scraping theman who was scraping him--nasty job that!--found something which DirtyDick recognized as a beastly flannel shirt he had lost when he was atthe 'Varsity. But only the Fourth Form boys swallow _that_. Hullo!There's a pal of mine. See you again. "

He ran off gaily. John walked to the shop where straw hats were sold. Here he met other new boys, who regarded him curiously, but saidnothing. John put on his hat, and gave Rutford's name to the young manwho waited on him. He had an absurd feeling that the young man wouldsay, "Oh yes--Dirty Dick's!" One very nice-looking pink-cheeked boysaid to another boy that he was at Damer's. John could have sworn thatthe hatter's assistant regarded the pink youth with increased deference. 

Why had Uncle John sent him to Dirty Dick's? He hurried out of theshop, fuming. Then he remembered the hammerless gun. After all, theManor had been _the_ house once, and it might be _the_ house again. 

By this time the boys were arriving. Groups were forming. Snatches ofchatter reached John's ears. "Yes, I shot a stag, a nine-pointer. Mygovernor is going to have it set up for me---- What? Walked up yourgrouse with dogs! We drive ours---- I had some ripping cricket, madea century in one match---- By Jove! Did you really?----"

John passed on. These were "bloods, " tremendous swells, grown men witha titillating flavour of the world about their distinguished persons. 

A minute later he was staring disconsolately at a group of his fellowsjust in front of Dir----of Rutford's side door. An impulse seized himto turn and flee. What would Uncle John say to that? So he advanced. The boys made way politely, asking no questions. As he passed throughhe caught a few eager words. "I was hoping that the brute had gone. It _is_ a sickener, and no mistake!"

John ascended the battered, worn-out staircase, wondering who the"brute" was. Perhaps a sort of Flashman. John knew his _Tom Brown_;but some one had told him that bullying had ceased to be. Greatemphasis had been laid on the "brute, " whoever he might be. 

Upon the second-floor passage, he found his room and one of itstenants, who nodded carelessly as John crossed the threshold. 

"I'm Scaife, " he said. "Are you the Lord, or the Commoner?" Helaughed, indicating a large portmanteau, labelled, "Lord Esmé Kinloch. "

"I'm Verney, " said John. 

"I've bagged the best bed, " said Scaife, after a pause, "and I adviseyou to bag the next best one, over there. It was mine last term. "

"I don't see the beds, " said John, staring about him. 

Scaife pointed out what appeared to be three tall, narrow wardrobes. The rest of the furniture included three much-battered washstands andchests of drawers, four Windsor chairs, and a square table, coveredwith innumerable inkstains and roughly-carved names. 

"The beds let down, " Scaife said, "and during the first school themaids make them, and shut them up again. It is considered a joke tocrawl into another fellow's room at night, and shut him up. You findyourself standing upon your head in the dark, choking. It is ajoke--for the other fellow. "

"Did some one do that to you?" asked John. 

"Yes; a big lout in the Third Fifth, " Scaife smiled grimly. 

"And what did you do?"

"I waited for him next day with a cricket stump. There was an awfulrow, because I let him have it a bit too hard; but I've not been shutup since. That bed is a beast. It collapses. " He chuckled. "YoungKinloch won't find it quite as soft as the ones at White Ladies. Well, like the rest of us, he'll have to take Dirty Dick's as he finds it. "

The bolt had fallen. 

John asked in a quavering voice, "Then it _is_ called that?"

"Called what?"

"This house. Dirty Dick's!"

Scaife smiled cynically. He looked about a year older than John, buthe had the air and manners of a man of the world--so John thought. Also, he was very good-looking, handsomer than Desmond, and in strikingcontrast to that smiling, genial youth, being dark, almost swarthy ofcomplexion, with strongly-marked features and rather coarse hands andfeet. 

"Everybody here calls it Dirty Dick's, " he replied curtly. 

John stared helplessly. 

"But, " he muttered, "I heard, I was told, that the Manor was the besthouse in the school. "

"It used to be, " Scaife answered. "To-day, it comes jolly near beingthe worst. The fellows in other houses are decent; they don't rub itin; but, between ourselves, the Manor has gone to pot ever since DirtyDick took hold of it. Damer's is the swell house now. "

John began to unstrap his portmanteau. Scaife puzzled him. Forinstance, he displayed no curiosity. He did not put the questionsalways asked at a Preparatory School. Without turning his thought intowords, John divined that at Harrow it was bad form to ask questions. As he wanted to ask a question, a very important question, thisenforced silence became exasperating. 

Presently Scaife said, "I suppose you are one of the Claydon lot. "

"No; my home is in the New Forest. My uncle is Verney of VerneyBoscobel. "

"Oh! his name is on the panels at the head of the staircase; and it'scarved on a bed in the next room. "

"Crikey! I must go and look at it. "

"You can look at the panels, of course; but don't say 'Crikey!' anddon't go into the next room. Two Fifth Form fellows have it. It wouldbe infernal cheek. "

John hoped that Scaife would offer to accompany him to the panels. Then he went alone. It being now within half an hour of lock-up, thepassages were swarming with boys. Soon John would see them assembledin Hall, where their names would be called over by Rutford. Everybody--John had been told--was expected to be present at this firstcall-over, except a few boys who might be coming from a distance. Johnworked his way along the upper passage, and down the second flight ofstairs till he came to the first landing. Here, close to the housenotice-board, were some oak panels covered with names and dates, allcarved--so John learned later--by a famous Harrow character, Sam Hoare, once "Custos" of the School. The boy glanced eagerly, ardently, up anddown the panels. Ah, yes, here was his father's name, and here--hisuncle's. And then out of the dull, finely-grained oak, shone othernames familiar to all who love the Hill and its traditions. John'sheart grew warm again with pride in the house that had held such men. The name of the great statesman and below it a mighty warrior's madehim thrill and tremble. They were _Old Harrovians_, these fellows, menwhom his uncle had known, men of whom his dear mother, wise soul! hadspoken a thousand times. The landing and the passages were roaringwith the life of the present moment. Boys, big and small, werechaffing each other loudly. Under some circumstances, this new-comer, a stranger, ignored entirely, might have felt desolate and forlorn inthe heart of such a crowd; but John was tingling with delight andpleasure. 

Suddenly, the noise moderated. John, looking up, saw a big fellowslowly approaching, exchanging greetings with everybody. John turnedto a boy close to him. 

"Who is it?" he whispered. 

The other boy answered curtly, "Lawrence, the Head of the House. "

The big fellow suddenly caught John's eyes. What he readthere--admiration, respect, envy--brought a slight smile to his lips. 

"Your name?" he demanded. 

"Verney. "

Lawrence held out his hand, simply and yet with a certain dignity. 

"I heard you were coming, " he said, keenly examining John's face. "Wecan't have too many Verneys. If I can do anything for you, let meknow. "

He nodded, and strode on. John saw that several boys were staring witha new interest. None, however, spoke to him; and he returned to hisroom with a blushing face. Scaife had unpacked his clothes and putthem away; he was now surveying the bare walls with undisguisedcontempt. 

"Isn't this a beastly hole?" he remarked. 

John, always interested in people rather than things, examined the roomcarefully. Passing down the passage he had caught glimpses of otherrooms: some charmingly furnished, gay with chintz, embellished withpictures, Japanese fans, silver cups, and other trophies. Comparingthese with his own apartment, John said shyly--

"It's not very beefy. "

"Beefy? You smell of a private school, Verney. Now, is it worth doingup? You see, I shall be in a two-room next term. If we all chipin----" he paused. 

"I've brought back two quid, " said John. 

Scaife's smile indicated neither approval nor the reverse. John'singenuous confidence provoked none in return. 

"We'll talk about it when Kinloch arrives. I wonder why his peoplesent him here. "

John had studied some books, but not the Peerage. The great name ofKinloch was new to him, not new to Scaife, who, for a boy, knew his"Burke" too odiously well. 

"Why shouldn't his people send him here?" he asked. 

"Because, " Scaife's tone was contemptuous, "because theKinlochs--they're a great cricketing family--go to Eton. The duke mustnave some reason. "

"The duke?"

"Hang it, surely you have heard of the Duke of Trent?"

"Yes, " said John, humbly. "And this is his son?"

He glanced at the label on the new portmanteau. 

"Whose son should he be?" said Scaife. "Well, it's queer. Dukes[3]and dukes' sons come to Harrow--all the Hamiltons were here, and theFitzRoys, and the St. Maurs--but the Kinlochs, as I say, have gone toEton. It's a rum thing--very. And why the deuce hasn't he turned up?"

The clanging of a bell brought both boys to their feet. 

"Lock-up, and call-over, " said Scaife. "Come on!"

They pushed their way down the passage. Several boys addressed Scaife. 

"Hullo, Demon!--Here's the old Demon!--Demon, I thought you were goingto be sacked!"

To these and other sallies Scaife replied with his slightly ironicalsmile. John perceived that his companion was popular and at the sametime peculiar; quite different from any boy he had yet met. 

They filed into a big room--the dining-room of the house--a square, lofty hall, with three long tables in it. On the walls hung someportraits of famous Old Harrovians. As a room it was disappointing atfirst sight, almost commonplace. But in it, John soon found out, everything for weal or woe which concerned the Manor had taken place orhad been discussed. There were two fireplaces and two large doors. The boys passed through one door; upon the threshold of the other stoodthe butler, holding a silver salver, with a sheet of paper on it. 

"What cheek!" murmured Scaife. 

"Eh?" said John. 

"Dirty Dick isn't here. Just like him, the slacker! And when he doescome over on our side of the House, he slimes about in carpetslippers--the beast!"

Lawrence entered as Scaife spoke. John saw that his strongly-markedeyebrows went up, when he perceived the butler. He approached, andtook the sheet of paper. The butler said impressively--

"Mr. Rutford is busy. Will you call over, sir?"

At any rate, the butler, Dumbleton, was worthy of the best traditionsof the Manor. He had a shrewd, clean-shaven face, and the deportmentof an archbishop. The Head of the House took the paper, and began tocall over the names. Each boy, as his name was called, said, "Here, "or, if he wished to be funny, "Here, _sir_!"

"Verney?"

The name rang out crisply. 

"Here, _sir_, " said John. 

The Head of the House eyed him sharply. 

"Kinloch?"

No answer. 

"Kinloch?"

Scaife answered dryly: "Kinloch's portmanteau has come. " ThenDumbleton said in his smooth, bland voice, "His lordship is in thedrawing-room with Mr. Rutford. "

The boys exchanged knowing glances. Scaife looked contemptuous. Thenext moment the last name had been called, and the boys scurried intothe passages. Lawrence was the first to leave the hall. Impulsively, John rushed up to him. 

"I didn't mean to be funny, I didn't really, " he panted. 

"Quite right. It doesn't pay, " Lawrence smiled grimly, "for new boysto be funny. I saw you didn't mean it. "

Lawrence spoke in a loud voice. John realized that he had so spokenpurposely, trying to wipe out a new boy's first blunder. 

"Thanks awfully, " said John. 

He reached his room to find three other boys busily engaged in abusingtheir house-master. They took no notice of John, who leaned againstthe wall. 

"His lordship is in the drawing-room with Mr. Rutford. "

A freckle-faced, red-headed youth, with a big elastic mouth hadimitated Dumbleton admirably. 

"What a snob Dick is!" drawled a very tall, very thin, aristocratic-looking boy. 

"And fool, " added Scaife. "This sort of thing makes him loathed. "

"It _is_ a sell his being here. "

All three fell to talking. The question still festering in John's mindwas answered within a minute. The "brute" was Rutford. Towards theend of the previous term gossip had it that the master of the Manor hadbeen offered an appointment elsewhere. Whereat the worthier spirits inthe ancient house rejoiced. Now the joy was turned into wailing andgnashing of teeth. 

"Is he a beast to us?" said John. 

The freckle-faced boy answered affably, "That depends. His ImperialHighness"--he kicked the new portmanteau hard--"will not find Mr. Richard Rutford a beast. Far from it. And he's civil to the Demon, because his papa is a man of many shekels. But to mere outsiders, likemyself, a beast of beasts; ay, the very king of beasts, is--Dirty Dick. "

And then--oh, horrors!--the door of No. 15 opened, and Rutfordappeared, followed by a seemingly young and very fashionably dressedlady. The boys jumped to their feet. All, except Scaife, lookedpreternaturally solemn. The house-master nodded carelessly. 

"This is Scaife, Duchess, " he said in his thick, rasping tones. "Scaife and Verney, let me present you to the Duchess of Trent. "

He mouthed the illustrious name, as if it were a large and ripegreengage. 

The duchess advanced, smiling graciously. "These"--Rutford named theother boys--"are Egerton, Lovell, and--er--Duff. "

Scaife, alone of those present, appreciated the order in which hisschoolfellows had been named. Egerton--known as the Caterpillar--wasthe son of a Guardsman; Lovell's father was a judge; Duff's father anobscure parson. 

The duchess shook hands with each boy. "Your father and I are oldfriends, " she said to Egerton; "and I have had the pleasure of meetingyour uncle, " she smiled at John. 

Duff looked unhappy and ill at ease, because it was almost certain thathis last sentence had been overheard by the house-master. The duchessasked a few questions and then took her leave. She and her son weredining with the Head Master. Rutford accompanied her. 

"Did the blighter hear?" said Duff. 

"How could he help it with his enormous asses' ears?" said the tallthin Egerton. 

Duff, an optimist, like all red-headed, freckled boys, appealed to theothers, each in turn. The verdict was unanimous. 

"He hates me like poison, " said Duff. "I shall catch it hot. What anunlucky beggar I am!"

"Pooh!" said Scaife. "He knows jolly well that the whole school callshim Dirty Dick. "

But whatever hopes Duff may have entertained of his house-master'sdeafness were speedily laid in the dust. Within five minutes Rutfordreappeared. He stood in the doorway, glaring. 

"Just now, Duff, " said he, "I happened to overhear your voice, which issingularly, I may say vulgarly, penetrating. You were speaking of me, your house-master, as 'Dick. ' But you used an adjective before it. What was it?"

Duff writhed. "I don't--remember. "

"Oh yes, you do. Why lie, Duff?"

John's brown face grew pale. 

"The adjective you used, " continued Rutford, "was 'dirty. ' You spokeof me as 'Dirty Dick, ' and I fancy I caught the word 'beast. ' You willwrite out, if you please, one hundred Greek lines, accents and stops, and bring them to me, or leave them with Dumbleton, _twenty-five_ linesat a time, _every_ alternate half hour during the afternoon of the nexthalf holiday. Good night to you. "

"Good night, sir, " said all the boys, save John and Scaife. 

"Good night, Verney. "

Master and pupil confronted each other. John's face looked impassive;and Rutford turned from the new boy to Scaife. 

"Good night, Scaife. "

Scaife drew himself up, and, in a quiet, cool voice, replied--

"Good night, sir. "

Duff waited till Rutford's heavy step was no longer heard; then herushed at John. 

"I say, " he spluttered, "you're a good sort--ain't he, Demon? Refusingto say 'Good night' to the beast because he was ragging me. But he'llnever forgive you--never!"

"Oh yes, he will, " said Scaife. "It won't be difficult for Dirty Dickto forgive the future Verney of Verney Boscobel. "

John stared. "Verney Boscobel?" he repeated. "Why, that belongs to myuncle. Mother and I hope he'll marry and have a lot of jolly kids ofhis own. "

"You hope he'll marry? Well, I'm----"

John's jaw stuck out. The emphasis on the "hope" and the upraisedeyebrow smote hard. 

"You don't mean to say, " he began hotly, "you don't _think_ that----"

"I can think what I please, " said Scaife, curtly; "and so can you. " Helaughed derisively. "_Thinking_ what they please is about the onlyliberty allowed to new boys. Even the Duffer learned to hold histongue during his first term. "

The Caterpillar--the tall, thin, aristocratic boy--spoke solemnly. Hewas a dandy, the understudy--as John soon discovered--of one of the"Bloods;" a "Junior Blood, " or "Would-be, " a tremendous authority on"swagger, " a stickler for tradition, who had been nearly three years inthe school. 

"The Demon is right, " said he. "A new boy can't be too careful, Verney. Your being funny in hall just now made a dev'lish badimpression. "

"But I didn't mean to be funny. I told Lawrence so directly aftercall-over. "

The Caterpillar pulled down his cuffs. 

"If you didn't mean to be funny, " he concluded, "you must be an ass. "

Duff, however, remembered that John was nephew to an explorer. 

"I say, " he jogged John's elbow, "do you think you could get me youruncle's autograph?"

"Why, of course, " said John. 

"Thanks. I've not a bad collection, " the Duffer murmured modestly. 

"And the gem of it, " said Scaife, "is Billington's, the hangman! TheDuffer shivers whenever he looks at it. "

"Yes, I do, " said Duff, grinning horribly. 

After supper and Prayers, John went to bed, but not to sleep for atleast an hour. He lay awake, thinking over the events of thismemorable day. Whenever he closed his eyes he beheld two objects: thespire of Harrow Church and the vivid laughing face of Desmond. He toldhimself that he liked Desmond most awfully. And Scaife too, the Demon, had been kind. But somehow John did not like Scaife. Then, in acurious half-dreamy condition, not yet asleep and assuredly not quiteawake, he seemed to see the figure of Scaife expanding, assumingterrific proportions, Impending over Desmond, standing between him andthe spire, obscuring part of the spire at first, and then, bit by bit, overshadowing the whole. 

[1] Byron, writing to John Murray, May 26, 1822, and giving directionsfor the burial of poor little Allegra's body, says--

"I wish it to be buried in Harrow Church. There is a spot in thechurchyard, near the footpath, on the brow of the hill looking towardsWindsor, and a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie, orPeachey), where I used to sit for hours and hours as a boy: this was myfavourite spot; but, as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, thebody had better be deposited in the church. "

See also "Lines written beneath an elm in the churchyard of Harrow, " in"Hours of Idleness. "

[2] "Speecher"--_i. E. _ Speech-Day. At Harrow "er" is a favouritetermination of many substantives. "Harder, " for hardball racquets, "Footer, " "Ducker, " etc. 

[3] The Duke of Dorset was Byron's fag. _Cf_. -- "Though the harsh custom of our youthful band Bade thee obey, and gave me to command. " _Hours of Idleness_

CHAPTER II

CAESAR

 "You come here where your brothers came, To the old school years ago, A young new face, and a Harrow name, 'Mid a crowd of strangers? No! You may not fancy yourself alone, You who are memory's heir, When even the names in the graven stone Will greet you with 'Who goes there-- You?-- Pass, Friend--All's well. '"

John never forgot that memorable morning when he learned for the firsttime what place he had taken in the school. He sat with the othernew-comers, staring, open-eyed, at nearly six hundred boys, big andsmall, assembled together in the Speech-room. So engrossed was he thathe scarcely heard the Head Master's opening prayers. John wasobsessed, inebriated, with the number of Harrovians, each of whom hadonce felt strange and shy like himself. From his place close to thegreat organ, he could look up and up, seeing row after row of faces, knowing that amongst them sat his future friends and foes. 

Suddenly, a neighbour nudged him. The Head Master was reading from alist in his hand the school-removes, and the names and places taken bynew boys. He began at the lowest form with the name of a small urchinsitting near John. The urchin blinked and blushed as he realized thathe was "lag of the school. " John knew that he had answered fairly wellthe questions set by the examiners; he had no fear of finding himselfpilloried in the Third Fourth; still, as form after form did notinclude his name, he grew restless and excited. Had he taken a higherplace than the Middle Shell? Yes; no Verney in the Middle Shell. TheHead Master began the removes of the top Shell. Now, now it must becoming. No; the clear penetrating tones slowly articulated name aftername, but not his. 

"Verney. "

At last. Many eyes were staring at him, some enviously, a fewsuperciliously. John had taken the Lower Remove, the highest form butone open to new boys. He was sipping the wine called Success. 

Moreover, Desmond of the frank, laughing face and sparkling blue eyes, and Scaife and Egerton were also in the Lower Remove. 

After this, John sat in a blissful dream, hardly conscious of hissurroundings, seeing his mother's face, hearing her sigh of pleasurewhen she learned that already her son was halfway up the school. 

You may be sure those first forty-eight hours were brim-full ofexcitements. First, John bought his books, stout leather-tipped, leather-backed volumes, on which his name will be duly stamped onfly-leaf and across the edges of the pages. And he bought also, from"Judy" Stephens, [1] a "squash" racquet, "squash" balls, and a yardball. From the school Custos--"Titchy"--a noble supply of stationerywas procured. Moreover, young Kinloch announced that his mother hadgiven him three pounds to spend upon the decoration of No. 15, soScaife declared his intention of spending a similar sum, and inconsequence No. 15 became a gorgeous apartment, the cynosure of everyeye that passed. The characters of the three boys were revealedplainly enough by their simple furnishings. Scaife bought sportingprints, a couple of Detaille's lithographs, and an easy-chair, known todwellers upon the Hill as a "frowst;" Kinloch hung upon his side of thewall four pretty reproductions of French engravings, and with the helpof three yards of velveteen and some cheap lace he made a very passableimitation of the mantel-cover in his mother's London boudoir; Johnscorned velveteen, lace, "frowsts, " and French engravings. He put hismoney into a pair of red curtains, and one excellent photogravure ofLandseer's "Children of the Mist. " Having a few shillings to spare, hebought half a dozen ferns, which were placed in a box by the window, and watered so diligently that they died prematurely. 

Secondly, John played in a house-game at football, and learned thedifference between a scrimmage at a small preparatory school and thegenuine thing at Harrow. Lawrence insisted that all new boys shouldplay, and the Caterpillar informed him that he would have to learn therules of Harrow "footer" by heart, and pass a stiff examination in thembefore the House Eleven, with the penalty of being forced to sing themin Hall if he failed to satisfy his examiners. The Duffer lent him aHouse-shirt of green and white stripes, and a pair of white duckshorts, and with what pride John put them on, thinking of the fardistant day when he would wear a "fez" [2] instead of the commonplacehouse-cap! Lawrence said a few words. 

"You'll have to play the compulsory games, Verney, which begin afterthe Goose Match, [3] but I want to see you playing as hard as ever youcan in the house-games. You'll be knocked about a bit; but a Verneywon't mind that--eh?"

"Rather not, " said John, feeling very valiant. 

Thirdly, there was the first Sunday, and the first sermon of the HeadMaster, with its plain teaching about the opportunities and perils ofPublic School life. John found himself mightily affected by thesinging, and the absence of shrill treble voices. The booming bassesand baritones of the big fellows made him shiver with a curiousbitter-sweet sensation never experienced before. 

Lastly, the pleasant discovery that his Form treated him with courtesyand kindness. Desmond, in particular, welcomed him quite warmly. Andthen and there John's heart was filled with a wild and unreasonableyearning for this boy's friendship. But Desmond--he was called"Caesar, " because his Christian names were Henry Julius--seemed to bevery popular, a bright particular star, far beyond John's reachalthough for ever in his sight. Caesar never offered to walk with him:and he refused John's timid invitation to have food at the "TudorCreameries. " [4] Was it possible that a boy about to enter Damer'swould not be seen walking and talking with a fellow out of DirtyDick's? This possibility festered, till one morning John saw his idolwalking up and down the School Yard with Scaife. That evening he saidto Scaife--

"Do you like Desmond?"

"Yes, " Scaife replied decisively. "I like him better than any fellowat Harrow. You know that his father is Charles Desmond--the CabinetMinister and a Governor of the school?"

"I didn't know it. I suppose Caesar Desmond likes you--_awfully_. "

"Do you? I doubt it. "

No more was said. John told himself that Caesar--he liked to think ofDesmond as Caesar--could pick and choose a pal out of at least threehundred boys, half the school. How extremely unlikely that he, John, would be chosen! But every night he lay awake for half an hour longerthan he ought to have done, wondering how, by hook or crook, he coulddo a service to Caesar which must challenge interest and provoke, ultimately, friendship. 

Meantime, he was slowly initiated by the Caterpillar into Harrow waysand customs. Fagging, which began after the first fortnight, he founda not unpleasant duty. After first and fourth schools the other fagsand he would stand not far from the pantry, and yell out "Breakfast, "or "Tea, " as it might be, "for Number So-and-So. " Perhaps one had tonip up to the Creameries to get a slice of salmon, or cutlets, orsausages. Fagging at Harrow--which varies slightly in differenthouses--is hard or easy according to the taste and fancy of the fag'smaster. Some of the Sixth Form at the Manor made their fags unlacetheir dirty football boots. Kinloch, who since he left the nursery hadbeen waited upon by powdered footmen six feet high, now found, to hisdisgust, that he had to varnish Trieve's patent-leathers for Sunday. Trieve was second in command, and had been known as "Miss" Trieve. John would have gladly done this and more for Lawrence, his fag-master;but Lawrence, a manly youth, scorned sybaritic services. TheCaterpillar taught John to carry his umbrella unfolded, to wear his"straw" straight (a slight list to port was allowed to "Bloods" only), not to walk in the middle of the road, and so forth. How he used toenvy the members of the Elevens as they rolled arm-in-arm down the HighStreet! How often he wondered if the day would ever dawn when Caesarand he, outwardly and inwardly linked together, would stroll up anddown the middle-walk below the Chapel Terrace: that sunny walk, whence, on a fair day, you can see the insatiable monster, London, filling thehorizon and stretching red, reeking hands into the sweet country--themiddle-walk, from which all but Bloods were rigidly excluded. 

Much to his annoyance--an annoyance, be it said, which he managed tohide--John seemed to attract young Kinloch almost as magnetically as hehimself was attracted to Caesar. John had not the heart to shake offthe frail delicate child, who was christened "Fluff" after his firstappearance in public. Fluff had taken the First Fourth and ingenuouslyconfessed to any one who cared to listen that he ought to have gone toEton. A beast of a doctor prescribed the Hill. And even the almightyduke failed to get him into Damer's, another grievance. He had beenentered since birth at the crack house at Eton; and now to bepitchforked into Dirty Dick's at Harrow----! The Duffer kicked him, feeling an unspeakable cad when poor Fluff burst into tears. 

"Sorry, " said the Duffer. "Only you mustn't slang Harrow. And you'dbetter get it into your silly head that it's the best school in this orany other world--isn't it, Demon?"

"I'm sure the Verneys, and the Egertons, and the Duffs have alwaysthought so. "

"But it isn't really, " whimpered poor Fluff. "You fellows know thateverybody talks of Eton and Harrow. Who ever heard of Harrow and Eton?People say--I've heard my eldest brother, Strathpeffer, say it againand again--'Eton and Harrow, ' just as they say 'Gentlemen and Players. '"

"Oh, " said the Caterpillar. "The Etonians are the gentlemen--eh?Well, Fluff, after their performance at Lord's last year, you couldn'texpect us to admit that they're--players. "

The Duffer chuckled. 

"I say, Caterpillar, that was a good 'un. "

"Not mine, " said the Caterpillar, solemnly, "My governor's, you know. "

The Duffer continued: "Now, Fluff, I won't touch your body, because youmight tumble to pieces, but if I hear you slanging the school or ourhouse, I'll pull out handfuls of fluff. D'ye hear?"

"Yes, " said Fluff, meekly. 

"Say '_Floreat Herga_' on your bended knees!"

Fluff obeyed. 

"And remember, " said the Duffer, impressively, "that we've had a kinghere, haven't we, Caterpillar?"

"Yes, " said the Caterpillar. 

"I never believed it, " said Scaife. 

"He was a Spaniard, [5] or an Italian, you know, " the Duffer explained. "The duke of something or t'other; and an ambassador came down andoffered the beggar the Spanish crown, when he was in the First Fourth, and of course he gobbled it--who wouldn't? And then Victor Emmanuelinterfered. That's all true, you can take your Bible oath, because mygovernor told me so, and he--well, he's a parson. "

"Then it _must_ be true, " said Scaife. "Now, young Fluff, don't forgetthat Harrow is a school fit for a king and nearer to Heaven than Etonby at least six hundred feet. "

So saying, the Demon marched out of the room, followed by Fluff, slightly limping. 

"Sorry I turfed[6] that little ass so hard, " said the Duffer to John. "I say, Verney, the Demon is rather a rum 'un, ain't he? Sometimes Ican't quite make him out. He's frightfully clever and all that, but Ihad a sort of beastly feeling just now that he didn't--eh?--quite meanwhat he said. Was he laughin' at _us_, pullin' our legs--what?"

John's brain worked slowly, as he had found out to his cost under aform-master who maintained that it was no use having a fact stored inthe head unless it slipped readily out of the mouth. The Duffer, whonever thought, because speaking was so much easier, grew impatient atJohn's silence. 

"Well, you needn't look like an owl, Verney. You know that Scaife'sgrandfather was a navvy. "

"I don't know, " John replied. 

"And I don't care, " said the Duffer. "Let's go and have some food atthe Creameries. "

Looking back afterwards, John often wondered whether, unconsciously, the Duffer had sown a grain of mustard-seed destined to grow into alarge tree. Or had the intuition that Scaife was other than what heseemed furnished the fertile soil into which the seed fell? In anycase, from the end of this first week began to increase the suspicion, which eventually became conviction, that the Demon, keen at games, popular in his house, clever at work--clever, indeed! Inasmuch as henever achieved more or less than was necessary--generous with hismoney, handsome and well-mannered, blessed, in fine, with so many giftsof the gods, yet lacked a soul. 

This, of course, is putting into words the vague speculations andreasonings of a boy not yet fourteen. If an Olympian--one of themasters, for instance, or the Head of the House--had said, "Verney, hasthe Demon a soul?" John would have answered promptly, "Ra--ther! He'sbeen awfully decent to Fluff and me. We'd have had a hot time if ithadn't been for him, " and so forth. . . . And, indeed, to doubtScaife's sincerity and goodness seemed at times gross disloyalty, because he stood, firm as a rock, between the two urchins in his roomand the turbulent crowd outside. This defence of the weak, thisguarding of green fruit from the maw of Lower School boys, affordedScaife an opportunity of exercising power. He had the instincts of thepotter, inherited, no doubt; and he moulded the clay ready to his handwith the delight of a master-workman. Nobody else knew what the man ofmillions had said to his boy when he despatched him to Harrow; but theDemon remembered every word. He had reason to respect and fear hissire. 

"I'm sending you to Harrow to study, not books nor games, but boys, whowill be men when you are a man. And, above all, study theirweaknesses. Look for the flaws. Teach yourself to recognize at aglance the liar, the humbug, the fool, the egotist, and the mule. Makefriends with as many as are likely to help you in after life, and don'tforget that one enemy may inflict a greater injury than twenty friendscan repair. Spend money freely; dress well; swim with the tide, notagainst it. "

A year at Harrow confirmed Scaife's confidence in his father's worldlywisdom. Big for his age, strong, with his grandsire's muscles, toughas hickory, he had become the leader of the Lower School boys at theManor. The Fifth were civil to him, recognizing, perhaps, theexpediency of leaving him alone ever since the incident of the cricketstump. The Sixth found him the quickest of the fags and uncommonlyobliging. His house-master signed reports which neither praised norblamed. To Dirty Dick the boy was the son of a man who could write acheque for a million. 

Two things worthy of record happened within a month; the one of lesserimportance can be set down first. Charles Desmond, Caesar's father, came down to Harrow and gave a luncheon at the King's Head. From timeimmemorial the Desmonds had been educated on the Hill. The family hadproduced some famous soldiers, a Lord Chancellor, and a Prime Minister. In the Fourth Form Room the stranger may read their names carved inoak, and they are carved also in the hearts of all ardent Harrovians. Mr. Desmond, though a Cabinet Minister, found time to visit Harrow onceat least in each term. He always chose a whole holiday, and afterattending eleven-o'clock Bill[7] in the Yard, would carry off his sonand his son's friends. The School knew him and loved him. To thethoughtful he stood for the illustrious past, the epitome of what JohnLyon's[8] boys had fought for and accomplished. Four sons hadhe--Harrovians all. Of these Caesar was youngest and last. Each haddistinguished himself on the Hill either in work or play, or in both. 

Charles Desmond stood upon the step just above the master who wascalling Bill. 

"That's Caesar's father, " said Scaife. "I'm going to lunch with him. Isn't he a topper?"

John's eyes were popping out of his face. He had never seen any manlike this resplendent, stately personage, smiling and nodding to thebiggest fellows in the school. 

"And my governor says, " Scaife added, "that he's not a rich man, nothing much to speak of in the way of income over and above his screwas a Cabinet Minister. "

Scaife moved away, and John could hear him say to another boy, in aneasy, friendly tone, "Mr. Desmond told Caesar that he wanted to meet_me_--very civil of him--eh?"

Presently John was in line waiting to pass by the steps. 

"Verney?"

"Here, sir. "

He was hurrying by, with a backward glance at the great man. SuddenlyCaesar's father beckoned, nodding cheerily. John ascended the steps, to feel the grasp of a strong hand, to hear a ringing voice. 

"You're John Verney's nephew. Just so. I think I should have spottedyou, even if Harry had not told me you were in his form. You mustlunch with us. Cut along, now. "

So John was dismissed, brimful of happiness, which almost overflowedwhen Caesar met him with an eager--

"I'm so glad, Verney. I say, the governor's a nailer at picking outthe old names, isn't he?"

So John ate his luncheon in distinguished company, and felt himself forthe first time to be somebody. As the youngest guest present, to himwas accorded the place of honour, next the most charming host inChristendom, who put him at ease in a jiffy. How good the cutlets andthe pheasant tasted! And how the talk warmed the cockles of his heart!The brand of the Crossed Arrows shone upon all topics. Who couldexpect, or desire, aught else? Caesar's governor seemed to know whatevery Harrovian had done worth the doing. Easily, fluently, hediscoursed of triumphs won at home, abroad. In the camp, on thehustings, at the bar, in the pulpit. And his anecdotes, whichillustrated every phase of life, how pat to the moment they were! Oneboy complained ruefully of having spent three terms under a form-masterwho had "ragged" him. Charles Desmond sympathized--

"Bless my soul, " said he, "don't I remember being three terms in theThird Fifth when that tartar old Heriot had it? I dare swear I got nomore than my deserts. I was an idle vagabond, but Heriot made my lifesuch a burden to me that I entreated my people to take me away fromHarrow, And then my governor urged me to put my back into the work andget a remove. And I did. And would you believe it, upon the first dayof the next term I wired to my people, 'You must take me away. I'vegot my remove all right--and so has Heriot. '"

How gaily the speaker led the laugh which followed this recital! Andthe chaff! Was it possible that Caesar dared to chaff a man who wassupposed to have the peace of Europe in his keeping? And, by Jove!Caesar could hold his own. 

So the minutes flew. But John noticed, with surprise, that the Demondidn't score. In fact, John and he were the only guests thatcontributed nothing to the feast save hearty appetites. It was strangethat the Demon, the wit of his house and form, never opened his mouthexcept to fill it with food. He answered, it is true, and verymodestly, the questions addressed to him by his host; but then, as Johnreflected, any silly fool in the Fourth Form could do that. 

After luncheon, the boys were dismissed, each with a hearty word ofencouragement and half a sovereign. John was passing the plate-glasssplendours of the Creameries, when the Demon overtook him, and theywalked down the winding High Street together. Scaife had never walkedwith John before. 

"That was worth while, " Scaife said quietly. John could not interpretthis speech, save in its obvious meaning. 

"Rather, " he replied. 

"Why?" said Scaife, very sharply. 

"Eh?"

"Why was it worth while?"

John stammered out something about good food and jolly talk. 

"Pooh!" said Scaife, contemptuously. "I thought you had brains, Verney. " He glanced at him keenly. "Now, speak out. What's in thathead of yours? You can be cheeky, if you like. "

John wondered bow Scaife had divined that he wished to be cheeky. Hismentor had said so much to Fluff and him about the propriety of notputting on "lift" or "side" in the presence of an older boy, that hehad choked back a retort which occurred to him. 

"You're thinking, " continued the Demon, in his clear voice, "that Ididn't use my brains just now, but, my blooming innocent, I can assureyou I did. Very much so. I played 'possum. Put that into your littlepipe and smoke it. "

At four-o'clock Bill, John noticed Caesar's absence: a fact accountedfor by the presence of a mail-phaeton, which, he knew, belonged to Mr. Desmond, drawn up--oddly enough--opposite the Manor. What a joke tothink that Caesar was drinking tea with Dirty Dick!

After Bill, having nothing better to do, John and Fluff went for a walkon the Sudbury road. They had played football before Bill, and eachhad realized his own awkwardness and insignificance. Poor Fluff, almost reduced to tears, with a big black bruise upon his whiteforehead, confessed that he preferred peaceful games--like croquet, andintended to apply for a doctor's certificate of exemption. Demandingsympathy, he received a slating. 

"I play nearly as rotten a game as you do, Fluff, " John said; "butScaife expects us to be Torpids, [9] so we jolly well have to buck up. That bruise over your eye has taken off your painted-doll look. Now, if you're going to blub, you'd better get behind that hedge. "

Fluff exploded. 

"This is a beastly hole, " he cried. "And I loathe it. I'm going towrite to my father and beg him to take me away. "

"You ought to be at a girls' school. "

"I hate everything and everybody. I thought you were my friend, theonly friend I had. "

John was somewhat mollified. 

"I am your friend, but not when you talk rot. "

"Verney, look here, if you'll be decent to me, I will try to stick itout. I wish I was like you; I do indeed. I wish I was like Scaife. Why, I'd sooner be the Duffer, freckles and all, than myself. "

John looked down upon the delicately-tinted face, the small, regular, girlish features, the red, quivering mouth. Suddenly he grasped thatthis was an appeal from weakness to strength, and that he, no older andbut a little bigger than Fluff, had strength to spare, strength toshoulder burdens other than his own. 

"All right, " he said stiffly; "don't make such a fuss!"

"You'll have me for a friend, Verney?"

"Yes; but I ain't going to kiss your forehead to make it well, youknow. "

"May I call you John, when we're alone? And I wish you'd call me Esmé, instead of that horrid 'Fluff. '"

John pondered deeply. 

"Look here, " he said. "You can call me John, and I'll call you Esmé, when we're Torpids. And now, you'd better cut back to the house. Imust think this all out, and I can't think straight when I look at you. "

"May I call you John once?"

"You are the silliest idiot I ever met, bar none. Call me 'John, ' or'Tom Fool, ' or anything; but hook it afterwards!"

"Yes, John, I will. You're the only boy I ever met whom I reallywanted for a friend. " He displayed a radiant face, turned suddenly, and ran off. John watched him, frowning, because Fluff was a goodlittle chap, and yet, at times, such a bore!

He walked on alone, chewing the cud of a delightful experience; trying, not unsuccessfully, to recall some of Mr. Desmond's anecdotes. Howproud Caesar was of his father! And the father, obviously, was just asproud of his son. What a pair! And if only Caesar were his friend!By Jove! It was rather a rum go, but John was as mad keen to callCaesar friend as poor Fluff to call John friend. Serious food forthought, this. "But I would never bother him, " said John to himself, "as Fluff has bothered me, never!"

"Hullo, Verney!"

"Hullo!" said John. 

Coincidence had thrust Caesar out of his thoughts and on to the narrowpath in front of him. 

"I'm not a ghost, " said Caesar. 

John hesitated. 

"I was thinking of you, " he confessed; "and then I heard your voice andsaw you. It gave me a start. I say, it _was_ good of your governor toask me. "

"Hang my governor! He's the----"

Caesar closed his lips firmly, as if he feared that terrible adjectivesmight burst from them. John missed the sparkling smile, the gay glanceof the eyes. 

"What's up?" he demanded. 

Caesar hesitated; looked at John, read, perhaps, the sympathy, thehonest interest, possibly the affection, in the grey orbs which met hisown so steadily. 

"What's up?" lie repeated. "Why, I'm not going into Damer's, afterall. "

"Oh!" said John. 

"My governor has just told me. I came down here to curse and swear. "

"Not going into Damer's? What rot--for you!"

"It is sickening. Look here, Verney; I feel like telling you about it. I know you won't go bleating all over the shop. No. I said to myself, 'Mum's the word, ' but----"

John's heart beat, his body glowed, his grey eyes sparkled. 

"It's like this, " continued Caesar, after a slight pause. "Damer toldthe governor that two fellows he had expected to leave at the end ofthis term were staying on. The governor hinted that Damer addedsomething about straining a point, and letting me in ahead of threeother fellows; but the governor wouldn't listen to that----"

"Jolly decent of him, " said John. 

"Was it? In my opinion he ought to have thought of me first. All mybrothers have been at Damer's. And he knew I'd set my heart on goingthere. Look how civil the fellows are to me. I've been in and out ofthe house like a tame cat. Confound it! if Damer did want to strain apoint, why shouldn't he? The governor played his own game, not mine. What right has he to be so precious unselfish at my expense? I arguedwith him; but he can put his foot down. Let's cut all that. Ofcourse, I don't want to stop in a beastly Small House for ever, and, ifDamer's is closed to me, I should like Brown's, but Brown's is fulltoo. And there are other good houses. But where--where do you think I_am_ going?"'

"Reed's?"

"I don't call Reed's so bad. No; I'm going to Dirty Dick's. I'mcoming to you. "

"Oh, I say. "

"Why, dash it all, you're grinning. I don't want to be a cad--DirtyDick's is _your_ house--but--after Damer's! O Lord!"

The grin faded out of John's face. Caesar's loss outweighed his owngain. 

"Your governor was a Manorite, " he said slowly. 

"Yes, in its best days; and he's always had a sneaking liking for it;but he knows, he knows, I say, that now it's rotten, and yet he sendsme there. Why?"

"Ask another, " said John. 

"I asked him another, and what do you think he said, in that peculiarvoice of his which always dries me up? 'Harry, ' said he, 'when you'rea little older and a good deal wiser, you'll be able to answer thatquestion yourself. '"

John's face brightened. A glimmering of the truth shone out of thedarkness. He tried to advance nearer to it, gropingly. 

"I dare say----"

"Well, go on!"

"Your governor may feel that we want a fellow like you. "

John was blushing because he remembered what the Head of the House hadsaid about the Verneys. Desmond glanced at him keenly. He detestedflattery laid on too thick. But this was a genuine tribute. For thefirst time he smiled. 

"Thank you, Verney, " he said, more genially. "What you say is utterrot; but it was decent of you to say it, and I'm glad that you and Iare going to be in the same house. "

For his life John could not help adding, "And Scaife, you forgetScaife?" Jealousy pierced him as Scaife's name slipped out. 

"Yes, there's the Demon. I always liked him. "

"And he likes you. "

"Does he? Good old Demon! I like to be liked. That's the Irish inme. I'm half Irish, you know. I want fellows to be friendly to me. I'd forgotten Scaife. That's rum too, because he's not the sort oneforgets, is he? No. I wonder if I could get into the Demon's roomnext term?"

"I'm to his room. It's a three-room. "

"A two-room is much jollier. "

"Our room is not bad. "

Caesar was hardly listening. John caught a murmur: "The old Demon andI would get along capitally. "

[1] The racquet Professional. 

[2] The cap of honour worn by the House Football Eleven. 

[3] The Goose Match, the last cricket-match of the year, played betweenthe Eleven and Old Boys, on the nearest half-holiday to Michaelmas Day. 

[4] A fashionable "tuck"-shop. 

[5] H. R. H. Prince Thomas of Savoy, Duke of Genoa, was elected King bythe Cortes of Spain, October 3, 1869, while he was a boy at Harrow. The crown was finally declined January 1, 1870. The Prince wasnick-named "King Tom. "

[6] To "turf, " _i. E. _ to kick. 

[7] Calling over. 

[8] John Lyon founded Harrow School, 1571. 

[9] Boys who have not been more than two years in the school areeligible as "Torpids;" out of each house a Torpid football Eleven ischosen. 

CHAPTER III

KRAIPALE [1]

 "Life is mostly froth and bubble; Two things stand like stone-- Kindness in another's trouble, Courage in your own. "

Some five years afterwards John Verney learned what had passed betweenCabinet Minister and Head Master upon that eventful day which sentCaesar to curse and swear upon the Sudbury road. The Head Master wasnot an Harrovian, and on that account was the better able to perceivetime-honoured abuses. At Harrow the dominant chord among masters andboys is a harmony of strenuousness and sentiment. Inevitably, thesentiment becomes, at times, sentimental; and then strenuousness pushesit into a corner. When honoured veterans are wearing out, loyalty, gratitude for past service, reluctance to inflict pain, keep them inpositions of responsibility which mentally and physically they areunfit to administer. It is almost as difficult to turn an Eton orHarrow master out of his house, as to turn a parson of the Church ofEngland out of his pulpit. More, in selecting a house-master as inselecting a parson, a man's claims to preferment are too oftendetermined by scholarship, by length of former service, by interestwith authority, rather than by ability to govern a body of boys made upof widely different parts. A capable form-master may prove anincapable house-master. Richard Rutford, to give a concrete example, came to Harrow knowing nothing about Public Schools, and caring aslittle for the traditions of the Hill, but with the prestige of being aSenior Classic. Nobody questioned his ability to teach Greek. In hisown line, and not an inch beyond, the Governors were assured thatRutford was a success. In due time he accepted a Small House, so smallthat its autocrat's incapacity as an administrator escaped notice. Rutford waited patiently for a big morsel. He wrote a couple oftext-books; he married a wife with money and influence; he entertainedhandsomely. It is true he became popular neither with masters norboys, but his wine was as sound as his scholarship, and his wife had apeer for a second cousin. Eventually he accepted the Manor. Within amonth, those in authority suspected that a blunder had been made;within a year they knew it. The house began to go down. Leaven lay inthe lump, but not enough to make it rise, because the baker refused tostir the dough. First and last, Rutford disliked boys, misunderstoodthem, insulted them, ignored those who lacked influential connections, toadied and pampered the "swells. "

Just before John Verney came to Harrow, the Manor was showingunmistakable signs of decay. A new Head Master, recognizing "dry-rot, "realizing the necessity of cutting it out, was confronted with thatbristling obstacle--Tradition. He possessed enough moral courage tohave told Rutford to resign, because in a thousand indescribable waysthe man had neglected his duty; but, so said the Tones, such a stepmight provoke a public scandal, and if Rutford refused to go--whatthen? Nothing definite could be proved against the man. His sins hadbeen of omission. Dismayed, not defeated, the Head Master consideredother methods of regenerating the Manor. Very quietly he made hisappeal to the Old Harrovians, many of whom were sending their sons andnephews to other houses. He invited co-operation. John Verney, theRev. Septimus Duff, Colonel Egerton--half a dozen enthusiasticManorites--stepped forward. Lastly, for Charles Desmond the HeadMaster baited his hook. 

"The reform which we have at heart, " said he, "must come from withinand from below. The house wants a Desmond in it. I was not allowed towield the axe; but, after all, there are more modern methods ofdecapitation. And, believe me, I am not asking any man more than I amprepared to do myself. My own nephew goes to the Manor after nextholidays. "

"Um!" said Mr. Desmond, stroking his chin. 

"Lawrence, the Head of the House, is a tower of strength, like all theLawrences. "

"How did you beguile the Duke of Trent?"

"Fortune gave me that weapon. The duke"--he laughed genially----

"Yes?"

"Will turn scales which my heaviest arguments won't budge. A bit ofluck! The duke wanted to send his son, a delicate lad, to Harrow, andI did mention to him that Rutford had a vacancy. "

"O Ulysses! And Scaife? How did you handle that large bale ofbank-notes?"

"Rutford captured Scaife. "

"Handsome boy--his son. Lunched with us this morning. Well, well, youhave persuaded me. But what an unpleasant quarter of an hour I shallhave with Harry!"

As a new boy, John slaved at "footer, " and displayed a curiousinaptitude for squash racquets. At all games Caesar and Scaife wereprecociously proficient. John's clumsiness annoyed them. Often theCaterpillar joined him and Fluff, giving them to understand that thismust be regarded as an act of grace and condescension which might besuitably acknowledged at the Tudor Creameries. 

The Caterpillar mightily impressed the two small boys. He had acquiredhis nick-name from the very leisurely pace at which he advanced up theschool. He wore "Charity tails, " as they were called, the swallow-tailcoat of the Upper School mercifully given to boys of the Lower Schoolwho are too tall to wear with decency the short Eton jacket; hepossessed a trouser-press; and his "bags" were perfectly creased andquite spotless. From tip to toe, at all seasons and in all weathers, he looked conspicuously spick and span. Chaff provoked the solemnretort: "One should be well groomed. " He spoke impersonally, considering it bad form to use the first person singular. Amongst thesmall boys he ranked as the Petronius of the Lower School. 

One day the Caterpillar said grandiloquently, "You kids will oblige meby not shouting and yelling when you speak to me. I've a bit of ahead. "

"What's wrong with it?" said Fluff. 

"It looks splendid _outside_, " said John, in his serious voice. 

The Caterpillar, detecting no cheek, answered gravely--

"Some of us had a wet night of it, last night. "

"Wet?" exclaimed the innocent Fluff. "Why, all the stars were shining. "

"Your brothers at Eton know what a 'wet night' means, " said theCaterpillar, "I was talking with one of the Fifth, when a fellow camein with a flask. A gentleman ought to be able to carry a few glassesof wine, but one is not accustomed to spirits. "

"Spirits?"

"Whisky, not prussic acid, you know. "

"But where do they get the whisky?" demanded John. 

"Comparing it with my father's old Scotch, I should say at thegrocer's, " replied the Caterpillar. "There's some drinking going on inour house, and--and other things. One mentions it to you kids as awarning. "

"Thanks, " said John. 

"Not at all; you're rather decent little beggars. They" (the FifthForm was indicated), "they've let you alone so far, but you may havetrouble next term, so look out! And if you want advice, come to me. "

Beneath his absurd pompous manner beat a kindly heart, and the smallboys divined this and were grateful. None the less the word "spirits"frightened them. Next day John happened to find himself alone withCaesar. Very nervously he asked the question--

"I say, do any of the big fellows at Damer's drink?"

"Drink? Drink--what?"

"Well, spirits. "

Caesar snorted an indignant denial. The fellows at Damer's were abovethat sort of thing. The house prided itself upon its tone. Toneconstituted Damer's glory, and was the secret of its success. Johnnodded, but two days afterwards the Demon took him by the arm, twistedit sharply, and said--

"What the deuce did you mean by telling Caesar that the Manoritesdrink?"

"Oh, Scaife--I didn't. "

"You gave us away. "

"_Us_?" John's eyes opened. "_You_ don't drink with 'em?" he faltered. 

"Don't bother your head about what I do, or don't do, " Scaife answeredroughly; "and because you took the Lower Remove don't think for aninstant that you are on a par with Caesar and me, or even the oldCaterpillar--for you ain't. "

"I know that, " said John, humbly. 

"Don't forget it, or there may be ructions. "

"I shan't forget it. "

"That's right. And, by the way, you're getting into the habit ofhanging about Caesar, which bores him to death. Stop it. "

But to this John made no reply. He read dislike in Scaife's bold eyes, detected it in his clear peremptory voice, felt it in the cruel twistof the arm. And he had brains enough to know that Scaife was not theboy to dislike any one without reason. John crawled to the conclusionthat Scaife had become jealous of his increasing intimacy with Desmond. 

However, when the three boys were preparing their Greek for FirstSchool, Scaife seemed his old self, friendly, amusing, and cool as acucumber. Long ago he had initiated John into Manorite methods of work. 

"Our object is, " he explained to the new boy, "to get through the'swat' with as little squandering of valuable time as possible. Itdoesn't pay to be skewed. We must mug up our 'cons' well enough toscrape along without 'puns' and extra school. "

The three co-operated. Out of forty lines of Vergil, Scaife would dofifteen, John fifteen, and the Caterpillar ten; _ten_, because, as hepointed out, he had been nearly three years in the school. Then eachfellow in turn construed his lines for the benefit of the others. Adifficult passage was taken by Scaife to a clever friend in the Fifth. Sometimes Scaife would be absent twenty minutes, returning flushed offace, and slightly excited. John wondered if he had been drinking, andwondered also what Caesar would say if he knew. About this time fearpossessed his soul that Caesar would come into the Manor and be taughtby Scaife to drink. An occasional nightmare took the form of adesperate struggle between himself and Scaife, in which Scaife, byvirtue of superior strength and skill, had the mastery, dragging offthe beloved Caesar, to plunge with him into fathomless pools of Scotchwhisky. Somehow in these horrid dreams, Caesar played an impressivepart. Scaife and John fought for his body, while he looked on, anabsurd state of affairs, never--as John reflected in his wakinghours--likely to happen in real life. Of all boys Caesar seemed to bethe best equipped to fight his own battles, and to take, as he wouldhave put it, "jolly good care of himself. "

After the first of the football house-matches, Scaife got his "fez"from Lawrence, the captain of the House Eleven, and the only member ofthe School Eleven in Dirty Dick's. Some of the big fellows in theFifth seized this opportunity to "celebrate, " as they called it. Scaife was popular with the Fifth because--as John discovered later--hecheerfully lent money to some of them and never pressed for repayment. And Scaife's getting his "fez" before he was fifteen might be reckonedan achievement. Caesar, in particular, could talk of nothing else. Hepredicted that the Demon would be Captain of both Elevens, schoolracquet-player, and bloom into a second C. B. Fry. 

John, upon this eventful evening, soon became aware of a shindy. Ithappened that Rutford was giving a dinner-party, and extremely unlikelyto leave the private side of the house. John heard snatches of song, howls, and cheers. Ordinarily Lawrence (in whose passage the shindywas taking place) would have stopped this hullabaloo; but Lawrence wasdining with his house-master, and Trieve, an undersized, weaklystripling, lacked the moral courage to interfere. John was getting a"con" from Trieve when an unusually piercing howl penetrated the augustseclusion. 

"What are they doing?" asked Trieve, irritably. 

John hesitated. "It's the Fifth, " he blurted out. "They've got Scaifein there, you know. "

"Oh, indeed! Scaife is an excuse, is he, for this fiendish row? Goand tell Scaife I want to see him. "

John looked rather frightened. He felt like a spaniel about toretrieve a lion. And scurrying along the passage he ran headlong intothe Duffer, to whom he explained his errand. 

"Phew-w-w!" said that young gentleman. "I'd sooner it was you than me, Verney. They're pretty well ginned-up, I can tell you. "

John tapped timidly at the door of the room whence the songs andlaughter proceeded. Then he tapped again, and again. Finally, summoning his courage, he rapped hard. Instantly there was silence, and then a furtive rustling of papers, followed by a constrained "Comein!"

John entered. 

Most of the boys--there were about six of them--gazed at him instupefaction. Scaife, very red in the face, burst into shrill shoutsof laughter. Somehow the laughter disconcerted John. He forgot todeliver his message, but stood staring at Scaife, quaking with a youngboy's terror of the unknown. Upon the table were some siphons, syrups, and the remains of a "spread. "

"What the blazes do you want?" said Lovell, the owner of the room. 

"I want Scaife, " said John. "I mean that Trieve wants Scaife. "

"Oh, Miss Trieve wants Master Scaife, does she? Well, young 'un, youtell Trieve, with my compliments, that Scaife can't come. See?Now--hook it!"

But John still stared at Scaife. The boy's dishevelled appearance, hiswild eyes, his shrill laughter, revealed another Scaife. 

"You'd better come, Scaife, " he faltered. 

"Not I, " said Scaife. He spoke in a curiously high-pitched voice, quite unlike his usual cool quiet tone. "Wait a mo'--I'm not Trieve'sfag. I'm nobody's fag now, am I?"

He appealed to the crowd. It was an unwritten rule at the Manor, thatmembers of the House cricket- or football-Elevens were exempt fromfagging. But the common law of fagging at Harrow holds that any lowerboy is bound to obey the Monitors, provided such obedience is notcontrary to the rules of the school. In practice, however, no boy isfagged outside his own house, except for cricket-fagging in the summerterm. 

"Fag? Not you! Tell Miss Trieve to mind her own business. "

John departed, feeling that an older and wiser boy might have tact tocope with this situation. For him, no course of action presenteditself except delivering what amounted to a declaration of war. 

"Won't come? Is he mad?"

"'Can't come, ' they said. "

"Oh, can't come? Has he hurt himself--sprained anything?"

John was truthful (more of a habit than some people believe). He toldthe truth, just as some boys quibble and prevaricate, simply andnaturally. But now, he hesitated. If he hinted--a hint wouldsuffice--that Scaife had hurt himself--and what more likely after thefurious bit of playing which had secured his "fez"?--Trieve, probably, would do nothing. John felt in his bones that Trieve would be glad ofan excuse to do--nothing. 

"No; he hasn't sprained himself. "

"Then why don't he come?"

"I--I----" Then he burst into excited speech. "He looks as if he_was_ a little mad. Oh, Trieve, won't you leave him alone? Please do!They must stop before prayers, and then Lawrence will be here. "

O unhappy John--thou art not a diplomatist! Why lug in Lawrence, whohas inspired mordant jealousy and envy in the heart of his second incommand?

"Tell Scaife to come here at once, " said Trieve, eying a couple ofcanes in the corner. "And if he should happen to ask what I want himfor, say that I mean to whop him. "

John fled. 

"Whop him?"

The Fifth howled rage and remonstrance. Scaife fiercely announced hisintention of not taking a whopping from Trieve. None the less, theannouncement had a sobering effect upon the elder boys. Theconsequence of a refusal must prove serious. Sooner or later Scaifewould be whopped, probably by Lawrence, no ha'penny matter that!

"You'd better go, Demon, " said Lovell. "Trieve can't hurt you. I'dspeak to the idiot, only he hates me so poisonously, just as I hatehim. "

"I'll go, " said the Caterpillar. 

John had not noticed the Caterpillar before. He stood up, spick andspan, carefully adjusting his coat, pulling down his immaculate cuffs. 

"Good old Caterpillar, " said somebody. "By Jove, he really thinks thatTrieve will listen to--him!"

"Any one who has been nearly three years in this house, " said theCaterpillar, "has the right to tell Miss Trieve that she is--er--notbehaving like a lady. "

"And he'll tell you you're screwed, you old fool. "

"I am not screwed, " replied the Caterpillar, solemnly. "Whisky andpotass does not agree with everybody; but I am not screwed, not atall. " So speaking he sat down rather suddenly. 

Lovell shrugged his shoulders, glanced at the Caterpillar and Scaife, and left the room. Within two minutes he returned, chapfallen andfrowning. 

"I knew it would be useless. Look here, Demon, you must grin and bearit. "

"No, " said Scaife, "not from Miss Trieve. "

He laughed as before. The Fifth exchanged glances. Then Scaife saidthickly, "Give me another drink, I want a drink; so does young Verney. Look at him!"

John was white about the gills and trembling, but not for himself. 

"Do go, Scaife!" he entreated. 

The Fifth formed a group; holding a council of war, engrossed in tryingto find a way out of a wood which of a sudden had turned into a tangledthicket. And so what each would have strenuously prevented came topass. Scaife pulled a bottle from under a sofa-cushion, and put it tohis lips--John, standing at the door, could not see what was takingplace. 

When the bottle was torn from Scaife's hands, the mischief had beendone. The boy had swallowed a quantity of raw spirit. Till now thewhisky had been much diluted with mineral water. 

"I'm going to him, " yelled Scaife, struggling with his friends. "AndI'm going to take a cricket stump with me. Le'me go--le'me go!"

The Caterpillar surveyed him with disgust. After a brief struggleScaife succumbed, helpless and senseless. 

"One is reminded sometimes, " said the Caterpillar, solemnly, "that thepoor Demon is the son of a Liverpool merchant, bred in or about theDocks. "

Nobody, however, paid any attention to Egerton, who, to do him justice, was the only boy present absolutely unmindful of his own peril. Expulsion loomed imminent. The window was flung wide open, eau deCologne liberally applied. Scaife lay like a log. 

And then, in the middle of the confusion, Trieve walked in. 

"Scaife has had a sort of fit, " explained an accomplished liar. "Youknow what his temper is, Trieve? And when he heard that you meant to'whop' him, he went stark staring mad. "

This explanation was so near the truth that Trieve accepted it, probably with mental reservations. 

"You had better send for Mrs. Puttick, " he replied coldly. 

The Caterpillar was despatched for the matron; but before that worthywoman panted upstairs, Scaife had been carried to his own room, hastilyundressed and put into bed, where he lay breathing stertorously. Thematron, good easy soul, accepted the boys' story unhesitatingly. Afit, of course, poor dear child! Mr. Rutford must be summoned. 

With the optimism of youth, those present began to hope that dust mightbe thrown into the eyes of Dirty Dick. And, with a little discreetdelay, the Demon might recover, when he could be relied upon to playhis part with adroitness and ability. Accordingly, the matron wasurged to try her ministering hand first, amid the chaff, which, even inemergencies, slips so easily out of boys' mouths. 

"Mrs. Puttick, you're better than any doctor--Scaife is all right, _really_. We knew that he was subject to fits--Rather! Some one wastelling me that one of his aunts died in a fit. --Shut up, you sillyfool, " this in a whisper, emphasized by a kick; "do you want to sendher out of this with a hornets' nest tied to her back hair?--That's alie, Mrs. Puttick. He's humbugging you. Scaife told me that his fitswere nothing. Yes; he had a slight sunstroke when he was a kid, youknow, and the least bit of excitement affects him. "

"Perhaps I'd better fetch a drop of brandy, " said Mrs. Puttick, staringanxiously at Scaife. "He looks very bad. "

"Yes, please do, Mrs. Puttick. "

She bustled away. 

"Now we _must_ bring him to, " said the Fifth Form. 

Everything was tried, even to the expedient of flicking Scaife's bodywith a wet towel; but the boy lay motionless, his face horribly redagainst the white pillow, his heavy breathing growing more laboured andlouder. And despite the perfume of the eau de Cologne which haddrenched pillow and pyjamas, the smell of whisky spread terror to thecrowd. If Rutford came in, he would swoop on the truth. 

"We'll souse the brandy all over him, " said the Caterpillar; "and thenno one can guess. "

"How about burnt feathers?" suggested Lovell. He had seen a faintinghousemaid treated with this family restorative. 

Mrs. Puttick appeared with the brandy, which Lovell administeredexternally. Still, Scaife remained unconscious. Then a pillow wasripped open, and enough feathers burned to restore--as the Caterpillarput it afterwards--a ruined cathedral. The stench filled the passageand brought to No. 15 a chattering crowd of Lower Boys. And then theconviction seized everybody that Scaife was going to die. 

"Make way, make way, please!"

It was Rutford, who, followed by Lawrence, strode down the passage intoNo. 15, and up to the bed. 

"If you please, sir, " said Lovell, "Scaife has had a fit. "

"It looks like a fit, " said Rutford, gravely. "I have telephoned forthe doctor. You've tried, " he sniffed the air, "all the wrongremedies, of course. Feathers--phaugh!--perfume--brandy! The boy mustbe propped up and the blood drawn from his head by applying hot waterto his feet. "

The Fifth exchanged glances. Why had this not occurred to them? Whata fool Mrs. Puttick was!

"A rush of blood to the head!" Rutford like to hold forth, and he hadbeen told that he was a capital after-dinner speaker. He had justrisen from an excellent dinner; he was not much alarmed; and hisaudience listened with flattering attention. Scaife was lifted into achair; ice was applied to his head; his feet were thrust into a "tosh"filled with steaming water. 

"Note the effect, " said Rutford. Already a slight change might beperceived; the breathing became easier, the face less red. Rutfordcontinued in his best manner: "Mark the _vis medicatrix naturae_. Nature, assisted by hot water, gently accomplishes her task. Verysimple, and not one of you had the wit to think of a remedy close athand, and so easy to administer. The breathing is becoming normal. Ina few minutes I predict that we shall have the satisfaction of seeingthe poor dear fellow open his eyes, and he will tell us that he is butlittle the worse. Yes, yes, a rush of blood to the head producingcerebral disturbance. "

He smiled blandly, receiving the homage of the Fifth. 

"And now, Lovell, what do you know about this? Did this fit take placehere?"

"In my room, sir. "

"In your room--eh? What was Scaife, a Lower Boy, doing in your room?"

"Lawrence gave him his 'fez' to-day, sir. "

Lawrence nodded. 

"Ah! And Scaife was excited, perhaps unduly excited--eh?"

The Fifth joined in a chorus of, "Yes, sir. --Oh, yes, sir--awfullyexcited, sir. --Never saw a boy so excited, sir. "

"That will do. Now, Lovell, go on!"

"We had some siphons in our room, sir. " A stroke of genius this--forthe siphons were still on the table and the syrups, and the _débris_ ofcakes and meringues. Rutford would be sure to examine the scene of thecatastrophe; and the whisky bottle was carefully hidden. "We werehaving a spread, sir, and we asked Scaife to join us. His play to-daymade him one of us. "

The other boys gazed admiringly at Lovell. What a cool, knowing hand!

"Yes, yes, I see nothing objectionable about that. "

"Well, sir--we were rather noisy----"

"Go on. "

"To speak the exact truth, sir, I fear we were _very_ noisy; andTrieve, it seems, heard us. Instead of sending for me, sir, he sentVerney for Scaife--"

"Ah!"

Lovell's hesitation at this point was really worthy of Coquelin _cadet_. 

"Of course you know, sir, that Scaife's getting his 'fez' releases himfrom house-fagging. We thought Trieve had forgotten that, sir; andthat it would be rather fun--I'm not excusing myself, sir--we thoughtit would be a harmless joke if we persuaded Scaife not to go. "

"Um!"

"We were very foolish, sir. And then Trieve sent another messagesaying that Scaife was to go to his room at once to be--whopped. "

"To be whopped. Um! Rather drastic that, very drastic under thecircumstances. "

"So we thought, sir; and I went to represent the facts to Trieve----"

"Well?"

"I'm not much of a peacemaker, I fear, sir. Trieve refused to listento me. He insisted upon whopping Scaife for what he calleddisobedience and impudence. Upon my honour, sir, I tried, we alltried, to persuade Scaife to take his whopping quietly, but he seemedto go quite mad. He has a violent temper, sir----"

"Yes, yes. "

"A very violent temper. He--he----"

"Frothed at the mouth, " put in a bystander. "I particularly noticedthat. "

"Really, really----"

"Yes, " said Lovell, nodding his head reflectively. "He frothed at themouth, and then----"

"Grew quite black in the face, " interpolated a third boy, who wasdetermined that Lovell should not carry off all the honours. 

"I should say--purple, " amended Lovell. "And then he gave----"

"A beastly gurgle----"

"A sort of snort, and fell flat on his face. I'm not sure that hedidn't strike the edge of the table as he fell. "

"He did, " said one of the boys. "I saw that. "

At this moment Scaife moved in his chair, drawing all eyes to his face. John, peering from behind the circle of big boys, could see the firstsigns of returning consciousness, a flicker of the eyelids, aconvulsive tremor of the limbs. Rutford bent down. 

"Well, my dear Scaife, how are you? We've been a little anxious, allof us, but, I ventured to predict, without cause. Tell us, my poorboy, how do you feel?"

Scaife opened his eyes. Then he groaned dismally. Rutford wasstanding to the right of the chair and footbath. The fifth were facingScaife. He met their anxious, admonishing glances, unable to interpretthem. 

Lovell senior repeated the house-master's question--

"How are you, old chap?"

But, in his anxiety to convey a warning, he came too near, obscuringRutford's massive figure. Scaife groaned again, putting his hand tohis head. 

"How am I?" he repeated thickly. "Why, why, I'm jolly well screwed, Lovell; that's how I am! Jolly well screwed--hay? Ugh! how screwed Iam. Ugh!"

The groans fell on a terrifying silence. Rutford glanced keenly fromface to face. Then he said slowly--

"The wretched boy is--drunk!"

At the sound of his house-master's voice, Scaife relapsed into aninsensibility which no one at the moment cared to pronounce counterfeitor genuine. Rutford glared at Lovell. 

"Who was in your room, Lovell?"

Without waiting for Lovell to answer, the other boys, each in turn, said, "I, sir, " or "Me, sir. " John came last. 

"Anybody else, Lovell?"

A discreet master would not have asked this question, but Dirty Dickwas the last man to waive an advantage. Now, the Caterpillar hadquietly left No. 15, as soon as Rutford entered it. Not from anycowardly motive, but--as he put it afterwards--"because one makes apoint of retiring whenever a rank outsider appears. One ought to beparticular about the company one keeps. " It says something for theboy's character, that this statement was accepted by the house asunvarnished truth. Lovell glanced at the other Fifth Form boys, asRutford repeated the question. 

"Anybody else, Lovell? Be careful how you answer me!"

"Nobody else, " said Lovell. 

"On your honour, sir?"

"On my honour, sir. "

And, later, all Manorites declared that Lovell had lied like agentleman. Rutford and he stared at each other, the boy pale, butself-possessed, the big burly man flushed and ill at ease. 

"You will all go to my study. A word with you, Lawrence. "

The boys filed quietly out. Rutford looked at John and Fluff. Largefat tears were trickling down Fluff's cheeks. Somehow he feltconvinced that John was involved in a frightful row. 

"Run away, Kinloch, " said his house-master. "I wish to speak withLawrence and Verney. "

He turned to Lawrence as he spoke. John glanced at Scaife. His eyeswere open. Silently, Scaife placed a trembling finger upon his lips. The action, the expression in the eyes, were unmistakable. Johnunderstood, as plainly as if Scaife had spoken, that silence, whereexpulsion impended, was not only expedient but imperative. Kinlochcrept out of the room. Rutford examined Scaife, who feignedinsensibility. Then he addressed Lawrence. 

"Go to Lovell's room, Lawrence, and institute a thorough search. Ifyou find wine or spirits, let me know at once. "

Lawrence left the room. 

"Now, Verney, I am going to ask you a few questions. " He assumed hisrasping truculent tone. "And don't you dare to tell me lies, sir!"

John was about to repudiate warmly his house-master's brutalinjunction, when the habit of thinking before he spoke closed hishalf-opened lips. Immediately, his face assumed the obstinate, expressionless look which made those who searched no deeper than thesurface pronounce him a dull boy. Rutford, for instance, interpretedthis stolidity as unintelligence and lack of perception. John, meantime, was struggling with a thought which shaped itself slowly intoa plan of action. He had just heard Lovell lie to save theCaterpillar. John knew well enough that he might be called upon to liealso, to save not himself, but Scaife. If he held his tongue andrefused to answer questions, Rutford would assume, and with reason, that Scaife had been made drunk by the Fifth Form fellows. 

Then John said quietly, "I am not a liar, sir. "

"Certainly, I have never detected you in a lie, " said Rutford. 

"All the same, " continued John, in a hesitating manner, "I would lie, if I thought a lie might save a friend's life. "

Rutford was so unprepared for this deliberate statement, that he couldonly reply--

"Oh, you would, would you?"

"Yes, " said John; then he added, "Any decent boy or man would. "

"Oh! Oh, indeed! This is very interesting. Go on, Verney. "

"Scaife said he _felt_ as if he was jolly well screwed, sir; but heisn't. I'm quite sure he isn't. He may feel like it; but he isn't. "

John could see Scaife's eyes, slightly blood-shot, but sparkling with asort of diabolical sobriety. At that moment, one thing alone seemedcertain, Scaife had regained full possession of his faculties. Rutfordstared at John, frowning. 

"You dare to look me in the face and tell me that Scaife is not drunk?"

Very seriously, John answered, "I'm sure he's not drunk, sir. "

Rutford eyed the boy keenly. 

"Have you ever seen anybody drunk?" he demanded. 

"I live in the New Forest, " said John, as gravely as before, "and onWhit-Monday----" He was aware that he had made an impression upon thisbig, truculent man. 

"Don't try to be funny with me, Verney. "

"Oh no, sir, as if I should dare!"

"Well, well, we are wasting time. Trieve sent you to Lovell's room tofetch Scaife?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And what was Scaife doing when you went into the room? Be verycareful!"

John considered. "He was laughing, sir. "

"Laughing, was he?"

"But he stopped laughing when I gave him Trieve's message, and then hesaid what Lovell told you, sir. "

"Never mind what Lovell told me. Give me your version of the story. "

"Scaife asked the other fellows if Trieve had any right to fag him, nowthat he had got his 'fez. ' If he had been drunk, sir, he wouldn't havethought of that, would he?"

"Um, " said Rutford, slightly shaken. John described his return toTrieve's room, and Trieve's threat. 

"Lovell and you tell the same story. "

"Why, yes, sir. " John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; buthis face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless. 

Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recitedwhat he knew and what he suspected. He had hardly finished speaking, when Scaife opened his eyes for the second time. By a curiouscoincidence, the doctor used the words of the house-master. 

"Well, sir, how do you feel?"

And then Scaife answered, in the same dazed fashion as before--

"I feel as if I was jolly well screwed, sir. "

Rutford nodded portentously. 

"I feel, " continued Scaife, "as I did once long ago, when I was a kidand got hold of some curacoa at one of my father's parties. "

"Just so, " said the doctor. 

"Same buzzing in the head, same beastly feeling, same--same old--sameold--giddiness. " He closed his eyes, and his head fell heavily uponhis chest. 

"It looks like concussion, " said the doctor, doubtfully. "You say hefell?" He turned to John. 

"I was just outside the door, " said John. 

"We'll put him into the sick-room, Mr. Rutford. And in a day or twohe'll be himself again. "

"Are you sure that what I--er--feared--er----?"

The doctor frowned. "The boy has had brandy, of course. "

"Mrs. Puttick and Lovell gave him plenty of that, " John interpolated. 

"I believe you can exonerate the boy entirely, " said the doctor. 

John saw that Rutford seemed relieved. 

"I have ordered Lovell's room to be searched. If no wine or spiritsare found, I shall be glad to believe that I have made a verypardonable mistake. "

While Scaife was being removed, Lawrence came in with his report. Nothing alcoholic had been discovered in Lovell's room. After prayers, which were late that night, Dirty Dick made a short speech. 

"I had reason to suspect, " said he, "that a gross breach of the rulesof the school had been made to-night by certain boys in this house. Itappears I was mistaken. No more will be said on the subject by me; andI think that the less said by you, big and small, the better. Goodnight. "

He strode away into the private side. 

Two days later, Scaife came back to No. 15. John wondered why hestared at him so hard upon the first occasion when they happened to bealone. Then Scaife said--

"Well, young Verney. I sha'n't forget that, if it hadn't been for you, I should have been sacked. And I sha'n't forget either that you're nothalf such a fool as you look. "

John exhibited surprise. 

"The way you handled the beast, " continued Scaife, "was masterly. Iheard every word, though my head was bursting. I shall tell Lovellthat you saved us. Oh, Lord--didn't I give the show away?"

He never tried to read the perplexity upon the other's face, but wentaway laughing. He came back with the Caterpillar half an hour later, and the three boys sat down as usual to prepare some Livy. John wassensible that his companions treated him not only as an equal--a newand agreeable experience--but as a friend. In the course of the firstten minutes Scaife said to the Caterpillar--

"He told Dick to his face that he would lie to save a pal. "

And the Caterpillar replied seriously, "Good kid, very good kid. Lovell says he's going to give a tea in his honour. "

"No he isn't. It's my turn. "

Accordingly, upon the next half holiday, Scaife gave a tea at theCreameries. Of all the strange things that had happened during thepast fortnight, this to our simple John seemed the strangest. He wasnot conscious of having done or said anything to justify the esteem andconsideration in which Scaife, the Caterpillar, and Lovell seemed tohold him. 

"You've forgotten Desmond, " he said to Scaife, when the lattermentioned the names of his guests. 

"Caesar isn't coming. By the way, Verney, you've not been talking toCaesar about the row in our house?"

"No, " said John. "Lawrence came round and said that I must keep mymouth shut. "

"And naturally you did what you were told to do?"

The half-mocking tone disappeared in a burst of laughter as Johnanswered--

"Yes, of course. "

"And I suppose it never entered your head that Lawrence would not havebeen so particular about shutting your mouth without good reason. "

"Perhaps, " said John, after a pause, "Lawrence was in a funk lest, lest----"

"Go on!"

"Lest the thing would be exaggerated. "

"Exactly. Lots of fellows would go about saying that I was deaddrunk--eh?"

"They might. "

"And that would be coming dangerously near the truth. "

"Oh, Scaife! Then you really _were_----"

Scaife laughed again. "Yes, I really was, my Moses in the bulrushes!Don't look so miserable. I guessed all along that you weren't _quite_in the know. Well, I'm every bit as grateful. You stood up to Dicklike a hero. And my tea is in your honour. "

"Oh, Scaife--you--you won't do it again?"

"Get screwed?" said Scaife, gravely. "I shall not. It isn't goodenough. We've chucked the stuff away. "

"If they'd found it----"

"Ah--if! The old Caterpillar attended to that. He's a downy bird, Ican tell you. When Dick came into our room, he slipped back toLovell's room, carried off the whisky, hid it, washed the glasses, andthen dirtied them with siphon and syrup. The Caterpillar and youshowed great head. We shall drink your healths to-morrow--in tea andchocolate. "

John wondered what Scaife had said to the Fifth. At any rate, theyasked John no questions, and treated him, with distinguished courtesyand favour; but that evening, when John was fagging in Lawrence's room, the great man said abruptly--

"I saw you walking with Lovell senior this afternoon. "

John explained. Lawrence frowned. 

"Oh, you've been celebrating, have you? Thanksgiving service at theCreameries. Now, look here, Verney, I've met your uncle, and he askedme to keep an eye on you. Because of that I made you my fag--you, agreen hand, when I had the pick of the House. "

"It was awfully good of you, " said John, warmly. 

"We'll sink that. I'm five years older than you, and I know everyblessed--and _cursed_"--he spoke with great emphasis--"thing that goeson in this house. I know, for instance, that dust was thrown, and verycleverly thrown, into Rutford's eyes, and you helped to throw it. Don't speak! You didn't quite know what you were up to. Well, it'slucky for Lovell and Co. That one innocent kid was mixed up in thataffair. But it's been rather unlucky for you. I'd sooner see youkicked about a bit by those fellows than petted. I'm sorry--sorry, doyou hear?--the whole lot were not sacked. And now you can hook it. I've said enough, perhaps too much, but I believe I can trust you. "

After this John showed his gratitude by painstaking attention tofagging. Lawrence became aware of faithful service: that his toast wasalways done to a turn, that his daily paper was warmed, as John hadseen the butler at home warm the _Times_, that his pens were changed, his blotting-paper renewed, and so forth. In John's eyes, Lawrenceoccupied a position near the apex of the world's pyramid of great men. 

[1] _kraipale_ is translated by Liddell and Scott as "the result of adebauch. "

[Transcriber's note: "kraipale" was transliterated from the Greekcharacters kappa, rho, alpha, iota, pi, alpha (with soft-breathingmark), lambda, eta. ]

CHAPTER IV

TORPIDS

 "Again we rush across the slush, A pack of breathless faces, And charge and fall, and see the ball Fly whizzing through the bases. "

The remainder of the term slipped away without further accident orincident. Apart from the preparation of work, John saw little ofScaife or Egerton. The Fifth nodded to him in a friendly fashion whenhe passed them in the street, and, greater kindness on their part, lefthim alone. Possibly, Lawrence had said a word to Lovell. Such leisureas John enjoyed (a new boy at Harrow has not much) he spent with thedevoted Fluff. Desmond and Scaife walked together on Sundayafternoons. But the fact that Desmond seemed to be vanishing out ofhis horizon made no difference to John's ever-increasing affection forhim. Very humbly he worshipped at a distance. On clear, dry daysFluff and he would climb to the top of the wall of the squashracquet-courts to see Scaife and Desmond play a single. They wereextraordinarily well-matched in strength, activity, and skill. Johnnoticed, however, that the Demon lost his temper when he lost a game, whereas Caesar only laughed. Somehow John divined that the Demon wasmaking the effort of his life to secure Desmond's friendship. AndCaesar had ideals, standards to which the Demon pretended to attain. Good simple John made sure that Caesar would elevate the Demon to hisplane, that evil would be exorcised by good. Only in his dreams didthe Demon have the advantage. 

Just before the end of the term, Caesar said to him--

"After all, I'm jolly glad I'm coming into your House, because the oldDemon is such a ripper; and he and I have been talking things over. He's as mad keen as I am about games, and although the Manorites havenot played in a cock-house match at cricket or footer for years, stillthere is a chance for us at Torpids next term. You'll play, Verney. You've improved a lot, so the Demon says, and he'll be captain. Thenthere are the sports. If only Dirty Dick could be knocked on the head, the Manor might jump to the front again. "

"It will, " said John. 

When the School reassembled after Christmas, Desmond entered the Manor, and found himself with Scaife in a two-room. A civil note from the manof millions had arranged this. To John was given a two-room, also, with the Duffer as stable companion. Fluff remained in No. 15. TheDuffer had got his remove from the Top Shell into John's form. Scaifeand Desmond were elevated into the Upper Remove. It followed, therefore, that Scaife and Desmond prepared work in their own room, theCaterpillar joining the Duffer and John. Thus it will be seen that, although Desmond had become a Manorite, he was, practically speaking, out of John's orbit. 

The Caterpillar had now been three years in the school, and he governedhimself accordingly. He put on a "bar-maid" [1] collar and spent muchtime on the top step of the boys' entrance to the Manor. No meretwo-year-old presumed to occupy this sacred spot. Had he dared to doso, the Caterpillar would have made things very sultry for him. Also, he informed the Duffer and John that, by virtue of his position, heproposed to prepare no work at all. Each "con" was divided into twoequal parts: the Duffer "mugged" up one; John the other. Then theCaterpillar would be summoned, and glean the harvest. The Duffer had acrib or two, but the Caterpillar forbade their use. 

"You kids, " said he, "ought not to use 'Bohns. ' Besides, it'sdangerous. "

The Caterpillar's deportment and coolness filled John and the Dufferwith respect and admiration. The master in charge of the Lower Removehappened to be short-sighted. The Caterpillar took shameful advantageof this. At repetitions, for instance, he would read Horace's odes offa torn-out page concealed in the palm of his hand, or--ifpracticable--pin the page on to the master's desk. 

He had genius for extricating himself (and others) out of what boyscall tight places. One anecdote, well known to the Lower School andrepeated as proof of the Caterpillar's masterly methods, may serve toillustrate the sort of influence Egerton wielded. When he was in theFourth, his form met in the Old Schools in a room not far from thataugust chamber used by the Head Master and Upper Sixth. One day, themaster in charge of the form happened to be late. The small boys inthe passage celebrated his absence with dance and song. When thebelated man arrived, a monitor awaited him. The Head Master presentedhis compliments to Mr. A---- and wished to learn the names of the boyswho had created such a scandalous disturbance. Mr. A---- invited theroysterers to give up their names under penalties of extra school. Hateful necessity! Silence succeeded. A---- grew irate. The monitortried to conceal a smile. 

"Any boy who was making any noise at all--stand up. "

The Caterpillar rose slowly, long and thin, spick and span. 

"If you please, sir, " said he, "I was _whispering_!"

A----'s sense of humour was tickled. 

"My compliments to the Head Master, " said he, "and please tell him thatI find, on careful inquiry, that Egerton was--whispering. "

A shout of laughter from Olympus proclaimed that the message had beendelivered. The Caterpillar had saved the situation. 

John became a disciple of this accomplished young gentleman and triedto imitate him. For Egerton represented, faithfully enough, traditionsto which John bowed the knee. Upon any point of schoolboy honour hisauthority ruled supreme. He told the truth among his peers; he loathedobscenity; he disliked and condemned bad language. 

"The best men don't swear much, " he would say. "It's doosid bad form. I allow myself a 'damn' or two, nothing more. My great-grandfather, who was one of the Regency lot, was known as Cursing Egerton, butnowadays we leave that sort of thing to bargees. "

Quite unconsciously, John assimilated the Caterpillar's axioms. 

"We're not sent here at enormous expense to learn only Latin and Greek. At Harrow and Eton one is licked into shape for the big things:diplomacy, politics, the Services. One is taught manners, what? I'mnot a marrying sort of man, but if I do have sons I shall send 'emhere, even if I have to pinch a bit. "

This was the side of Egerton which appealed so strongly to John. TheCaterpillar was an Harrovian to the core, like the Duffer and CaesarDesmond. He deplored the increasing predominance of sons of very richmen. And he anathematized Harrovian fathers who were persuaded byEtonian wives to send their sons to the Plain instead of to the Hill. That some of the famous Harrow families, who owed so much to theSchool, should forsake it, seemed to Egerton the unpardonable sin. 

During this term, regretfully must it be recorded that John scamped his"prep" and "ragged" in form whenever a suitable chance presenteditself. The Duffer and he bribed a "Chaw" [2] to throw gravel againstthe windows of the room where the boys were supposed to be masteringthe problems of Euclid and algebra. The "tique" [3] master had beenThird Wrangler, but he couldn't tackle his Division properly. Uponthis occasion the "chaw" created such a disturbance that (on audaciousdemand) leave was granted to the Duffer and John to capture theoffender. The young rascals pursued the "chaw" as far as theMetropolitan Station, and presented that conscientious youth withanother sixpence. Then it occurred to John that it might be expedientto capture some bogus prisoner; so by means of talk, sugared withchocolates, they persuaded a little girl to impersonate the thrower ofgravel. The little girl, carefully coached in her part, was led to theWrangler, but stage-fright made her burst into tears at the criticalmoment. Somehow or other the truth leaked out; the Duffer and Johnwere sent up to the Head Master and "swished. " Each collected a fewtwigs of the birch, carefully preserved to this day. 

Meantime, the Torpid house-matches were coming on, and the Schoolagreed, wonderingly, that Dirty Dick's had a chance of beingcock-house. The fact that the Manor had lost caste brought about thispossibility. Boys just under fifteen found room at the Manor whenother houses were full. All the Manorites in the Shell and Removeswere fellows who had come to Harrow rather over than under fourteenyears of age. 

And when the list of the Torpid Eleven was posted, didn't John's heartboil with pride when he read his own name at the bottom of it?

The Manor won the first and the second of the matches. Then came thesemi-finals with Damer's. When the teams met in the playing-fields thedifference in the size of the players was remarked. Damer's Torpidswere small boys, not much bigger than John or the Duffer. But they hadbehind them that stupendous force which is fashioned out of pride, _esprit de corps_, self-confidence begotten of long-continued success, and, strongest of all, the conviction that every man-Jack would fighttill he dropped for the honour and glory of the crack house at Harrow. Not a boy in Damer's team was Scaife's equal as a player, but inScaife's strength lay the weakness of the Manorites. They relied uponone player; Damer's pinned faith to eleven. 

As it happened to be a fine day, the School turned out in force towitness the match. Most of the masters were present, and some ladies. Rutford, however, had business elsewhere. The School commented uponhis absence with sly smiles and shrugs of the shoulder. Some of theManorites were indifferent; the better sort raged. The Caterpillarappeared upon the ground in a faultless overcoat, carrying a large bagof lemons. His straw hat was cocked at a slight angle. 

"One is really uncommonly obliged to Dirty Dick for staying away, " hetold everybody. "Speaking personally, the mere sight of him is veryupsetting to me. Keen as one feels about this match, one can't denythat there is not room in a footer field for Dirty Dick and aself-respecting person. "

None the less, the absence of their house-master had a bad effect uponthe Torpids. Damer, you may be sure, had come down, prepared to cheerlouder than any boy in his house; Damer, it was whispered, had beenknown to shed tears when his house suffered defeat; Damer, in fine, inspired ardours--a passion of endeavour. 

Scaife won the toss and kicked off. 

For the first five minutes nothing of interest happened. Damer'splayed collectively; the Manorites rather waited upon the individual. When Scaife's chance came, so it was predicted, he would go through theDamer's centre as irresistibly as a Russian battleship cuts through afleet of fishing-smacks. 

Rutford being absent, Dumbleton, the butler, stood well to the fore. He never missed a house-match, and no one could guess, looking at hiswooden countenance, how the game was going; for he accepted eitherdefeat or victory with dignified self-restraint. A smart bit of workprovoked a bland, "Well played, sir, _very well_ played, sir!" utteredin the same respectful tone in which he requested Lovell, let us say, to go to Mr. Rutford's study after prayers. The fags believed that"Dumber, " who had begun his career as boot-boy at the Manor in theglorious days of old, had given notice to leave when he learned thatDirty Dick was about to assume command; but had been prevailed upon tostay by the promise of an enormous salary. Nothing disturbed hisequanimity. On the previous Saturday evening, John had heated thewrong end of the poker in No. 15, knowing that Dumber's dutyconstrained him to march round the House after "lights out, " to rakeout any fires that might be still burning. Snug under his counterpane, the practical joker awaited, chuckling, a choleric word from theimpassive and impeccable butler. How did Dumber divine that the pokerwas unduly hot and black with soot underneath? Who can answer thatquestion? The fact remains that he seized John's best Sunday trouserswhich were laid out on a chair, and holding the poker with these, accomplished his task without remark or smile. The trousers had to besent to the tailor's to be cleaned. 

Not far from Dumber stood a group of small boys, including the unhappyFluff--unhappy because he was not playing, despite arduous training(entirely to please John) and systematic coaching. His failure meantfurther separation from John, whom, it will be remembered, he wouldhave been allowed to call by his Christian name, had he been includedamongst the Torpids. Of late, Fluff had not seen much of John, and inhis dark hours he allowed his thoughts to linger, not unpleasantlysometimes, upon premature death and John's subsequent remorse. 

Meantime, Scaife and Desmond were playing a furious game which musthave proved successful had it not been for the admirable steadiness ofthe enemy. Lawrence watched their efforts with compressed lips andfrowning brows. He knew--who better?--that his cracks were tearingthemselves to tatters; but his protests were drowned by the shrillcheers of the fags. 

"Rutfords--Rutfor-r-r-r-r-ds! Go it, old Demon!--Jolly well played, Caesar!--Sky him![4]--Well skied, sir!--Ah-h-h-h! Well given--welltaken!"

The last, long-drawn-out exclamation proclaimed that "Yards" [5] hadbeen given to Scaife right in front of Damer's base. Damer'sretreated; Scaife, with heaving chest, balanced the big ball betweenthe tips of his fingers. 

"Oh-h-h-h-h!"

Scaife had missed an easy shot. Lawrence could see that the boy wastrembling with disappointment and mortification. Barbed arrows fromDamer's small boys pierced Manorite hearts. 

"Jolly well boshed, Scaife!--Good, kind, old Demon!--Thank you, Scaife!--" and like derisive approbation rolled from lip to lip. TheCaterpillar turned to Lovell. 

"Showing temper, ain't he?"

"Yes, " said Lovell. 

"Clever chap, " said the Caterpillar, reflectively; "but one is remindedthat a stream can't rise higher than its source. Not mine that--thegovernor's! Caesar is facing the chaff with a grin. "

The game began again. But soon it became evident that Scaife had lost, not only his temper, but his head. He rushed here and there with solittle judgment that the odds amongst the sporting fellows went to sixto four against the Manor. At the beginning of the game they were sixto four the other way. And, inevitably, Scaife's wild and furiousefforts unbalanced Desmond's play. Both boys were out of their properplaces to the confusion of the rest of the team. Within half an hourDamer's had scored two bases to nothing. 

The Caterpillar distributed halves of lemons. Lawrence went up toScaife. The captain of the Torpids was standing apart, not far fromDesmond, who was sucking a lemon with a puzzled expression. Gallant, sweet-tempered, and always hopeful, Caesar could not understand hisfriend's passion of rage and resentment. With the tact of his race, however, he held aloof, smiling feebly, because he had sworn to himselfnot to frown. Had he looked to his right, he would have seen John, also sucking a lemon, but understudying his idol's nonchalant attitudeand smile. John was sensible of an overpowering desire to flinghimself upon the ground and howl. Instead he sucked his lemon, staredat Desmond, and smiled--valiantly. 

"Scaife, " said Lawrence, gravely, "you're not playing the game. "

Scaife scowled. "I only know I've half killed myself, " he muttered. 

Lawrence continued in the same steady voice, "Yes; because you missedan easy base which has happened to me and every other player scores oftimes. Come here, Desmond. "

Desmond joined them. Lawrence's face brightened when he saw hopefuleyes and a gallant smile. 

"You don't despair?"

"We'll knock 'em into smithereens yet. "

"That's the Harrow spirit, but temper your determination to win with alittle common sense. You've overdone it, both of you. Take my tip:they'll play up like blazes. Defend your own base; and then whenthey're spent, trample on 'em. "

"Thank you, " said Desmond. 

Scaife nodded sulkily. 

None the less he had too great respect for Lawrence's ability andexperience as a captain to disregard his advice. After the kick-off, Damer's _did_ play up, and the Manor had to defend its base againstsustained and fierce attack. Again and again a third base was almostkicked, again and again superior weight prevailed in the scrimmages. Within ten minutes Damer's were gasping and weary. And then, the ballwas forced out of the scrimmage and kicked to the top side, Desmond'splace in the field. Comparatively fresh, seeing the gloriousopportunity, grasping it, hugging it, Caesar swooped on the ball. Hehad the heels of any boy on the opposite side. Down the field he sped, faster and faster, amid the roars of the School, roars which came tohis ears like the deep booming of breakers upon a lee shore. To manyof those watching him, the sight of that graceful figure, that shiningardent face, revealing the promise which youth and beauty always offerto a delighted world, became an ineffaceable memory. Damer turned tothe Head of his house. 

"And Desmond ought to be one of _us_, " he groaned. 

And now Caesar had passed all forwards. If he keep his wits a base iscertain. The full back alone lies between him and triumph. But thisis the moment, the psychological moment, when one tiny mistake willprove irrevocable. The Head of Damer's whispers as much to Damer, whosmiles sadly. 

"His father's son will not blunder now, " he replies. 

Nor does he. The mistake--for mistake there must be on one side ort'other--is made by Damer's back. As the ball rolls halfway betweenthem, the back hesitates and falters. 

One base to two--and eighteen minutes to play!

The second base was kicked by Scaife five minutes later. 

By this time the School knew that they were looking on at a cock-housematch, not a semi-final. It was the wealth of Dives against thewidow's mite that the winner of this match would defeat easily eitherof the two remaining houses. And not a man or boy on the ground couldname with any conviction the better eleven. The betting languished atevens. 

Moreover, both sides were playing "canny, " risking nothing, nursingtheir energies for the last furious five minutes. Damer began tofidget; then he dropped out of the front rank of spectators. Hecouldn't stand still to see his boys win--or lose. He paced up anddown behind the fags, who winked at each other. 

"Damer's got the needle, " they whispered. 

Dumbleton, however, stood still; a graven image of High Life belowStairs. 

"What do you think, Dumber?" asked Fluff. 

"I think, my lord, " replied Dumber, solemnly, "that every minuteimproves our chance, but if it goes on much longer, " he addedphlegmatically, "I shall fall down dead. My 'eart's weak, my lord. "

This was an ancient joke delivered by Dumber as if it were brand-new, and received by the fags in a like spirit. 

"Bless you, you've got no heart, Dumber. It's turned into tummy longago, " or, in scathing accents, "It's not your heart that's out ofwhack, Dumber, but your blithering old headpiece. What a pity youcan't buy a new one!" and so on and so forth. 

Very soon, however, this chaff ceased. Excitement began to shake thespectators. They felt it up and down their spinal columns; it formeditself into lumps in their throats; it gave one or two cramp in thecalves of their legs; It reddened many cheeks and whitened as manymore. The Caterpillar pulled out his watch. 

"Three and a half minutes, " he announced in a voice which fell like thecrack of doom upon the silent crowd. If they could have cheered orchaffed! But the absolute equality of the last desperate struggleprevented any demonstration. The ball was worried through a scrimmage, escaped to the right, slid out to the left, only to be returned whenceit came. It seemed as if both sides were unable to kick it, and whenkicked it seemed to refuse to move as if weighted by theever-increasing burden of suspense. . . . 

"Now--now's your chance!" yelled the Manorites. 

To their flaming senses the ball appeared to be lying, a huge blurredsphere, upon the muddy grass; and the Elevens were stupidly staring atit. The Saints be praised! Some fellow can move. Who is it? Theplayers, big and little, are so daubed with mud from head to foot as tobe unrecognizable. Ah-h-h! It's young Verney. 

"Good kid! Well played--I say, well played, well pla-a-a-a-yed!"

Our John has, it seems, distinguished himself. He has chargedvaliantly into the captain of Damer's at the moment when thatillustrious chief is about to kick the ball to a trusted lieutenant onthe left. He succeeds in kicking the ball into John's face. John goesover backwards; but the ball falls just in front of the Duffer. 

"Kick it, Duffer--kick it, you old ass!"

The Duffer kicks it most accurately, kicks it well out to the top side. Now, can Desmond repeat his amazing performance? Yes--No--he can't. The conditions are no longer the same. Half a dozen fellows arebetween him and the Damer base. 

Alas! The Manor is about to receive a second object-lesson upon thefatuity of trusting to individuals. Confident in Caesar's ability totake the ball at least within kicking distance of the base, they haverushed forward, leaving unguarded their own citadel. Caesar, going toofast, misjudges the distance between himself and the back. A secondlater the ball is well on its way to the Manor's base. The back awaitsit, coolly enough; knowing that Damer's forwards are offside. Then hekicks the sodden, slippery ball--hard. An exclamation of horror burstsfrom the Manorites. Their back has kicked the ball straight into thehands of the Damerite captain, the steadiest player on the ground. 

"_Yards_!"

The chief collects himself for a decisive effort, and then despatchesthe ball straight and true for the target. 

It passed between the posts within forty-five seconds of time. 

[1] The "Barmaid" collar is the double collar, at that time just cominginto fashion. 

[2] "Chaw, " short for Chawbacon. 

[3] "Tique, " ab. For arithmetic. "Tique-beaks" are mathematicalmasters. 

[4] To "sky, " _i. E. _ to charge and overthrow. 

[5] In the Harrow game a boy may turn and kick the ball into the handsof one of his own side. The boy who catches it calls "Yards!" and, theopposite side withdrawing three yards, the catcher is allowed a freekick. 

CHAPTER V

FELLOWSHIP

"Fellowship is Heaven, and the lack of it is Hell. "

John was squelching through the mud, wondering whether his nose wasbroken or not, when Lawrence touched his shoulder. 

"Never mind, Verney, " he said cheerily; "the Manor will be cock-houseat Torpids next year, and I venture to prophesy that you'll be Captain. "

"Ob, thanks, Lawrence, " said John. 

But, much as he appreciated this tribute from the great man, and muchas it served to mitigate the pangs of defeat, a yet happier stroke offortune was about to befall him. Desmond, who always walked up fromthe football field with Scaife, conferred upon John the honour of hiscompany. 

"Where's Scaife?" said John. 

"The Demon is demoniac, " said Desmond. "He's lost his hair, and heblames me. Well, I did my best, and so did he, and there's no more tobe said. It's a bore that we shall be too old to play next year. Itold the Demon that if we had to be beaten, I would sooner take alicking from Damer's than any other house; and he told me that hebelieved I wanted 'em to win. When a fellow's in that sort of blindrage, I call him dotty, don't you?"

"Yes, " said John. 

"You played jolly well, Verney; I expect Lawrence told you so. "

"He did say something decent, " John replied. 

The Caterpillar joined them as they were passing through the stile. "We should have won, " he said deliberately, "if the Demon hadn'tbehaved like a rank out-rider. "

"Scaife is my pal, " said Desmond, hotly. 

The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders, and held high his well-cutaquiline nose, as he murmured--

"One doesn't pretend to be a Christian, but as a gentleman one acceptsa bit of bad luck without gnashing one's teeth. What? That Spartanboy with the fox was a well bred 'un, you take my word for it. Scaifeisn't. "

The Caterpillar joined another pair of boys before Desmond could reply. John looked uncomfortable. Then Desmond burst out with Irishvehemence--

"Egerton is always jawing about breeding. It's rather snobbish. Idon't think the worse of Scaife because his grandfather carried a hod. The Egertons have been living at Mount Egerton ever since they leftMount Ararat, but what have they done? And he ought to make allowancesfor the old Demon. He was simply mad keen to win this match, and hehas a temper. You like him, Verney, don't you?"

John hesitated, realizing that to speak the truth would offend the onefellow in the school whom he wished to please and conciliate. Then heblurted out--

"No--I don't. "

"You don't?" Desmond's frank blue eyes, Irish eyes, deeply blue, withblack lashes encircling them, betrayed amazement and curiosity--so Johnthought--rather than anger. "You don't?" he continued. "Why not? Theold Demon likes you; he says you got him out of a tight place. Whydon't you like him, Verney?"

John's mind had to speculate vaguely whether or not Desmond knew thenature of the tight place--_tight_ was such a very descriptiveadjective--out of which he had pulled Scaife. Then he said nervously--

"I don't like him because--because he likes--you. "

"Likes me? What a rum 'un you are, Verney! Why shouldn't he like me?"

"Because, " said John, boldly meeting the emergency with the convictionthat he had burnt his ships, and must advance without fear, "becausehe's not half good enough for you. "

Desmond burst out laughing; the clear ringing laugh of his father, which had often allayed an incipient mutiny below the gangway, andcharmed aside the impending disaster of a snatch-division. And it ison _one's own side_ in the House of Commons that good temper tellspreeminently. 

"Not good enough for me!" he repeated. "Thanks awfully. Evidently youhave a high opinion of--_me_. "

"Yes, " said John. 

The quiet monosyllable, so soberly, so seriously uttered, challengedDesmond's attention. He stared for a moment at John's face--not anattractive object. Blood and mud disfigured it. But the grey eyes metthe blue unwaveringly. Desmond flushed. 

"You've stuck me on a sort of pedestal. " His tone was as serious asJohn's. 

"Yes, " said John. 

They were opposite the Music Schools. The other Manorites had run on. For the moment they stood alone, ten thousand leagues from Harrow, alone in those sublimated spaces where soul meets soul unfettered byflesh. Afterwards, not then, John knew that this was so. He met thereal Desmond for the first time, and Desmond met the real John in athoroughfare other than that which leads to the Manor, other than thatwhich leads to any house built by human hands, upon the shining highwayof Heaven. 

Shall we try to set down Desmond's feelings at this crisis? Till now, his life had run gaily through fragrant gardens, so to speak:pleasaunces full of flowers, of sweet-smelling herbs, of stately trees, a paradise indeed from which the ugly, the crude, the harmful had beenrigorously excluded. Happy the boy who has such a home as was allottedto Harry Desmond! And from it, ever since he could remember, he hadreceived tender love, absolute trust, the traditions of a great familywhose name was part of English history, an exquisite refinement, and, with these, the gratification of all reasonable desires. And thismagnificent upbringing shone out of his radiant face, the inexpressiblecharm of youth unspotted--white. Scaife's upbringing, of which youshall know more presently, had been far different, and yet he, thecynic and the unclean, recognized the God in Harry Desmond. He hadnot, for instance, told Desmond of the nature of that "tight" place; hehad kept a guard over his tongue; he had interposed his own strong willbetween his friend and such attention as a boy of Desmond'sattractiveness might provoke from Lovell senior and the like. It istrue that Scaife was well aware that without these precautions he wouldhave lost his friend; none the less, above and beyond thisconsciousness hovered the higher, more subtle intuition that the goodin Desmond was something not lightly to be tampered with, somethingawe-inspiring; the more so because, poor fellow! he had neverencountered it before. 

Desmond stood still, with his eyes upon John's discoloured face. Notthe least of Caesar's charms was his lack of self-consciousness. Now, for the first time, he tried to see himself as John saw him--on apedestal. And so strong was John's ideal that in a sense Desmond didcatch a glimpse of himself as John saw him. And then followed a rapidcomparison, first between the real and the ideal, and secondly betweenhimself and Scaife. His face broke into a smile. 

"Why, Verney, " he exclaimed, "you mustn't turn me into a sort of GoldenCalf. And as for Scaife not being good enough for me, why, he's milesahead of me in everything. He's cleverer, better at games, tenthousand times better looking, and one day he'll be a big power, and Ishall always be a poor man. Why, I--I don't mind telling you that Iused to keep out of Scaife's way, although he was always awfully civilto me, because he has so much and I so little. "

"He's not half good enough for you, " repeated John, with the Verneyobstinacy. Unwittingly he slightly emphasized the "good. "

"Good? Do you mean 'pi'? He's not _that_, thank the Lord!"

This made John laugh, and Desmond joined in. Now they were Harrow boysagain, within measurable distance of the Yard, although still in theshadow of the Spire. The Demon described as "pi" tickled their ribs. 

"You must learn to like the Demon, " Desmond continued, as they movedon. Then, as John said nothing, he added quickly, "He and I have madeup our minds not to try for a remove this term. You see, next term isthe jolliest term of the year--cricket and 'Ducker' [1] and Lord's. And we shall know the form's swat thoroughly, and have time to enjoyourselves. You'll be with us. Your remove is a 'cert'--eh?"

John beamed. He had made certain that Caesar would be in the ThirdFifth next term and hopelessly out of reach. 

"Oh yes, I shall get my remove. So will the Caterpillar. "

"Hang the Caterpillar, " said Desmond. 

"He'd ask for a silken rope, as Lord Ferrers did, " said John, with oneof his unexpected touches of humour. Again Desmond bent his head inthe gesture John knew so well, and laughed. 

"I say, Verney, you _are_ a joker. Well, the old Caterpillar's a goodsort, but he's not fair to Scaife. Here we are!"

They ran upstairs to "tosh" and change. John found the Duffer justslipping out of his ducks. He looked at John with a rueful grin. 

"Are you going to chuck me?" he asked. 

"Chuck you?"

"Fluff says you've chucked him. He was in here a moment ago to ask ifyour nose was squashed. I believe the silly little ass thinks you thegreatest thing on earth. "

"I don't chuck anybody, " said John, indignantly. And he made a pointof asking Fluff to walk with him on Sunday. 

After the Torpid matches the school settled down to train (more orless) for the athletic sports. John came to grief several times atKenton brook, essaying to jump it at places obviously--as the Dufferpointed out--beyond his stride. The Duffer and he put their names downfor the house-handicaps, and curtailed their visits to the Creameries. After this self-denial it is humiliating to record that neither boysucceeded in winning anything. Caesar won the house mile handicap;Scaife won the under sixteen high jump--a triumph for the Manor; andFluff, the despised Fluff, actually secured an immense tankard, whichone of the Sixth offered as a prize because he was quite convinced thathis own particular pal would win it. The distance happened to be halfa mile. Fluff was allowed an enormous start, and won in a canter. 

The term came to an end soon after these achievements, and John spent aweek of the holidays at White Ladies, the Duke of Trent's Shropshireplace. Here, for the first time, he saw that august and solemnpersonage, a Groom of the Chambers, with carefully-trimmed whiskers, awhite tie, a silky voice, and the appearance of an arch-deacon. Thisvisit is recorded because it made a profound impression upon a plasticmind. John had never sat in the seats of the mighty. Verney Boscobelwas a delightful old house, but it might have been put, stables andall, into White Ladies, and never found again. Fluff showed John thefamous Reynolds and Gainsborough portraits, the Van Dycks and Lelys, the Romneys and Richmonds. Fair women and brave men smiled or frownedat our hero wherever he turned his wondering eyes. After the firsttour of the great galleries, he turned to his companion. 

"I say, " he whispered solemnly, "some of 'em look as if they didn'tlike my calling you--Fluff. "

"I wish you'd call me Esmé. "

"All right, " said John, "I will; and--er--although you didn't get intothe Torpids, you can call me--John. "

"Oh, John, thanks awfully. "

Ponies were provided for the boys to ride, and they shot rabbits in theChase. Also, they appeared at dinner, a tremendous function, and wereencouraged by some of the younger guests to spar (verbally, of course)with the duke's Etonian sons. Fluff looked so much stronger andhappier that his parents, delighted with their experiment, wereinclined to cry up the Hill, much to the exasperation of the dwellersin the Plain. 

When he left White Ladies John had learned one valuable lesson. Hissense of that hackneyed phrase, _noblesse oblige_, the sense whichremains nonsense with so many boys (old and young), had been quickened. Little more than a child in many ways, he realized, as a man does, thetrue significance of rank and wealth. The Duke of Trent had married apleasure-loving dame; White Ladies was essentially a pleasure-house, towhich came gladly enough the wit and beauty of the kingdom. And yetthe duke, not clever as compared to his guests, not even good-lookingas compared to the splendid gentlemen whom Van Dyck and Lely hadpainted, _undistinguished_, in fine, in everything save rank andwealth, worked, early and late, harder than any labourer upon his vastdomain. And when John said to Fluff, "I say, Esmé, why does the dukework so beastly hard?" Fluff replied with emphasis, "Why, because hehas to, you know. It's no joke to be born a duke, and I'm jolly gladthat I'm a younger son. Father says that he has no amusements, butplenty of occupation. Mother says he's the unpaid land-agent of theTrent property. "

John went back to Verney Boscobel, and repeated what Fluff had said, ashis own. 

"It was simply splendid, mum, like a sort of castle in fairyland andall that, but I _am_ glad I'm not a duke. And I expect that even anearl has a lot of beastly jobs to do which never bother _us_. "

"Oh, you've found that out, have you, John? Well, I hesitated when theinvitation came; but I'm glad now that you went. "

"Yes; and it's ripping to be home again. "

The summer term began in glorious sunshine; and John forgot that heowned an umbrella. The Caterpillar and he had achieved their remove, but the unhappy Duffer was left behind alone with the hideous necessityof doing his form's work by himself. The boys occupied the same rooms, but John prepared his Greek and Latin with Scaife, Caesar, and theCaterpillar; whom he was now privileged to call by their nick-names. They began to call him John, hearing young Kinloch do so; and then oneday, Scaife, looking up with his derisive smile, said--

"I'm going to call you Jonathan. "

"Good, " said Desmond. "All the same, we can't call either the Dufferor Fluff--David, can we?"

"I was not thinking of Kinloch or Duff, " said Scaife, staring hard atJohn. And John alone knew that Scaife read him like a book, in whichhe was contemptuously amused--nothing more. After that, as if Scaife'swill were law, the others called John--Jonathan. 

Very soon, the sun was obscured by ever-thickening clouds, Johnhappened to provoke the antipathy of a lout in his form known as LubberSprott. Sprott began to persecute him with a series of petty insultsand injuries. He accused him of "sucking up" to a lord, of putting on"lift" because he was the youngest boy in the Upper Remove, ofkow-towing to the masters--and so forth. Then, finding these repeatedgibes growing stale, he resorted to meaner methods. He upset ink onJohn's books, or kicked them from under his arm as he was going up tothe New Schools. He put a "dringer" [2] into the pocket of John's"bluer. " [3] He pinched him unmercifully if he found himself next toJohn in form, knowing that John would not betray him. When occasionoffered he kicked John. In short, he was successful in taking all thefun and sparkle out of the merrie month of May. 

Finally, Caesar got an inkling of what was going on. 

"Is Sprott ragging you?" he asked point-blank. 

"Ye-es, " said John, blushing. "It's n-nothing, " he added nervously. "He'll get tired of it, I expect. "

"I saw him kick you, " said Desmond, frowning. "Now, look here, Jonathan, you kick him; kick him as hard as ever you can where, wherehe kicks you--eh? And do it to-morrow in the Yard, at nine Bill, wheneverybody is looking on. You can dodge into the crowd; but if I wereyou I'd kick him at the very moment he gets into line, and then hecan't pursue. And if he does pursue--which I'll bet you a bob hedon't, he'll have to tackle you and me. "

"I'll do it, " said John. 

Next day, a whole holiday, at nine Bill, both Caesar and John werestanding close to the window of Custos' den, waiting for Lubber Sprottto appear. While waiting, an incident occurred which must be dulychronicled inasmuch as it has direct bearing upon this story. Only theweek before Rutford had come up to the Yard late for Bill, he being themaster whose turn it was to call over. Such tardiness, which happensseldom, is reckoned as an unpardonable sin by Harrow boys. Briefly itmeans that six hundred suffer from the unpunctuality of one. Therefore, when Rutford appeared, slightly flushed of countenance andvisibly annoyed, the School emphasized their displeasure by derisivecheers. Rutford, ever tactless where boys were concerned, was unwiseenough to make a speech from the steps condemning, in his usualbombastic style, a demonstration which he ought to have known he wasquite powerless to punish or to prevent. When he had finished, theSchool cheered more derisively than before. After Bill, he left theYard, purple with rage and humiliation. 

Upon this particular morning, one of the younger masters, Basil Warde, was calling Bill. The School knew little of Warde, save that he was anOld Harrovian in charge of a Small House, and that his form reportedhim--queer. He had instituted a queer system of punishments, he madequeer remarks, he looked queer: in fine, he was generally regarded as aradical, and therefore a person to be watched with suspicion by boyswho, as a body, are intensely conservative. He was of a clear redcomplexion with lapis-lazuli blue eyes, that peculiar blue which is thecolour of the sea on a bright stormy day. The Upper School knew that, as a member of the Alpine Club, Warde had conquered half a dozenhitherto unconquerable peaks. 

Into the Yard and into this book Warde comes late. As he hurried tohis place, the School greeted him as they had greeted Rutford only theweek before. If anything, the demonstration was slightly more hostile. That Bill should be delayed twice within ten days was unheard-of andoutrageous. When the hoots and cheers subsided, Warde held up hishand. He smiled, and his chin stuck out, and his nose stuck up at anangle familiar to those who had scaled peaks in his company. Insilence, the School awaited what he had to say, hoping that he mightslate them, which would afford an excuse for more ragging. Warde, guessing, perhaps, the wish of the crowd, smiled more genially thanbefore. Then, in a loud clear voice, he said--

"I beg pardon for being late. And I thank you for cheering me. Ihaven't been cheered in the Yard since the afternoon when I got myFlannels. "

A deafening roar of applause broke from the boys. Warde might bequeer, but he was a good sort, a gentleman, and, henceforward, popularwith Harrovians. 

He began to call over as Lubber Sprott neared the place whose Desmondand John awaited him. The Lubber took up his position near the boys, turning a broad back to them. He stood with his hands in his pockets, talking to another boy as big and as stupid as himself. The Lubber, itmay be added, ought to have worn "Charity" tails, but he had notapplied for permission to do so. He was fat and gross rather thantall, and certainly too large for his clothes. 

"Now, " said Caesar. 

John measured the distance with his eye, as Caesar thoughtfully nudgedother members of the Upper Remove. John had room for a very short run. The Lubber was swaying backwards and forwards. John timed his kick, which for a small boy he delivered with surprising force, so accuratelythat the Lubber fell on his face. The boys looking on screamed withlaughter. The Lubber, picking himself up (John dodged into the crowd, who received him joyfully) and glaring round, encountered thecontemptuous face of Desmond. 

"Let me have a shot, " said Caesar. 

The Lubber advanced, spluttering with rage. 

"Where is he--where is he, that infernal young Verney?"

By this time fifty boys at least were interested spectators of thescene. Desmond stood square in the Lubber's path. 

"You like to kick small boys, " said Caesar, in a very loud voice. "I'msmall, half your size, why don't you kick me?"

The Lubber could have crushed the speaker by mere weight; but hehesitated, and the harder he stared at Desmond the less he fancied thejob of kicking him. Quality confronted quantity. 

"Kick me, " said Desmond, "if--if you dare, you big, hulking coward andcad!"

"Come on, Lubber, get into line!" shouted some boy. 

Sprott turned slowly, glancing over his vast, fat shoulder to guardagainst further assault. Then he took his place in the line, andpassed slowly out of the Yard and out of these pages. He neverpersecuted John again. [4]

Not yet, however, was the sun to shine in John's firmament. As thedays lengthened, as June touched all hearts with her magic fingers, insensibly relaxing the tissues and warming the senses, John becamemore and more miserably aware that, in the fight between Scaife andhimself for the possession of Desmond, the odds were stupendouslyagainst him. Truly the Demon had the subtlety of the serpent, for heused the failings which he was unable to hide as cords wherewith tobind his friend more closely to him. When the facts, for instance, ofwhat had taken place in Lovell's room came to Desmond's ears, he deniedfiercely the possibility of Scaife, his pal, making a "beast" ofhimself. The laughter which greeted his passionate protest sent himhot-foot to Scaife himself. 

"They say, " panted Caesar, "that last winter you were dead drunk inLovell's room. I told the beasts they lied. "

Scaife's handsome face softened. Was he touched by Caesar's loyalty?Who can tell? Always he subordinated emotion to intelligence: headcommanded heart. 

"Perhaps they did, " he answered steadily; "and perhaps they didn't. Ideny nothing; I admit nothing. But"--his fine eyes, so dark andpiercing, flamed--"Caesar, if I was dead drunk at your feet now, wouldyou turn away from me, would you chuck me?"

Desmond winced. Scaife pursued his advantage. 

"If you _are_ that sort of a fellow--the Pharisee"--Desmond wincedagain--"the saint who is too pure, too holy, to associate with asinner, say so, and let us part here--and now. For I _am_ a--sinner. You are not a sinner. Hold hard! let me have my say. I've alwaysknown that this moment was coming. Yes, I am a sinner. And mygovernor is a sinner, a hardened sinner. His father made our pile bywhat you would call robbery. The whole world knows it, and condonesit, because we are so rich. Even my mother----"

He paused, trembling, white to the lips. 

"Don't, " said Desmond. "Please don't. "

"You're right. I won't. But I'm handicapped on both sides. It's onlyfair that you should know what sort of a fellow you've chosen for apal. And it's not too late to chuck me. Rutford will put Verney inhere, if I ask him. And, by God! I'm in the mood to ask him _now_. Shall I go to him, Desmond, or shall I stay?"

He had never raised his voice, but it fell upon the sensitive soul ofthe boy facing him as if it were a clarion-call to battle. 

Desmond sprang forward, ardent, eager, afire with generousself-surrender. 

"Forgive me, " he cried. "Oh, forgive me, because I can't forgivemyself!"

After this breaking of barriers, Scaife took less pains to disguise anature which turned as instinctively to darkness as Desmond's to light. A score of times protest died when Scaife murmured, "There I go again, forgetting the gulf between us;" and always Desmond swore stoutly thatthe gulf, if a gulf did yawn between them, should be bridged byfriendship and hope. But, insensibly, Caesar's ideals became taintedby Scaife's materialism. Scaife, for instance, spent money lavishlyupon "food" and clothes. So far as a Public Schoolboy is able, henever denied his splendid young body anything it coveted. Desmond, tooproud to receive favours without returning them, tried to vie with thisreckless spendthrift, and found himself in debt. In other ways a keeneye and ear would have marked deterioration. John noticed that Caesarlaughed, although he never sneered, at things he used to hold sacred;that he condemned, as Scaife did, whatever that clever young reprobatewas pleased to stigmatize as narrowminded or intolerant. 

Cricket, however, kept them fairly straight. Each was certain to gethis "cap, " [5] if, as Lawrence told them, they stuck to the rigour ofthe game. This was Lawrence's last term. He had stayed on to play atLord's, and when he left Trieve would become the Head of the House--aprospect very pleasing to the turbulent Fifth. 

About the middle of June John suffered a parlous blow. He was never sohappy as when he was sitting in Scaife's room, cheek by jowl withDesmond, sharing, perhaps, a "dringer, " poring over the samedictionary. This delightful intimacy came to a sudden end in thiswise. The form-master of the Upper Remove happened to be a precisianin English. A sure road to his favour was the right use of a word. The Demon, appreciating this, bought a dictionary of synonyms, and madea point of discarding the commonplace and obvious, substituting aphrase likely to elicit praise and marks. Desmond and John joined inthis hunt of the right word with enthusiasm. 

One evening the four boys encountered the simple sentence--"_majorispretii quam quod aestimari possit_. "

"'Priceless' 'll cover that, " said Caesar. 

"Or 'inest_ee_mable, '" said the Demon. 

The three other boys stared at the Demon, and then at each other. TheCaterpillar, something of a purist in his way, drawled out--

"One pronounces that 'inestimable. '"

"My father doesn't, " said Scaife, hotly. "I've heard him say'inesteemable. '"

"No doubt, " said Egerton, coldly. "How does _your_ father pronounceit, Caesar?"

Desmond said hurriedly, "Oh, 'inestimable;' but what does it matter?"

The Demon sprang up, furious. "It matters this, " he cried. "I'md----d if I'll have Egerton sitting in my room sneering at my governor. After this he'll do his work in his own room, or I'll do mine in thepassage. "

Before Desmond could speak, Scaife had whirled out of the room, slamming the door. John looked stupefied with dismay. 

The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders. Then he said slowly--

"Scaife's father pronounces 'connoisseur' 'connoysure, ' and so doesScaife. "

Desmond stood up, flushed and distressed, but emphatic. 

"Scaife is right about one thing, " ha said. "He won't sit here like acad and listen to Egerton sneering at his father. I'm very sorry, butafter this we'd better split up. Verney and you, Egerton; and Scaifeand I. "

"Certainly, " said the Caterpillar, rising in his turn. 

Poor John cast a distracted and imploring glance at Desmond, whichflashed by unheeded. Then he got up, and followed the Caterpillar outof the room. The passage was empty. 

The Caterpillar sniffed as if the atmosphere in Scaife's room had beenpolluted. 

"One has nothing to regret, " he remarked. "Scaife has good points, and--er--bad. You've noticed his hands--eh? _Very_ unfinished! Andhis foot--short, but broad. " The Caterpillar surveyed his long, slender feet with infinite satisfaction; then he added, with an accentof finality, "Scaife talks about going into the Grenadiers; but they'llgive him a hot time there, a very hot time. One is really sorry forthe poor fellow, because, of course, he can't help being a bounder. What does puzzle me is, why did Caesar want such a fellow for his pal?"

"But he didn't, " said John. 

"Eh?--what?"

"Scaife wanted Caesar, " John explained. "And I've noticed, Caterpillar, that whatever Scaife wants he gets. "

"He wants breeding, Jonathan, but he'll never get that--never. "

After this, John saw but little of Desmond; and Scaife hardly spoke tohim. Accordingly, much of our hero's time was spent in the company ofthe Duffer and Fluff. The three passed many delightful hours togetherat "Ducker. " Armed with buns and chocolate, they would rush down thehill, bathe, lie about on the grass, eat the buns, and chaff the kidswho were learning to swim. 

 "Long, long, in the misty hereafter Shall echo, in ears far away, The lilt of that innocent laughter, The splash of the spray. "

During the School matches they spent the afternoons on the Sixth Formground, carefully criticizing every stroke. The theory of the game laypat to the tongue, but in practice John was a shocking bungler. At hissmall preparatory school in the New Forest, he had not been taught theelementary principles of either racquets or cricket; but he had a goodeye, played a capital game of golf, rode and shot well for a small boy. Fluff, although still delicate, gave promise of being a cricketer asgood, possibly, as his brothers, when he became stronger. 

Upon Speech Day John's mother and uncle came down to Harrow, and youmay be sure that John escorted them in triumph to the Manor. Mrs. Verney has since confessed that John's expression as she greeted himsurprised and distressed her. He looked quite unhappy. And the dearwoman, thinking that he must be in debt, seriously considered thepropriety of tipping him handsomely _in advance_. A moment later, asshe slipped out of an old and shabby dust-cloak, revealing thesplendours of a dress fresh from Paris, she divined from John's nowradiant face what had troubled him. 

"John, " she said, "you didn't really think that I was going to shameyou by wearing this dreadful cloak--did you?"

"I wasn't quite sure, " John answered; then he burst out, "Mum, you looksimply lovely. All the fellows will take you for my sister. "

And after the great function in Speech-room came the cheering. HowJohn's heart throbbed when the Head of the School, standing justoutside the door, proclaimed the illustrious name--

"Three cheers for Mr. John Verney. "

And how the boys in the road below cheered, as the little man descendedthe steps, hat in hand, bowing and blushing! Everybody knew that hewas on the eve of departure for further explorations in Manchuria. Hewould be absent, so the papers said, three years at least. The Schoolcheered the louder, because each boy knew that they might never seethat gallant face again. 

Later in the afternoon a selection of Harrow songs was given in theSpeech-room. "Five Hundred Faces, " as usual, was sung by a new boy, who is answered, in chorus, by the whole School. How John recalled hisown feelings, less than a year ago, as he stood shivering upon the bankof the river, funking the first plunge! And his uncle, now sittingbeside him, had said that he would soon enjoy himself amazingly--and sohe had! The new boy began the second verse. His voice, not a strongone, quavered shrilly--

 "A quarter to seven! There goes the bell! The sleet is driving against the pane; But woe to the sluggard who turns again And sleeps, not wisely, but all too well!"

In reply to the weak, timid notes came the glad roar of the School--

 "Yet the time may come, as the years go by, When your heart will thrill At the thought of the Hill, And the pitiless bell, with its piercing cry!"

Ah, that pitiless bell! And yet because of it one wallowed in Sundayand whole-holiday "frowsts. " [6] John, you see, had the makings of aphilosopher. And now the Eleven were grunting "Willow the King. " Andwhen the last echo of the chorus died away in the great room, UncleJohn whispered to his nephew that he had heard Harrow songs in everycorner of the earth, and that convincing proof of merit shone out ofthe fact that their charm waxed rather than waned with the years; theyimproved, like wine, with age. 

Caesar's father came down with the Duke of Trent. The duke tipped Johnmagnificently and asked him to spend his exeat at Trent House, and towitness the Eton and Harrow match at Lord's from the Trent coach. Johnaccepted gratefully enough; but his heart was sore because, just beforethe row over that infernal word "inestimable, " Caesar had asked John ifhe would like to occupy an attic in Eaton Square. After the rownothing more was said about the attic; but John would have preferredbare boards in Eaton Square to a tapestried chamber in Park Lane. 

Now, during the whole of this summer term there was much animateddiscussion in regard to the rival claims of lines or spots upon thewhite waistcoat worn by all self-respecting Harrovians at Lord's. Uponthis important subject John had betrayed scandalous indifference. Accordingly, just before the match, the Caterpillar took him aside andspoke a solemn word. 

"Look here, " he said; "one doesn't as a rule make personal remarks, butit's rather too obvious that you buy your clothes in Lyndhurst. I wassorry to see that the Duke of Trent was the worst-dressed man atSpeecher; but a duke can look like a tinker, and nobody cares. "

"I'd be awfully obliged if you'd tell me what's wrong, " said John, humbly. 

"Everything's wrong, " said the Caterpillar, decisively. He lookedcritically at John's boots. "Your boots, for instance--most excellentboots for wading through the swamps in the New Forest, but quiteimpossible in town. And the 'topper' you wear on Sunday! Southampton, you say? Ah, I thought it was a Verney heirloom. Now, it wouldn'tsurprise me to hear that your mother, who dresses herself quitecharmingly, bought your kit. "

"She did, " John confessed. 

"Just so. One need say no more. Now, you come along with me. "

They marched down the High Street to the most fashionable of the Schooltailors, where John was measured for an Eton jacket of the best, whitewaistcoat with blue spots, light bags; while the Caterpillar selected anew "topper, " an umbrella, a pair of gloves, and a tie. 

"Be very careful about the bags, " said the Caterpillar. "They arecutting 'em in town a trifle tighter about the lower leg, but looseabove. You understand?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Egerton, " replied the obsequious snip. "What we callthe 'tighto-looso' style, sir. "

"I don't think they call it that in Savile Row, " said the Caterpillar;"but be careful. "

The tailor was assured that he would receive an order properly signedby Mr. Rutford. And then John was led to the bootmaker's, and theremeasured for his first pair of patent-leathers. The Caterpillar was soexhausted by these labours that a protracted visit to the Creameriesbecame imperative. 

"You've always looked like a gentleman, " said the Caterpillar, afterhis "dringer, " "and it's a comfort to me to think that now you'll bedressed like one. "

So John went up to town looking very smart indeed; and Fluff (who hadordered a similar kit) whispered to John at luncheon that his brothers, the Etonians, had expressed surprise at the change for the better intheir general appearance. 

This luncheon was eaten on the top of the duke's coach, and it happenedthat the next coach but one belonged to Scaife's father. John couldjust see Scaife's handsome head, and Caesar sitting beside him. Theboys nodded to each other, and the Etonians asked questions. At thename of Scaife, however, the young Kinlochs curled contemptuous lips. 

"Unspeakable bounder, old Scaife, isn't he?" they asked; and theduchess replied--

"My dears, his cheques are honoured to any amount, even if he isn't. "

Her laughter tinkled delightfully; but John reflected that Desmond waseating the Scaife food and drinking the Scaife wine--all bought withill-gotten gold. 

Later in the afternoon it became evident that the Scaife champagne wasflowing freely. To John's dismay, the Harrovians (including Caesar) onthe top of the Scaife coach became noisy. The Caterpillar and hisfather, Colonel Egerton, sauntered up, and were invited by the duke torest and refresh themselves. John was amused to note that the colonelwas even a greater buck than his son. He quite cut out the poor oldCaterpillar, challenging and monopolizing the attention of all whobeheld him. 

"Those boys are makin' the devil of a row, " said the colonel, fixinghis eyeglass. "Ah, the Scaifes! A man I know dined with them lastweek. He reported everything overdone, except the food. Their _chef_is Marcobruno, you know. "

Presently, to John's relief, Desmond left the Scaifes and joined theTrent party, upon whom his gay, radiant face and charming manners madea most favourable impression. He laughed at the duchess's stories, andmade love to her quite unaffectedly. The Etonians looked rather glum, because their wickets were falling faster than had been expected. Desmond told the duke, in answer to a question, that his father was inhis seat in the pavilion, with his eyes glued to the pitch. 

"He's awfully keen, " said Caesar. 

"You boys are not so keen as we were, " said the duke, noddingreflectively. 

"Oh, but we are, sir--indeed we are, " said Caesar. "Aren't we, Caterpillar?"

The Caterpillar replied, thoughtfully. "One bottles up that sort ofthing, I suppose. "

"Ah, " said the duke, kindly, "if it is the right sort of thing, it'snone the worse for being bottled up. "

The boys went to the play that night and enjoyed themselves hugely. Next day, however, the match ended in a draw. John was standing on thetop of the coach, very disconsolate, when he saw Desmond beckoning tohim from below. The expression on Caesar's face puzzled him. 

"How can you pal up with those Etonians?" whispered Caesar, after Johnhad descended. "Every Eton face I see now I want to hit. " Then headded, with a smile and a chuckle, "I say, there's going to be aruction in front of the Pavvy. Come on. "

A minute later John was in the thick of a very pretty scrimmage betweenthe Hill and the Plain. Hats were bashed in; cornflowers torn frombuttonholes; pale-blue tassels were captured; umbrellas broken. Finally, the police interfered. 

"Short, but very, very sweet, " said Caesar, panting. 

John and he were lamentable objects for fond parents to behold, but thesense of depression had vanished. And then Caesar said suddenly--

"By Jove! I _have_ got a bit of news. It quite takes the sting out ofthis draw. "

"What's happened?"

"My governor has been talking with Warde. Rutford is leaving Harrow. "

John gasped. "That is ripping. "

"Isn't it? But who do you think is coming to us? Why, Warde himself. He was at the Manor when it was _the_ house, and the governor says thatWarde will make it _the_ house again. He's got his work cut out forhim--eh?"

"You bet your life, " said John. 

[1] "Duck-Puddle, " the school bathing-place. 

[2] A "Dringer" is composed of the following ingredients: a layer ofstrawberries is secreted in sugar and cream at the bottom of a cleanjam-pot; and this receives a decent covering of strawberry ice, whichbrings the surface of the dringer and the top edge of the jam-pot intothe same plane. The whole may be bought for sixpence. (P. C. T. , 1905. )

[3] A "Bluer" is the blue-flannel jacket worn in the playing fields. It must be worn buttoned by boys who have been less than three years inthe school. 

[4] Small boys are not advised to copy John's tactics. The victory isnot always to the weak. 

[5] The house-cap, only worn by members of the House Cricket Eleven. 

[6] Lying in bed in the morning when there is no First School is a"frowst. " By a subtle law of association, an armchair is also a"frowst. "

CHAPTER VI

A REVELATION

 "Forty years on, when afar and asunder Parted are those who are singing to-day, When you look back, and forgetfully wonder What you were like in your work and your play; Then, it may be, there will often come o'er you Glimpses of notes like the catch of a song, -- Visions of boyhood shall float them before you, Echoes of dreamland shall bear them along. "

Before the end of the summer term, both Desmond and Scaife receivedtheir "caps" and a word of advice from Lawrence. 

"There are going to be changes here, " said he; "and I wish I could see'em, and help to bring 'em about. Now, I'm not given to butteringfellows up, but I see plainly that the rebuilding of this house dependsa lot upon you two. It's not likely that you're able to measure yourinfluence; if you could, there wouldn't be much to measure. But takeit from me, not a word, not an action of yours is without weight withthe lower boys. Everything helps or hinders. Next term there will bewar--to the knife--between Warde and some fellows I needn't name, andWarde will win. Remember I said so. I hope you, " he looked hard atDesmond, "will fight on the right side. "

The boys returned to their room, jubilant because the house-cap wastheirs, but uneasy because of the words given with it. As soon as theywere alone, Scaife said sullenly--

"Does Lawrence expect us to stand in with Warde against Lovell and hispals? If he does, he's jolly well mistaken, as far as I'm concerned. "

Desmond flushed. He had spent nearly five terms at Harrow, but onlytwo at the Manor. Of what had been done or left undone by certainfellows in the Fifth he was still in twilight ignorance. He discernedshadows, nothing more, and, boylike, he ran from shadows into thesunlight. Desmond knew that there were beasts at the Manor. Had youforced from him an expression approaching, let us say, definiteness, hewould have admitted that beasts lurked in every house, in every schoolin the kingdom. You must keep out of their way (and ways)--that wasall. And he knew also that too many beasts wreck a house, as theywreck a regiment or a nation. 

But once or twice within the past few months he had suspected that hiscut-and-dried views on good and evil were not shared by Scaife. Scaifeconfessed to Desmond that the Old Adam was strong in him. He liked, craved for, the excitement of breaking the law. Hitherto, thisbreaking of the law had been confined to such offences as smoking ordrinking a glass of beer at a "pub, " [1] or using cribs, or, generallyspeaking, setting at naught authority. That Scaife had escaped severepunishment was due to his keen wits. 

Now, when Scaife gave Desmond the unexpurgated history of the row whichso nearly resulted in the expulsion of six boys, Desmond had asked aquestion--

"Do you _like_ whisky? I loathe it. "

Scaife laughed before he answered. Doubtless one reason why he exactedinterest and admiration from Desmond lay in a rare (rare at fifteen)ability to analyse his own and others' actions. 

"I loathe it too, " he admitted. "Really, you know, we drank preciouslittle, because it is such beastly stuff. But I liked, we all liked, to believe that we were doing the correct thing--eh? And it warmed usup. Just a taste made the Caterpillar awfully funny. "

"I see. "

"Do you see? I doubt it, Caesar. Perhaps I shall horrify you when Itell you that vice interests me. I used to buy the _Police News_ whenI was a kid, and simply wallow in it. I told a woman that last Easter, and she laughed--she was as clever as they make 'em--and said that Isuffered from what the French call _la nostalgie de la boue_; thatmeans, you know, the homesickness for the gutter. Rather personal, butdev'lish sharp, wasn't it?"

"I think she was a beast. "

"Not she, she's a sort of cousin; she came from the same old placeherself, that's why she understood. You don't want to know what goeson in the slums, but I do. Why? Because my grand-dad was born in 'em. "

"He pulled himself out by brains and muscles. "

"But he went back--sometimes. Oh yes, he did. And the governor--I'mup to some of _his_ little games. I could tell you----"

"Oh--shut up!" said Caesar, the colour flooding his cheeks. 

Upon the last Saturday of the term the School Concert took place. Fewof the boys in the Manor, and none out of it, knew that John Verney hadbeen chosen to sing the treble solo; always an attractive number of theprogramme. John, indeed, was painfully shy in regard to his singing, so shy that he never told Desmond that he had a voice. And themusic-master, enchanted by its quality, impressed upon his pupil theexpediency of silence. He wished to surprise the School. 

The concerts at Harrow take place in the great Speech-room. Theircharacteristic note is the singing of Harrow songs. To any boy with anear for music and a heart susceptible of emotion these songs mustappeal profoundly, because both words and music seem to enshrine allthat is noble and uplifting in life. And, sung by the whole School (asare most of the choruses), their message becomes curiously emphatic. The spirit of the Hill is acclaimed, gladly, triumphantly, unmistakably, by Harrovians repeating the creed of their fathers, knowing that creed will be so repeated by their sons and sons' sons. Was it happy chance or a happier sagacity which decreed that certainverses should be sung by the School "Twelve, " who have struggledthrough form after form and know (and have not yet had time to forget)the difficulties and temptations which beset all boys? They, to whomtheir fellows unanimously accord respect at least, and often--as in thecase of a Captain of the Cricket Eleven--enthusiastic admiration andfealty; these, the gods, in a word, deliver their injunction, transmit, in turn, what has been transmitted to them, and invite their successorsto receive it. To many how poignant must be the reflection that thetrust they are about to resign might have been better administered!But to many there must come upon the wings of those mighty, rushingchoruses the assurance that the Power which has upheld them in the pastwill continue to uphold them in the future. In many--would one couldsay in all--is quickened, for the first time, perhaps, a sense of whatthey owe to the Hill, the overwhelming debt which never can bedischarged. 

Desmond sat beside Scaife. Scaife boasted that he could not tell "Godsave the Queen" from "The Dead March in Saul. " He confessed that theconcert bored him. Desmond, on the other hand, was always touched bymusic, or, indeed, by anything appealing to an imagination which gildedall things and persons. He was Scaife's friend, not only (as Johndiscovered) because Scaife had a will strong enough to desire andsecure that friendship, but because--a subtler reason--he had never yetseen Scaife as he was, but always as he might have been. 

Desmond told Scaife that he could not understand why John had bottledup the fact that he was chosen to sing upon such an occasion. Scaifesmiled contemptuously. 

"You never bottle up anything, Caesar, " said he. 

"Why should I? And why should he?"

"I expect he'll make an awful ass of himself. "

"Oh no, he won't, " Desmond replied. "He's a clever fellow is Jonathan. "

As he gave John his nickname, Desmond's charming voice softened. A boyof less quick perceptions than Scaife would have divined that thespeaker liked John, liked him, perhaps, better than he knew. Scaifefrowned. 

"There are several Old Harrovians, " he said, indicating the seatsreserved for them. "It's queer to me that they come down for thiscaterwauling. "

Desmond glanced at him sharply, with a wrinkle between his eyebrows. For the moment he looked as if he were short-sighted, as if he weretrying to define an image somewhat blurred, conscious that the imageitself was clear enough, that the fault lay in the obscurity of his ownvision. 

"They come down because they're keen, " he replied. "My governor can'tleave his office, or he'd be here. I like to see 'em, don't you, Demon?"

"I could worry along without 'em, " the Demon replied, half-smiling. "You see, " he added, with the blend of irony and pathos which alwayscaptivated his friend, "you see, my dear old chap, I'm the first of myfamily at Harrow, and the sight of all your brothers and uncles andfathers makes me feel like Mark Twain's good man, rather lonesome. "

At once Desmond responded, clutching Scaife's arm. 

"You're going to be Captain of the cricket and footer Elevens, andSchool racquet-player, and a monitor; and after you leave you'll comedown here, and you'll see that Harrow hasn't forgotten you, and thenyou'll know why these fellows cut engagements. My governor says thatan hour at a School Concert is the finest tonic in the world for an OldHarrovian. "

"Oh, shut up!" said Scaife; "you make me feel more of an outsider thangood old Snowball. " He glanced at a youth sitting close to them. Snowball was as black as a coal: the son of the Sultan of the Sahara. "Yes, Caesar, you can't get away from it, I _am_ an 'alien. '"

"You're a silly old ass! I say, who's the guest of honour?"

Next to the Head Master was sitting a thin man upon whose face werefixed hundreds of eyes. The School had not been told that a famousField Marshal, the hero of a hundred fights, was coming to the concert. And, indeed, he had accepted an invitation given at the lastmoment--accepted it, moreover, on the understanding that his visit wasto be informal. None the less, his face was familiar to all readers ofillustrated papers. And, suddenly, conviction seized the boys that aconqueror was among them, an Old Etonian, making, possibly, his firstvisit to the Hill. Scaife whispered his name to Desmond. 

"Why, of course, " Desmond replied eagerly. "How splendid!"

He leaned forward, devouring the hero with his eyes, trying to piercethe bronzed skin, to read the record. From his seat upon the stageJohn, also, stared at the illustrious guest. John was frightfullynervous, but looking at the veteran he forgot the fear of the recruit. Both Desmond and he were wondering what "it felt like" to have done somuch. And--they compared notes afterwards--each boy deplored the factthat the great man was not an Old Harrovian. There he sat, cool, calm, slightly impassive. John thought he must be rather tired, as a manought to be tired after a life of strenuous endeavour and achievement. He had done--so John reflected--an awful lot. Even now, he remainedthe active, untiring servant of Queen and country. And he had takentime to come down to Harrow to hear the boys sing. And, dash it all!he, John, was going to sing to him. 

At that moment Desmond was whispering to Scaife--

"I say, Demon; I'm jolly glad that I've not got to sing before _him_. I bet Jonathan is in a funk. "

"A big bit of luck, " replied Scaife, reflectively. Then, seeing thesurprise on Desmond's face, he added, "If Jonathan can sing--and Isuppose he can, or he wouldn't be chosen--this is a chance----"

"Of what?"

"Caesar, sometimes I think you've no brains. Why, a chance ofattracting the notice of a tremendous swell--a man, they say, who neverforgets--never! Jonathan may want a commission in the Guards, as I do;and if he pleases the great man, he may get it. "

"Jonathan's not thinking of that, " said Desmond. "Shush-h-h!"

The singers stood up. They faced the Field Marshal, and he faced them. He looked hardest at Lawrence, pointed out to him by the Head Master. Perhaps he was thinking of India; and the name of Lawrence indeliblycut upon the memories of all who fought in the Mutiny. And Lawrence, you may be sure, met his glance steadily, being fortified by it. Thegood fellow felt terribly distressed, because he was leaving the Hill;and, being a humble gentleman, the old songs served to remind him, notof what he had done, but of what he had left undone--the wordsunspoken, the actions never now to be performed. The chief caught hiseye, smiled, and nodded, as if to say, "I claim your father's son as afriend. "

When the song came to an end, John was seized, with an almostirresistible impulse to bolt. His turn had come. He must stand up tosing before nearly six hundred boys, who would stare down with gravelycritical and courteously amused eyes. And already his legs trembled asIf he were seized of a palsy. John knew that he could sing. Hismother, who sang gloriously, had trained him. From her he hadinherited his vocal chords, and from her he drew the knowledge how touse them. 

When he stood up, pale and trembling, the silence fell upon hissensibilities as if it were a dense, yellow fog. This silence, as Johnknew, was an unwritten law. The small boy selected to sing to theSchool, as the representative of the School, must have every chance. Let his voice be heard! The master playing the accompaniment pausedand glanced at his pupil. John, however, was not looking at him; hewas looking within at a John he despised--a poltroon, a deserter aboutto run from his first engagement. He knew that the introduction to thesong was being played a second time, and he saw the Head Masterwhispering to his guest. Paralysed with terror, John's intuition toldhim that the Head Master was murmuring, "That's the nephew of JohnVerney. Of course you know him?" And the Field Marshal nodded. Andthen he looked at John, as John had seen him look at Lawrence, with thesame flare of recognition in the steel-grey eyes. Out of the confusedwelter of faces shone that pair of eyes--twin beacons flashing theirmessage of encouragement and salvation to a fellow-creature inperil--at least, so John interpreted that piercing glance. It seemedto say, far plainer than words, "I have stood alone as you stand; Ihave felt my knees as wax; I have wished to run away. But--_I didn't_. Nor must you. Open your mouth and sing!"

So John opened his mouth and sang. The first verse of the lyric wenthaltingly. 

Scaife growled to Desmond, "He _is_ going to make an ass of himself. "

And Desmond, meeting Scaife's eyes, half thought that the speakerwished that John would fail--that he grudged him a triumph. None theless, the first verse, sung feebly, with wrong phrasing and imperfectarticulation, revealed the quality of the boy's voice; and this qualityDesmond recognized, as he would have recognized a fine painting or abit of perfect porcelain. All his short life his father had trainedhim to look for and acclaim quality, whether in things animate orinanimate. He caught hold of Scaife's arm. 

"Make an ass of himself!" he whispered back. "Not he. But he may makean ass of me. "

Even as he spoke he was aware that tears were horribly near his eyes. Some catch in John's voice, some subtle inflection, had smitten hisheart, even as the prophet smote the rock. 

"Rot!" said Scaife, angrily. 

He was angry, furiously angry, because he saw that Caesar was beyondhis reach, whirled innumerable leagues away by the sound of another'svoice. John had begun the second verse. He stared, as if hypnotized, straight into the face of the great soldier, who in turn stared assteadily at John; and John was singing like a lark, with a lark'sspontaneous delight in singing, with an ease and self-abandonment whichcharmed eye almost as much as ear. Higher and higher rose the clear, sexless notes, till two of them met and mingled in a triumphant trill. To Desmond, that trill was the answer to the quavering, troubledcadences of the first verse; the vindication of the spirit soaringupwards unfettered by the flesh--the pure spirit, not released from thepitiful human clay without a fierce struggle. At that moment Desmondloved the singer--the singer who called to him out of heaven, whosummoned his friend to join him, to see what he saw--"the visionsplendid. "

John began the third and last verse. The famous soldier covered hisface with his hand, releasing John's eyes, which ascended, like hisvoice, till they met joyfully the eyes of Desmond. At last he wassinging to his friend--_and his friend knew it_. John saw Desmond'sradiant smile, and across that ocean of faces he smiled back. Then, knowing that he was nearer to his friend than he had ever been before, he gathered together his energies for the last line of the song--a lineto be repeated three times, loudly at first, then more softly, diminishing to the merest whisper of sound, the voice celestial meltingaway in the ear of earth-bound mortals. The master knew well thesupreme difficulty of producing properly this last attenuated note, buthe knew also that John's lungs were strong, that the vocal chords hadnever been strained. Still, if the boy's breath failed; if anything--asmile, a frown, a cough--distracted his attention, the end wouldbe--weakness, failure. He wondered why John was staring so fixedly inone direction. 

Now--now!

The piano crashed out the last line; but far above it, dominating it, floated John's flute-like notes. The master played the same bars forthe second time. He was still able to sustain, if it were necessary, aquavering, imperfect phrase. But John delivered the second repetitionwithout a mistake, singing easily from the chest. The master put hisfoot upon the soft pedal. Nobody was watching him. Had any one doneso, he would have seen the perspiration break upon the musician'sforehead. The piano purred its accompaniment. Then, in the middle ofthe phrase, the master lifted his hands and held them poised above theinstrument. John had to sing three notes unsupported. He was smilingand staring at Desmond. The first note came like a question from theheart of a child; the second, higher up, might have been interpreted asan echo to the innocent interrogation of the first, the head no wiserthan the heart; but the third and last note had nothing in it ofinterrogation: it was an answer, all-satisfying--sublime. Nor did itseem to come from John at all, but from above, falling like a snowflakeout of the sky. 

And then, for one immeasurable moment--_silence_. 

John slipped back to his seat, crimson with bashfulness, while theSchool thundered applause. The Field Marshal shouted "Encore, " asloudly as any fag; but the Head Master whispered--

"We don't encourage _encores_. A small boy's head is easily turned. "

"Not his, " the hero replied. 

Two numbers followed, and then the School stood up, and with them allOld Harrovians, to sing the famous National Anthem of Harrow, "FortyYears on. " Only the guests and the masters remained seated. 

 "Forty years on, growing older and older, Shorter in wind, as in memory long, Feeble of foot and rheumatic of shoulder, What will it help you that once you were strong? God give us bases to guard or beleaguer, Games to play out, whether earnest or fun; Fights for the fearless, and goals for the eager, Twenty, and thirty, and forty years on! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Follow up! Till the field ring again and again, With the tramp of the twenty-two men. Follow--up!"

As the hundreds of voices, past and present indissolubly linkedtogether, imposed the mandate, "_Follow up_!" the Head Master glancedat his guest, but left unsaid the words about to be uttered. Tearswere trickling down the cheeks of the man who, forty years before, hadwon his Sovereign's Cross--For Valour. 

After the concert, but before he left the Speech-room, the FieldMarshal asked the Head Master to introduce Lawrence and John, and, ofcourse, the Head of the School. When John came up, there was a twinklein the veteran's eye. 

"Ha--ha!" said he; "you were in a precious funk, John Verney. "

"I was, sir, " said John. 

"Gad! Don't I know the feeling? Well, well, " he chuckled, smiling atJohn, "you climbed up higher than I've ever been in my life. What wasit--hey? 'F' in 'alt'?"

"'G, ' sir. "

"You sang delightfully. Tell your uncle to bring you to see me nexttime you are in town. You must consider me a friend, " he chuckledagain--"an old friend. And look ye here, " his pleasant voice sank to awhisper, "I daren't tip these tremendous swells, but I feel that I cantake such a liberty with you. Shush-h-h! Good-bye. "

John scurried away, bursting with pride, feeling to the core the stronggrip of the strong man, hearing the thrill of his voice, the thrillwhich had vibrated in thousands of soldier-hearts. Outside, Fluff wasawaiting him. 

"Oh, Jonathan, you can sing, and no mistake. "

"Five--six--seven mistakes, " John answered. 

The boys laughed. 

John told Fluff what the hero had said to him, and showed the piece ofgold. 

"What ho! The Creameries! Come on, Esmé. "

At the Creameries several boys congratulated John, and the Caterpillarsaid--

"You astonished us, Jonathan; 'pon my soul you did. Have a 'dringer'with me? And Fluff too? By the way, be sure to keep your hair dippedclose. These singing fellows with manes may be lions in their ownestimation, but the world looks upon 'em as asses. "

"That's not bad for you, Caterpillar, " said a boy in the Fifth. 

"Not my own, " said the Caterpillar, solemnly--"my father's. I takefrom him all the good things I can get hold of. "

John polished off his "dringer, " listening to the chaff, but histhoughts were with Desmond. He had an intuition that Desmond wouldhave something to say to him. As soon as possible he returned to theManor. 

There he found his room empty. John shut the door and sat down, looking about him half-absently. The Duffer had not contributed muchto the mural decoration, saying, loftily, that he preferred bare wallsto rubbishy engravings and Japanese fans. But, with curiousinconsistency (for he was the least vain of mortals), he had bought ata "leaving auction" a three-sided mirror--once the property of a greatbuck in the Sixth. The Duffer had got it cheap, but he never used it. The lower boys remarked to each other that Duff didn't dare to look init, because what he would see must not only break his heart but shatterthe glass. Generally, it hung, folded up, close to the window, and theDuffer said that it would come in handy when he took to shaving. 

John's eye rested on this mirror, vacantly at first, then withgathering intensity. Presently he got up, crossed the room, opened thetwo folding panels, and examined himself attentively, pursing up hislips and frowning. He could see John Verney full face, three-quarterface, and half face. And he could see the back of his head, where anobstinate lock of hair stuck out like a drake's tail. John was sooccupied in taking stock of his personal disadvantages that a ringinglaugh quite startled him. 

"Why, Jonathan! Giving yourself a treat--eh?"

John turned a solemn face to Desmond. "I think my head is hideous, " hesaid ruefully. 

"What do you mean?"

"It's too long, " John explained. "I like a nice round head like yours, Caesar. I wish I wasn't so ugly. "

Desmond laughed. John always amused him. Caesar was easily amused, saw the funny side of things, and contrasts tickled his fancyagreeably. But he stopped laughing when he realized that John washurt. Then, quickly, impulsively, he said--

"Your head is all right, old Jonathan. And your voice is simplybeautiful. " He spoke seriously, staring at John as he had stared inthe Speech-room when John began to sing. "I came here to tell youthat. I felt odd when you were singing--quite weepsy, you know. Youlike me, old Jonathan, don't you?"

"Awfully, " said John. 

"Why did you look at me when you sang that last verse? Did you knowthat you were looking at me?"

"Yes. "

"You looked at me because--well, because--bar chaff--you--liked--me?"

"Yes. "

"You--you like me better than any other fellow in the school?"

"Yes; better than any other fellow In the world. "

"Is it possible?"

"I have always felt that way since--yes--since the very first minute Isaw you. "

"How rum! I've forgotten just where we did meet--for the first time. "

"I shall never forget, " said John, in the same slow, deliberatefashion, never taking his eyes from Desmond's face. Ever since he hadsung, he had known that this moment was coming. "I shall never forgetit, " he repeated--"never. You were standing near the Chapel. I waspoking about alone, trying to find the shop where we buy our straws. And I was feeling as all new boys feel, only more so, because I didn'tknow a soul. "

"Yes, " said Desmond, gravely; "you told me that. I remember now; Imistook you for young Hardacre. "

"You smiled at me, Caesar. It warmed me through and through. Isuppose that when a fellow is starving he never forgets the first mealafter it. "

"I say. Go on; this is awfully interesting. "

"I can remember what you wore. One of your boot-laces had burst----"

"Well; I'm----"

"I had a wild sort of wish to run off, and buy you a new lace----"

"Of all the rum starts I----"

"Afterwards, " John continued, "I tried to suck-up. I asked you to comeand have some 'food. ' Do you remember?"

"I'll bet I came, Jonathan. "

"No; you didn't. You said 'No. '"

"Dash it all! I certainly said, 'No, thanks. '"

"I dare say; but the 'No' hurt awfully because I did feel that it wascheek asking you. "

"Jonathan, you funny old buster, I'll never say 'No' again. 'Pon myword, I won't. So I said 'No. ' That's odd, because it's not easy forme to say 'No. ' The governor pointed that out last hols. Somehow, Ican't say 'No, ' particularly if there's any excitement in saying 'Yes. 'And my beastly 'No' hurt, did it? Well, I'm very, _very_ sorry. "

He held out his hand, which John took. Then, for a moment, there was apause before Desmond continued awkwardly--

"You know, Jonathan, that the Demon is my pal. You like him betterthan you did, don't you?"

John had the tact not to speak; but he shook his head dolefully. 

"And I couldn't chuck him, even if I wanted to, which I don't--which Idon't, " he repeated, with an air of satisfying himself rather thanJohn. And John divined that Scaife's hold upon Desmond's affectionswas not so strong as he had deemed it to be. Desmond continued. "ButI want you, too, old Jonathan, and if--if----"

"All right, " said John, nobly. He perceived that Desmond's loyalty toScaife made him hesitate and flush. "I understand, Caesar, and if Ican't be first, let me be second; only, remember, with me you're first, rain or shine. "

Desmond looked uneasy. "Isn't that a case of 'heads I win, tails youlose'?"

John considered; then he smiled cheerfully, "You know you are a winner, Caesar. You're cut out for a winner; you can win whatever you want towin. "

"Oh, that's all rot, " said Desmond. He looked very grave, and in hiseyes lay shadows which John had never seen before. 

And so ended John's first year at Harrow. 

[1] All Public Houses are out of bounds. 

CHAPTER VII

REFORM

 "'It must be a gran' thing to be a colledge profissor. ' "'Not much to do, ' said Mr. Hennessy. "'But a gr--reat deal to say, ' said Mr. Dooley. "

When John returned to the Hill at the beginning of the winter term thegreat change had taken place. Rutford had assumed the duties ofProfessor of Greek at a Scotch University; Warde was in possession ofthe Manor; Scaife and Desmond and John--but not the Caterpillar--hadgot their remove. They were Fifth Form boys--and in tails! John, itis true, although tougher and broader, was still short for his yearsand juvenile of appearance, but Scaife and Desmond were quite bigfellows, and their new coats became them mightily. Trieve was Head ofthe House; Lovell, Captain of the House football Eleven and in theLower Sixth. 

"Lovell will have to behave himself now, " the Duffer remarked toScaife, who laughed derisively, as he answered--

"He couldn't, even if he tried. "

Warde welcomed the House at lock-up, and introduced the boys to hiswife and daughter. Mrs. Warde had a plain, pleasant face. Miss Warde, however, was a beauty, and she knew it, the coquette, and had known itfrom the hour she could peep into a mirror. The Caterpillar pronouncedher "fetching. " Being only fifteen, she wore her hair in a plait tiedby a huge bow, and the hem of her skirt barely touched the neatestankle on Harrow Hill. Give her a saucy, pink-and-white face, pop apert tip-tilted nose into the middle of it just above a pouting redmouth, and just below her father's lapis-lazuli eyes, and you will seeIris Warde. Her hair was reddish, not red--call it a warm chestnut;and she had a dimple. 

After the introductions, mother and daughter left the hall. Wardestood up, inviting the House to sit down. Warde was about half thewidth of the late Rutford, but somehow he seemed to take up more room. He had spent the summer holidays in Switzerland, climbing terrificpeaks. Snow and sun had coloured his clear complexion. John, who sawbeneath tanned skins, reflected that Warde seemed to be saturated withfresh air and all the sweet clean things which one associates withmountains. "He loves hills, " thought John, "and he loves our Hill. "Warde began to speak in his jerky, confidential tones. Dirty Dick hadalways been insufferably dull, pompous, and didactic. 

"I don't like speechmaking, " said Warde, "but I want to put one thingto you as strongly as a man may. I have always wished to be master ofthe Manor. Some men may think mine a small ambition. Master of ahouse at Harrow? Nothing big about that. Perhaps not. But I think itbig. And it is big--for me. Understand that I'm in love with myjob--head over heels. I'd sooner be master of the Manor than PrimeMinister. I couldn't tackle his work. Enough of that. Now, forgetfor a moment that I'm a Master. Let me talk as an Old Harrovian, anold Manorite who remembers everything, ay--everything, good and bad. Some lucky fellows remember the good only; we call them optimists. Others remember the bad. Pessimists those. Put me between the two. The other day I had an eye, _one_ eye, fixed on the top of a certainpeak--by Jove! how I longed to reach that peak!--but the other eye wason a _crevasse_ at my feet. Had I kept both eyes on the peak, I shouldbe lying now at the bottom of that _crevasse_. You take me? Well, twenty years ago I sat here, in hall, my last night in the old house, and I hoped that one day I might come back. Why? This is betweenourselves, a confidence. I came to the Manor from a beastly school, such schools are hardly to be found nowadays--a hardened young sinnerat thirteen. The Manor licked me into shape. Speaking generally, Isuppose the tone of the house insensibly communicated itself to me. The Manor was cock-house at games and work. I began by shirking both. But the spirit of the Hill was too much for me. I couldn't shirk that. Some jolly old boys, we all know them and like them, are always sayingthat their early school-days were the happiest of their life. They'refond of telling this big lie just as they're settling down to theirclaret. I really believe that they believe what they say, but it is alie. The smallest boy here knows it's a lie. Let's hark back a bit. I said I was licked into shape--and I mean _licked_. I had a lot ofreally hard fagging--much harder than any of you boys know--I was sentup and swished, I had whoppings innumerable, and it wasn't pleasant. My mother had pinched herself to send me here, because my father hadbeen here before me; and I wondered why she did it. At that time Icouldn't see why cheaper schools shouldn't be not only as good asHarrow, but perhaps better. Not till I was in the Fifth did I get aglimmering of what my mother and the Manor were doing for me. When Igot into the Sixth and into the Eleven, I knew. And my last year heremade up, and more too, for the previous four. I enjoyed that yearthoroughly. I had ceased to be a slacker. I tell you, all of you, that happiness, like liberty, must be earned before we can enjoy it. And you are sent here to earn it. I'm not going to keep you muchlonger. I have come to the marrow of the matter. I owe the Manor adebt which I hope to pay to--you. Just as you, in turn, will pay backto boys not yet born the money your people have gladly spent on you, and other greater things beside. I want to see this house at the topof the tree again: cock-house at cricket, cock-house at footer, with aBalliol Scholar in it, and a school racquet-player. And now Dumbletonis going to bring in a little champagne. We'll drink high health andfellowship to the Manor and the Hill!"

His face broke into the smile his form knew so well; he sat down, asthe house roared its welcome to a friend. 

As soon as the champagne was drunk ("Dumber" was careful to put morefroth than wine into the glasses of the kids), the boys filed out ofthe Hall. The Duffer, Desmond, John, and the Caterpillar assembled inJohn's room. Desmond, you may be sure, was afire with resolution. Warde was the right sort, a clinker, a first flighter. And he meant tostick by him through thick and thin. John said nothing. TheCaterpillar drawled out--

"Warde didn't surprise me--much. I've found out that he's one of theWardes of Warde-Pomeroy, the real old stuff. Our families intermarriedin Elizabeth's reign. "

"Chance to do it again, Caterpillar, " said the Duffer. "Warde'sdaughter is an uncommonly pretty girl. "

Then the Caterpillar used the epithet "fetching. "

"She's fetching, very fetching, " he said. "It's a pleasure to rememberthat we're of kin. One must be civil to Warde. He's a well bred 'un. "

"You think too much of family, " said Desmond. 

"_One can't_, " replied the Caterpillar, solemnly. "One knows thatfamily is not everything, but, other things being equal, it meansrefinement. The first of the Howards was a swineherd, I dare say, butgenerations of education, of association with the best, have turnedthem from swineherds into gentlemen, and it takes generations to do it. "

"Good old Caterpillar!" said the Duffer. 

"Not my own, " said the Caterpillar; adding, as usual, "My governor's, you know. "

"Warde hasn't a soft job ahead of him, " said Desmond. "Soft or hard, he'll handle it his own way. "

Desmond went out, wondering what had become of Scaife. Scaife was inhis room, talking to Lovell senior, who had spent a fortnight withScaife's people In Scotland, fishing and grousing. Desmond had beenasked also, but his father, rather to Caesar's disgust (for the Scaifemoor was famous), had refused to let him go. Lovell and Scaife werearguing about something which Desmond could not understand. 

"I left it to my partner, " said Scaife, "and the fool went no trumpsholding two missing suits. The enemy doubled, my partner redoubled, and the others redoubled again: that made it ninety-six a trick. Thefellow on the left held my partner's missing suits; he made the LittleSlam, and scored nearly six hundred below the line. It gave 'em therubber, too, and I had to fork out a couple of quid. "

"What are you jawing about, Demon?" said Desmond. 

"Bridge. It's the new game. It's going to be the rage. Do you playbridge, Caesar?"

"No. I want to learn it. "

"All right, I must teach you. "

"We could get up a four in this house, " said Lovell. "We three and theCaterpillar. He plays, I know. The Colonel is one of the cracks atthe Turf. It would be an awful lark. A mild gamble: small points--eh?A bob a hundred. What do you say, Caesar?"

Desmond hesitated. Bridge had not yet reached its delirious stage. But Desmond had seen it played, had heart his father praise it as themost fascinating of card-games, and had determined to learn it at thefirst convenient opportunity. None the less Warde's words still echoedin his ear. 

"I think we ought to give Warde a chance, " he said. 

"You don't mean to say you were taken in by him?" said Lovell, contemptuously. 

Desmond burst into enthusiastic praise of Warde and his methods. Lovell shrugged his shoulders and walked out of the room, nodding toScaife, but ignoring Desmond. 

"You must go canny with Lovell, " said Scaife. "He's the fellow whoought to give you your 'fez' after the first house-game. "

"Never mind that. You won't play bridge, Demon, will you?"

"Why not?" said Scaife. "Where's the harm? Your governor plays----"

"Yes; but----"

"You're afraid of getting sacked?"

"I'm not. "

"All right; I'll take that back. You're not a funk, Caesar, but you'reso easily humbugged. Warde caught you with his 'pi jaw' and a glass ofgooseberry. "

"The champagne was all right, wasn't it?"

"Oh, ho! So you do mean to stand in with Warde against Lovell and me?Thanks for being so candid. Now I'll be candid with you. I likeLovell. There's no nonsense about him. He don't put on frills becausehe's in the Sixth, and he don't mean to take to their sneaking, spyingways. He's just as anxious as Warde to see the Manor cock-house atfooter and cricket, and I'm as keen as he is; but we stop there. TheBalliol Scholarship may go hang. And as for sympathy and fellowshipand pulling together between masters and boys, I never did believe init, and never shall. My hand is against the masters, so long as theyinterfere with anything I want to do. I like bridge, and I mean toplay it. And I'll take jolly good care that I'm not nailed. That'spart of the fun, as the drinking used to be. I chucked that because itwasn't good enough; but bridge is ripping, and, take my word for it, you'll be keener than I when you begin. "

"Perhaps. But I'm not going to begin here. "

"Right--oh!"

Scaife turned aside, whistling, but out of the corner of his shrewd eyehe marked the expression of Desmond's face, the colour ebbing andflowing in the round boyish cheeks, the perplexity on the brow. Thenhe spoke in a different voice. 

"Don't worry, old chap. You've stuck to me through thick and thin, andI'm grateful, really and truly. You're right, and I'm wrong; I alwaysam wrong. I was looking forward to larks. If you count 'em purplesins, I don't blame you for letting me go to the devil by myself. "

"I never said bridge was a purple sin. "

"Warde thinks it is. If you're going to look at life here with hiseyes, you'll have to rename things. Babies play Beggar my Neighbourfor chocolates; why shouldn't we play bridge for a bob a hundred? Thegame is splendid for the brain; ten thousand times better thantranslating Greek choruses. "

"But it is--gambling, Demon; you can't get away from that. "

"Pooh! It's gambling if I bet you a 'dringer' that you won't make tenruns in a house-match; it's gambling if I raffle a picture and you takea sixpenny ticket. Are you going to give up that sort of gambling?"

"No; but----"

"What would Warde say to our co-operative system of work--eh? You'renot prepared to go the whole hog? You want to pick and choose. Good!But give me the same right, that's all. Play bridge with your oldpals, or don't play, just as you please. "

No more was said. Scaife's manner rather than his matter confoundedthe younger and less experienced boy. Scaife, too, tackled problemswhich many men prefer to leave alone. Here heredity cropped up. Scaife's sire and grandsire were earning their bread before they weresixteen. Of necessity they faced and overcame obstacles which theordinary Public School-boy never meets till he leaves the University. 

For some time after this bridge was not mentioned. Lovell, acting, possibly, under advice from Scaife, treated Desmond courteously, andgave him his "fez" after the first house-game. Both boys now weremembers of the Manor cricket and football Elevens, and, as such, persons of distinction in their small world. Scaife, moreover, beganto play football with such extraordinary dash and brilliancy, that itseemed to be quite on the cards that he might get his School Flannels. This possibility, and the Greek in the Fifth, absorbed his energies forthe first six weeks of the winter quarter. John had come back toScaife's room to prepare work. Desmond felt that Scaife had beengenerous in proposing that John should join them, because in many smallways it had become evident that the Demon disliked John, although hestill spoke of the tight place out of which John had hauled him. Through Scaife John received his "fez"; and when John wore it for thefirst time, Scaife came up and said, smiling--

"I'm nearly even with you, Verney. "

"What do you mean?" said John. 

"You know well enough what I mean, " said Scaife, winking his eyemaliciously. 

John flushed, because in his heart he did know. But when he toldEgerton what Scaife had said, that experienced man of the world turnedup his nose. 

"Just like him, " he said. "He wants you to feel that he has wiped outhis debt. "

"Do you think my 'fez' ought to have been given to young Lovell?"

The Caterpillar, who played back for the Manor, considered the question. 

"I don't know, " he said. "You are pretty nearly equal; but it's a factthat the Demon turned the scale. He pointed out to Lovell that if hegave a 'fez' to his young brother, the house might accuse him offavouritism. That did the trick. "

This made John uneasy and unhappy for a week or two; but theconsciousness that another might be better entitled to the coveted"fez" made him play up with such energy that he succeeded in proving toall critics that he had honestly earned what luck had bestowed on him. 

During the last week of October, John began those long walks withDesmond which, afterwards, he came to regard as perhaps the mostdelightful hours spent at Harrow. Scaife detested walking. He had hisfather's power of focusing attention and energy upon a single object. For the moment he was mad about football. Talk about books, scenery, people, bored him, and he said so with his usual frankness andimpatience of restraint. Desmond, on the other hand, was also like hisfather, inasmuch as his tastes were catholic. He was a bit of anaturalist, learned in the lore of woods and fields, and he liked totalk about books, and he liked to talk about his home. Simple Johnwould sooner hear Caesar talk than listen to the heavenly choir. So itcame to pass that once a week at least the boys would stroll down theavenue at Orley Farm (where Anthony Trollope's sad boyhood was passed), or take the Northwick Walk, which winds through meadows to the Bridge, or visit John Lyon's farm at Preston, or, getting signed for Bill, attempt a longer ramble to Ruislip Reservoir, or Oxhey Wood, orHeadstone with its moated grange, or Horsington Hill with itslong-stretching view across the Uxbridge plain. 

Very soon it became the natural thing for Caesar to give John aglimpse, at least, of whatever floated in and out of his mind. John, being himself a creature of reserves, could not quite understandthis unlocking of doors, but he appreciated his privileges. Caesar'singenuousness, sympathy, and impulsiveness, seemed the moreenchanting because John himself was of the look-before-you-leap, think-before-you-speak, sort. One Sunday evening they were hurryingback to Chapel, when they passed a woman carrying a heavy child. Thepoor creature appeared to be almost fainting with fatigue and possiblyhunger. Her pinched face, her bent figure, her thin garments, bespokea passionate protest against conditions which obviously she waspowerless to avert or control. The boys glanced at her with pityingeyes as they passed. Then Desmond said quickly--

"I say, Jonathan, she looks as if she was going to fall down. "

John, seeing what was in his friend's mind, said--

"We must hurry up, or we shall miss Chapel. "

They offered the woman sixpences, and blushes, because through thetattered shawl might be seen a shrunken bosom. 

The woman stared, stammered, and burst into tears. 

"We shall miss Chapel, " John repeated. 

"Hang Chapel, " said Desmond. 

He was looking at the child. When the woman took the silver, she letthe child slip to the ground, where it lay inert. 

"What's the matter with it?" said Desmond. 

Half sobbing, the woman explained that the child had sprained its ankle. 

"I'm just about done, " she gasped; "an' the sight o' you two younggen'lemen runnin' up the 'ill finished me. I ain't the leaky sort, "she added fiercely, still gasping and trembling. 

Then she bent down and tried to lift the heavy child, which moanedfeebly. 

"You run on, Jonathan, " said Desmond. 

"Why?"

"I'm going to carry this kid up the hill. "

"I'll help. "

"No--hook it, you ass. "

"I won't hook it. "

Between them they carried the child as far as the Speech-room, where apoliceman accepted a shilling, and gave in return a positive assurancethat he would see woman and child to their destination. When the boyswere alone, John said--

"Caesar----"

"Well?"

"What a fellow you are! I wouldn't have thought of that. It wassplendid. "

"Ob, shut up. " There was a slight pause, then Caesar said defiantly, "I thought of carrying that kid; but I wouldn't have done it, unlessI'd known that every boy was safe in Chapel. I couldn't have faced thechaff. And--you could. "

They were punished for cutting Chapel, because Caesar refused to givethe reason which would have saved them. 

"I'd have told the truth, " he admitted to John, "if I could haveshouldered that kid with the Manorites looking on. "

John agreed that this was an excellent and a Caesarean (he coined theadjective on this occasion) reason. 

Among the Fifth Form boys of the Manor was a big coarse-looking youthof the name of Beaumont-Greene. Everybody called him Beaumont-Greenein full, because upon his first appearance at Bill he had stopped theline of boys by refusing to answer to the name of Greene. 

"My name, " said he, in a shrill pipe, "is Beaumont-Greene, and we spellthe Greene with a final 'e'. "

Beaumont-Greene was a type of boy, unhappily, too common at all PublicSchools. He had no feeling whatever for Harrow, save that it was aplace where it behoved a boy to escape punishment if he could, and torun, hot foot, towards anything which would yield pleasure to his body. He was known to the Manorites as a funk at footer, and a prodigiousconsumer of "food" at the Creameries. His father, having accumulated alarge fortune in manufacturing what was advertised in most of thepublic prints as the "Imperishable, Seamless, Whale-skin Boot, " gavehis son plenty of money. As a Lower Boy, Beaumont-Greene had but asorry time of it. Somebody discovered that he was what Gilbert oncedescribed as an "imperfect ablutioner. " The Caterpillar made a pointof telling new boys the nature of the punishment meted out to theunclean. He had assisted at the "toshing" of Beaumont-Greene. 

"A nasty job, " the Caterpillar would remark, looking at his ownspeckless finger-nails; "but it had to be done. We took the Greeneperson" (the Caterpillar alone refused to defame the fine name ofBeaumont by linking it to Greene) "and placed him naked in a largetosh. Into that tosh the house was invited to pour any fluid thatcould be spared. One forgets things; but, unless I'm mistaken, theparticular sheep-wash used was made up of lemonade, syrups, ink--plentyof that--milk (I bought a quart myself), tooth-powder, paraffin, and acake of Sapolio--Monkey Brand! We scrubbed the Yahoo thoroughly, washed its teeth, ears, hair, and then we dried it. I don't know whosmeared marmalade on to the towel, but the drying part was not verysuccessful. Rather tough--eh? Yes, very tough--on _us_, buteffective. The Greene person has toshed regularly ever since. Atleast, so I'm told; I never go near him myself, and he's considerateenough to keep out of my way. "

Beaumont-Greene had not, it is true, the appetite for reckless breakingof the law which distinguished Lovell and his particular pals; butLovell's good qualities cancelled to a certain extent what was vicious. A fine cricketer, a plucky football-player, he might have proved acredit to his house had a master other than Dirty Dick been originallyin command of it. Before he was out of the Shell, he had declared waragainst Authority. Beaumont-Greene, on the other hand, detested games, and sneered at those who played them. Pulpy, pimply, gross in mind andbody, he stood for that heavy, amorphous resistance to good, which isso difficult to overcome. 

During the first half of the winter quarter, John saw but little ofEsmé Kinloch. It is one of the characteristics of a Public School, that the boys--as in the greater world for which it is apreparation--are in layers. Some layers overlap; others never touch. Fluff was a fag; his friend John was in the Fifth Form, and a "fez. "In a word, an Atlantic rolled between them. John, however, would oftengive Fluff a "con, " and occasionally they would walk together. Fluffwas no longer the delicate, girlish child of a year ago. He hadbloomed into a very handsome boy, attractive, like all the members ofhis mother's family, with engaging manners, and he had also shown signsof developing into a cricketer. Fluff could paddle his own canoe, provided, of course, that he kept out of the rapids. 

But about the middle of the term John noticed that Fluff was losingcolour and spirits, the latter never very exuberant. It was not inJohn's nature to ask questions which he might answer for himself bytaking pains to do so. He watched Fluff closely. Then he demandedbluntly--

"What's up?"

"Nothing. "

"That's a cram, " said John, severely. "I didn't believe you'd tell mea cram, Esmé. "

"You don't care tuppence whether I tell crams or not--now. "

John weighed the "now" deliberately. 

"That's another cram, " he said slowly. "Has anybody been rotting you?"

Silence. John repeated the question. Still silence. Then John added--

"You know, Esmé, that I shall stick to you till I find out what's up;so you may as well save time by telling me at once. "

"It's Beaumont-Greene, " faltered Fluff. 

"That fat beast! What's he done?"

"He hasn't done much--yet. "

"Tell everything!"

"He came into my room one night and turned me up in my bed. I woke, onmy head, in the dark, half-smothered, and couldn't think what hadhappened; it was simply awful. Then I heard his beastly voice saying, 'If I let you down, will you do what I ask you?' I'd have promisedanything to get out of that horrible choking prison, and now hethreatens to turn me up every night, and I dream of it----"

"Go on, " said John, grimly. "No, you needn't go on. I can guess whatthis low cad is up to. "

"He said he'd be my friend; as if I'd have a beast like that for afriend. "

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yes, I did. "

"You're a good-plucked 'un, Esmé. And he's made it warm for you eversince?"

"Yes. "

"But he hasn't turned you up again?"

"N-no; but he will. I'd almost sooner he'd do it, and have done withit. I can't sleep. "

"Now, don't be a silly fool, " John commanded. "I'm going to think thisout, and I'll bet I make that fat, pimply beast sit up and howl. "

"Thanks awfully, John. "

But the more John thought of what he had undertaken to do, the lessclearly he saw his way to do it. Evidently Beaumont-Greene was tooprudent to bully Fluff; he had resorted to the crueller alternative ofterrorizing him. Lawrence would have settled this fellow's hash--soJohn reflected--in a jiffy, but Trieve, "Miss Trieve, " was hopelesslyincapable. Presently inspiration came. He seized an opportunity whenBeaumont-Greene happened to be by himself; then he marched boldly intohis room, leaving the door ajar. 

"Hullo! what do you want?"

Beaumont-Greene was sitting opposite the fire, reading a novel andleisurely consuming macaroons. 

"I want you to leave young Kinloch alone--_please_. "

Beaumont-Greene nearly choked; then he spluttered out--

"Say that again, will you?"

"I want you to leave young Kinloch alone. "

"Really? Anything else?"

"Nothing more, thank you. "

Beaumont-Greene slowly raised himself out of his chair and glared atJohn, whose head came to his chin. 

"You've plenty of cheek. "

"What I have isn't spotty, anyway. "

John saw the veins begin to swell in Beaumont-Greene's throat. Hethought with relief of the door ajar, but it was part of his policy--acarefully devised policy--to provoke, if possible, a scene. Thenothers would interfere, explanations would be in order, and publicopinion would accomplish the rest. 

"You infernal young jackanapes!"

"You pretty pet!"

"Get out of my room! Hook it!"

"I want to, " said John, coolly enough, although his heart wasthrobbing. "It's horribly fuggy in here, and I've Jambi[1] to do; butI'm not going till you give me your word that you'll leave youngKinloch alone. "

"If you don't walk out I'll chuck you out. "

"You must catch me first, " said John. 

And then a very pretty chase took place. Beaumont-Greene, fat, scantof breath, full of macaroons, began to pursue John round and round thetable. John skilfully interposed chairs, sofa-cushions, anything hecould lay hands on. Passing the washstand, he secured an enormoussponge, which an instant later flew souse into the face of the grampus. An abridged edition of Liddell and Scott's Greek Lexicon followed. This nearly brought the big fellow to grass. In his rage he, too, began to hurl what objects happened to be within reach, but he was ashocking bad shot; he missed, or John dodged every time. John did notmiss. Finally, as John had foreseen, a couple of Sixth Form fellowsrushed in. 

"What's the meaning of this infernal row?" asked one. 

"Ask him, " said John. 

Authority stared at Beaumont-Greene, and then at his wrecked room. 

"I told him to hook it, and he wouldn't, " spluttered the gasping Greene. 

"Why?"

Half a dozen other fellows had come into the room. Amongst them theDuffer and the Caterpillar. 

"I wanted to hook it, " John explained, "because it's so beastly fuggy;but Beaumont-Greene wouldn't promise me to do something he ought to do. "

"This is mysterious. "

"The swaggering young blackguard cheeked me, " growled Greene. 

"I was very polite--at first, " pleaded John. 

"Hook it now, anyway, " said Authority. 

"Not till he promises. If you turn me out, I'll come back after you'regone. "

"What is it you want him to promise?"

John had achieved his object. 

"I want him to leave young Kinloch _alone_. "

The two Sixth Form boys glanced at each other; at John; at the gross, spotted face of Beaumont-Greene. Then the senior said coldly--

"I suppose you have no objection, Beaumont-Greene, to promise Verney orany one else that you will leave young Kinloch alone?"

"I've never laid a finger on the kid, " growled the big fellow; but helooked pale and frightened. 

"Then you promise--eh?"

"Yes. "

"On your word of honour?"

"Yes. "

That night John told Fluff with great glee how Beaumont-Greene had beenmade to "sit up and howl. "

[1] "Jambi"--Iambic verses. 

CHAPTER VIII

VERNEY BOSCOBEL

"In honour of all who believe that life was made for friendship. "

The immediate result of the incident described in the last chapter wasto strengthen the bond between John and Desmond. Desmond had the epicfrom Fluff, from the Caterpillar, and finally from John himself. 

"You bearded that poisonous beast in his den, " exclaimed he; "youplotted and planned for the scrimmage; you foresaw what would happen. Well, you are a corker, Jonathan. "

"You'd have thought of something much better. "

"Not I, " Desmond replied. 

Scaife, however, made no remarks. Possibly, because Desmond made toomany, singing John's praises behind his back and to his face, in andout of season. This, of course, was indiscreet, and led to hard wordsand harder feelings. Beaumont-Greene realized that John had tarred andfeathered him. The fags, you may be sure, rubbed the tar in. IfBeaumont-Greene threatened to kick an impudent Fourth Form boy, thatyoungster would bid him be careful. 

"If you don't behave yourself, " he would say, "I shall have to sendVerney to your room. "

Lovell senior remarked that Beaumont-Greene was a "swine, " but thatVerney had put on "lift" and must be snubbed. What? A boy who had notbeen two years in the school _dared_ to take the law into his ownhands! The matter ought to have been laid before the Head of the House. 

Accordingly, John found himself, much to his dismay, unpopular with theOlympians. The last month of this term was, in some ways, the mostdisagreeable he had yet spent at Harrow. 

But the gain of Desmond's friendship far outweighed the loss ofpopularity. John tingled with pleasure when he reflected that he hadachieved his ambition to stand between Scaife and Desmond. At the sametime, he was uncomfortably aware that Scaife seemed to have climbedhigh above Desmond, who had stood still. In moments of depression Johntold himself that he was a makeshift, that Desmond would leave him andjoin the Demon whenever that splendid young person chose to whistle himup. Scaife had failed to get his Football Flannels, but he came sonear to beating all previous records that the School began to regardhim as a "Blood. " He was seen arm-in-arm with Lovell, strolling up anddown the High Street, and the fags breathlessly repeated what Desmondhad predicted a year ago: the Demon was the coming man. And always, when John and Desmond passed him, John thought he could read a derisivetriumph upon the Demon's handsome face, an expression which saidplainly: "You young fool, don't you know that I'm playing cat and mousewith you?"

The three still met twice daily to prepare work. But the moment thatwas done, Scaife disappeared, leaving John and Desmond together. 

"He's playing bridge in Lovell's room, " said Desmond. More facts weregleaned from the Caterpillar, who had joined the bridge-players, butplayed seldom. 

"One draws the line, " said he, "at playing for stakes one can't affordto lose. Lovell and the Demon have made it too hot. "

"And Warde will make it hotter, " said John. 

"Not he, " replied the Caterpillar. "The Demon is a wonder. Thanks tohis brains, detection is impossible. He suggested that Lovell's roomshould be used. Warde wouldn't dare to burst in upon one of the Sixth. And you ought to see their dodgy arrangements. Lovell has his youngbrother on guard. I'm hanged if the Demon didn't invent a sort ofdrill, which they go through with a stopwatch. It's a starperformance, I tell you. Young Lovell bolts in. In thirty-fiveseconds--they have got it down to that--the cards and markers arehidden; and the four of 'em are jawing away about footer. "

"All the same, " said John, obstinately, "Warde will be too much for'em. "

"Oh, rot!" said the Caterpillar. 

The Manor got into the semi-finals of the football matches, and whenthe School broke up for the Christmas holidays it was generallyconceded that the fortunes of the ancient house were mending. In theManor itself Warde's influence was hardly yet perceptible: only a veryfew knew that it was diffusing itself, percolating into nooks andcrevices, undreamed of: the hearts of the Fourth Form, for instance. In Dirty Dick's time there had been almost universal slackness. Inpupil-room, Rutford read a book; boys could work or not as theypleased, provided their tutor was not disturbed. Warde, on the otherhand, made it a point of honour to work with his pupils. Hisindefatigable energies, his good humour, his patience, were never soconspicuous as when he was coaching duffers. In other ways he made theboys realize that he was at the Manor for their advantage, not his own. The gardens and park were kept strictly private by Dirty Dick. Wardethrew them open; a favour hardly appreciated in the winter quarter, butthe House admitted that it would be awfully jolly in the summer to lieunder the trees far from the "crowd. " In a word--a "privilege. "

Upon the last Saturday, to John's delight, Desmond asked him to spend aweek in Eaton Square. John had paid two visits to White Ladies; he wasnow about to experience something entirely new. White Ladies andVerney Boscobel were typical of the past; they illustrated the historyof the families who had inhabited them. The great world went to WhiteLadies to see the pictures and the gardens, the Gobelin tapestries, theDuchess and her guests; but the same world dined in Eaton Square to seeCharles Desmond. 

During this visit, our John first learned what miracles one individualmay accomplish. At White Ladies, he had dimly perceived, as has beensaid, the duties and responsibilities imposed upon rank and wealth. InEaton Square he saw more plainly the duties and responsibilitiesimposed upon a man of great talents. Both Charles Desmond and the Dukeof Trent were hard workers, but the labours of the duke seemed to John(and to other wise persons) drab-coloured. Charles Desmond's work, incontrast, presented all the colours of the spectrum. John left WhiteLadies, thanking his stars that he was not a duke; he came away fromEaton Square filled with the ambition to be Private Secretary to thegreat Minister. And when Mr. Desmond said to him with his genialsmile, "Well, young John, Harry, I hope, will be my secretary, and thecrutch of my declining years. But what would you like to be?" Johnreplied fervently, "Oh, sir, I should like to be Harry's understudy. "

"Would you?"

And then John saw the face of his kind host change. The smile faded. Mr. Desmond had taken his answer as John meant it to betaken--seriously. He examined John as if he were already a candidatefor office. The piercing eyes probed deep. Then he said slowly, "Ishould like to have you under me, John. We shall talk of this again, my boy. My own sons----" He paused, sighed, and then laughed, tappingJohn's cheek with his slender, finely-formed fingers. But he passed onwithout finishing his sentence. John knew that, of Caesar's brothers, Hugo, the eldest, was Secretary of Legation at Teheran; Bill "devilled"for a famous barrister; Lionel wore her Majesty's livery. Strange thatnone had elected to serve his own father! Caesar explained later. 

"You see, " he said, "the dear old governor outshines everybody. Hugoand the others felt that under him they would be in eclipse, for everand ever--eh?"

"I see, " said John, gravely. "Yes, there's something in that. Hewants you, Caesar. "

"Dear old governor!" the other replied. "Yes--he's keen on that. ButI hope to make my own little mark. I'd like to have my name on a brasstablet in Harrow Chapel; that would be something. " His eyes began toglow and sparkle. 

Next day, at dinner, Rodney's name cropped up. 

"Rodney paved the way for Nelson, " Mr. Desmond observed. "I look uponhim as one of our greatest Harrovians. We ought to have a building toRodney's memory. I put him before Peel or Byron. "

"Oh, I say, father----" Hot protest from Caesar. 

"Act before word, Harry; practice before precept. Rodney was a man ofaction. I should like to have been Rodney. "

"I should like to have been Sheridan, " said Caesar. "I often look athis name on the third panel of the Fourth Form Room. "

He glanced at his father, who smiled, knowing that a delicatecompliment was intended, for enthusiastic admirers had spoken ofCharles Desmond as the Richard Brinsley Sheridan of the modern House ofCommons. The father said curtly--

"A sky-rocket, my dear Harry. " Then he turned to John. "And of allour famous Harrovians whom would you like to take as a pattern, youngJohn?"

John hesitated. Two or three of the guests present were celebrities. Amongst them was England's greatest critic sitting beside anambassador. There happened to be a lull in the talk. All lookedcuriously at John. 

"I'd like to be another Lord Shaftesbury, " he said slowly. 

"Good! Capital!" Mr. Desmond nodded his head. "I knew him well. " Hepoured out anecdote after anecdote illustrating the character andtemperament of the statesman-philanthropist: his self-sacrifice, hisdevotion to an ideal, his curious exclusiveness, his refinement, hisfaith in an aristocracy never diminished by the indefatigable zealwherein he laboured to better the condition of the poor. "If everyrich man were animated by Shaftesbury's spirit, " said Mr. Desmond, inconclusion, "extreme poverty would be wiped out of England, and yet weshould retain all that makes life charming and profitable. He was noleveller, save of foul rookeries. First and last he believed in order, particularly his own--a true nobleman. And the inspiration of hisgreat career came to him on the Hill. "

"Indeed?" said the Critic. 

"John Verney will tell you all about it, " said Mr. Desmond, glancingcheerily at our hero. His was ever the habit to draw out the humblestof his guests. 

So John recited how young Anthony Ashley, standing on the Hill, justbelow the churchyard, chanced to see a pauper's coffin fall to theground and burst open, revealing the pitiful corpse within, and how hehad exclaimed in horror, "Good heavens! Can this be permitted simplybecause the man was poor and friendless?" And how, then and there, theboy had sworn to devote his powers to the amelioration ofpoverty-stricken lives. 

"Yes, " said Mr. Desmond. "He told me that the next fifteen minutesdecided his career. Ah, he succeeded greatly. Why, when I was atHarrow we used to cross from Waterloo to Euston through some of theworst slums in the world. You boys can't realize what they lookedlike. And Shaftesbury's work and example wiped them out of ourcivilization. " [1]

When John returned to his uncle's house of Verney Boscobel (his homesince his father's death), Caesar Desmond accompanied him. Then itseemed to John that his cup brimmed, that everything he desired hadbeen granted unto him. Verney Boscobel stood in the heart of the greatforest, one of the few large manors within that splendid demesne. Theboys arrived at Lyndhurst Road Station late in the evening, long afterdusk, and were driven in darkness through Bartley and Minstead up tothe high-lying moors of Stoneycross. Next morning, early, John wokehis friend, and opened the shutters. 

"Jolly morning, " he said. "Have a look at the Forest, old chap. "

Caesar jumped out of bed, and drew a long breath. 

"Ah!" he exclaimed; "it's fairyland. "

Frost had silvered all things below. Above, motionless upon the blueheavens, as if still frozen by the icy fingers of a December night, were some aerial transparencies of aqueous vapour, amethystine incolour, with edges of white foam. In the east, obscured, but notconcealed, by grey mist, hung the crimson orb of the sun. From itfaint rays shot forth, touching the clouds beneath, which, roused, soto speak, out of sleep, drifted lethargically in a southerly direction. 

 "Underneath the young grey dawn A multitude of dense, white, fleecy clouds Were wandering in thick flocks, . . . Shepherded by the slow, unwilling wind. "

Desmond drew in his breath, sighing with purest delight. From thelawns encompassing the house his eyes strayed into a glade of bracken, gold gleaming through silver--a glade shadowed by noble oaks andbeeches, with one birch tree in the middle of it surpassingly graceful. Upon this each delicate bough and spray were outlined sharply againstthe sky. Beyond the glade stretched the moor, rugged, bleak, andtreeless, sloping sharply upward. Beyond the moor lay theForest--belts of firs darkly purple; and flanking these the irregularmasses of oaks and beeches, varying in tint from palest lavender torose and brown, some still in shadow, some in ever-increasing glow ofsunlight; not one the same, and each in itself containing a thousanddiffering forms, yet all harmonious parts of the resplendent whole. 

"I'm so glad yon like my home, " said John. "Shall we have a gallopbefore breakfast? It's only a white frost. "

So they galloped away into fairyland, returning with mortal appetitesto the oak-panelled dining-hall, whence a Verney had ridden forth tojoin his kinsman, Sir Edmund, in arms for the King upon the distantfield of Edge Hill. After breakfast the boys explored the quaint oldhouse; and John showed Caesar the twenty-bore gun, and promised hisguest much rabbit-shooting, and two days' hunting, at least, with theNew Forest Hounds, and some pike-fishing, and possibly an encounterwith a big grayling--which, later, the boys saw walloping about in theTest above Broadlands--a splendid fish, once hooked by John, andlost--a three-pounder, of course. 

O golden age! You will never forget that Christmas--will you, John?If you live to be Prime Minister of England, the memory of those firstdays alone with your friend will remain green when the colour has beensucked by Time out of everything else. Fifty years hence, maybe, youwill see Caesar's curly head and his blue eyes full of fun and life, and you will hear his joyous laughter--peal upon peal--echoing throughthe corridors of Verney Boscobel. Your mother took him to herheart--didn't she? And all the servants, from butler to scullerymaid, voted him the jolliest, cheeriest boy that ever came to Hampshire. Why, Mrs. Osman, the cook, with a temper like tinder from too muchheat, refused flatly to let Caesar make toffee in her kitchen. Butjust then a barrel-organ turned up, and before she could open hermouth, Caesar was dancing a polka with her; and after that he couldmake toffee, or hay, or anything else, wherever and whenever he pleased. 

When they returned to the Manor, John hoped and prayed that thisblessed intimacy would continue. It did--for a time. The three boysgot their remove, and found themselves in the Second Fifth, where theyproposed to linger till after the summer term. Lovell and Scaifeseemed inseparable, and bridge began again, apparently an inexhaustiblesource of amusement and excitement. Then came the Torpid matches; andJohn, as Lawrence predicted, was captain of the cock-house Eleven--thefirst great victory of the Manorites. During the term, Scaife andDesmond won no races, being in age betwixt and between winners of Upperand Lower School races. Scaife refused to train. Desmond took a fewruns, but abandoned them for racquets, the chief game in the Easterterm, but only played regularly by boys whose purses are well lined. John confined his attention to "Squash. " Caesar played "Harder" withthe Demon. The three worked together as of yore. John now perceivedthat Scaife had joined a clique pledged to fight Reform. It was in theair that something might happen. Warde eyed the big fellows shrewdly, as if measuring weapons. He confounded some by asking them to dinewith him. At dessert he would talk of sport, or games, orpolitics--everything, in fine, except "shop. " The more worthy cameaway from these pleasant evenings with rather a hangdog expression, asif they had been receiving goods under false pretences. John andDesmond were made especially welcome. And, after dinner, John, whosevoice had not yet cracked, would sing, to Mrs. Warde's accompaniment, such songs as "O Bay of Dublin, my heart yu're throublin', " or "Thinkof me sometimes, " or Handel's "Where'er you walk. " The Caterpillarmade no secret of a passion for Iris Warde, and became a dangerousrival of one of the younger masters. He talked to Warde aboutgenealogies and hunting, topics of conversation in which they had acommon interest outside Harrow. John guessed that Warde was making aneffort to secure Egerton, who, for his part, took the world as he foundit, consorting alike with John and his friends, and also with Lovelland Co. From the Caterpillar John learned that Beaumont-Greene hadbegun to play bridge. 

"Scaife and Lovell are skinning the beast, " he added confidentially. "Green he is, and no error. "

"Ructions soon, " said John. 

"I don't believe it, " replied the Caterpillar. "Take my word, Wardeknows what he's about. He's playing up to the younger members of thehouse--you, Caesar, and you, Jonathan--and he's letting the othersslide. "

"Giving 'em rope, " said John, "to hang 'emselves. "

"Well, now, there's something in that. That hadn't occurred to me. What? You think that he's eggin' 'em on, eh? Eggin' 'em on!"

"I think that, if I were you, Caterpillar, I'd cut loose from thatgang. "

"They've made it rather warm for you. "

"I don't care a hang about that. "

As a matter of fact, John's life had been made very unpleasant by thefast set. Upon the other hand, the Duffer, Fluff, and many LowerSchool boys reckoned him their leader and adviser. And--such is theirony of Fate--John's popularity with friends caused him more anxietythan unpopularity with enemies. Towards the end of the term, Desmondspoke of applying to Warde for a certain room to be shared by himselfand John. John had to decline an arrangement desired passionately, because he had indiscreetly promised not to chuck the Duffer. Caesardropped the subject. After this, John noticed a slight coldness. Hewondered whether Caesar were jealous, jealousy being John's ownbesetting sin. Finally, he came to the conclusion that his friendmight be not jealous but unreasonable. In any case, during the lastthree weeks of the term, John saw less of Caesar, and more--more, indeed, than he wanted--of the Duffer and Fluff. 

And then came the paralysing news that Desmond had promised to spendten days with Scaife's people, that a Professional had been hired, andthat both boys were going to give their undivided energies to cricket. 

Afterwards, John often wondered whether Scaife, with truly demoniacinsight into Desmond's character, had let him go, so as to seize himwith more tenacious grasp when an opportunity presented itself. 

As soon as John saw Caesar after the Easter holidays, he knew that, temporarily, at any rate, he had lost his friend. Caesar, indeed, wasdemonstratively glad to see him, and dragged him off next day to walkto a certain bridge where a few short weeks before the boys had carvedtheir names upon the wooden railing, surrounding them with a circle andthe Crossed Arrows. But Caesar could talk of nothing else but Scaifeand cricket. They had both "come on" tremendously. Scaife's peoplehad a splendid cricket-ground. 

Poor John! If he could have submerged the Scaife cricket-ground andthe Scaife family by nodding his head, I fear that he would have noddedit, although he told himself that he was an ungenerous beast and cadnot to sympathize with his pal. 

And before the boys got back to the Manor, Caesar said, not without ablush, that he had learned to play bridge. 

"I shall teach you, Jonathan. "

"No. "

"I say--yes. "

"You're not going to play with Lovell and that beast Beaumont-Greene?"

"The Demon says no cards this term, when lock-up's late. And lookhere, Jonathan, I've made the Demon promise to make the peace betweenLovell and you. You'll play for the House, of course, and we must allpull together, as Warde says. "

John might have smiled at this opportune mention of Warde, but sense ofhumour was swamped in apprehension. Desmond went on to talk aboutScaife. 

"He'll make 'em sit up, you see! The 'pro. ' we had is the finestcover-point in England. I never saw such a chap. He dashes at theball. Hit it as hard as you please, he runs in, picks it up, and snapsit back to the wicket-keeper as easy as if he was playing pitch andtoss. And, by Jove! the Demon can do it. You wait. I never saw anyfellow like him. He's only just sixteen, and he'll get his Flannels. You needn't shake your old head, I know he will. And we must work likeblazes to get ours next summer. "

John discounted much of this talk, but he soon found out that Caesarhad not overestimated the Demon's activity. The draw at Lord's in theprevious summer had been attributed, by such experts as Webbe andHornby, to bad fielding. The Demon told John, with his hateful, derisive smile, that he had remembered this when he selected a "pro. "Not for the first time, John realized Scaife's over-powering ability toachieve his own ends. Who, but Scaife, would have made fielding theprincipal object of his holiday practice?

Within a fortnight, Scaife was put into the Sixth Form game. Desmondfound himself--thanks to Scaife--playing in the First Fifth game; butJohn was placed in Second Fifth Beta. Fortunately, he found an ally inWarde, who had a private pitch in the small park surrounding the Manor, where he coached the weaker players of his House. John told himselfthat he ought to get his "cap"; but, as the weeks slipped by, despiteseveral creditable performances, he became aware that the "cap" waswithheld, although it had been given to Fluff. There were fivevacancies in the House Eleven, but, according to precedent, these neednot be filled up till after the last House-match, and possibly not eventhen. In a word, John might play for the House, and even distinguishhimself, without receiving the coveted distinction. How sore John felt!

About the end of May he noticed that something was amiss with Caesar. Generally they walked together on Sunday, but not always. During thesewalks, as has been said, Caesar did most of the talking. Now, of asudden, he became a half-hearted listener, and to John's repeatedquestion, "What's up?" he would reply irritably, "Oh, don'tbother--nothing. "

Finally, John heard from the Caterpillar that Caesar was playingbridge, and losing. 

"They don't play often, " the Caterpillar added; "but on wet afternoonsthey make up for lost time. Caesar is outclassed. I've told him, buthe's mad keen about the game. "

Later, John learned from the same source that Sunday afternoon was abridge-fixture with Lovell and Co. At any rate, Caesar did not play onSunday. That was something. 

Upon the following Saturday, after making an honest fifteen runs andtaking three wickets in a closely-contested game, John was running intothe Yard just before six Bill, when Lovell stopped him. 

"You can get your 'cap, '" he said coldly. 

"Oh, thanks; thanks awfully!"

Caesar received this agreeable news with indifference. 

"You ought to have had it before Fluff, " he growled. 

"To-morrow, we'll walk to John Lyon's farm, " said John, eagerly. 

"Engaged, " Caesar replied. 

"Oh, Caesar, you're--you're----"

"Well?"

"You're going to play bridge?"

"Yes. What of it? It's only once in a way. I _do_ bar cards onSunday; but there are reasons. "

"What reasons?"

"Reasons which--er--I'll keep to myself. "

"All right, " said John, stiffly, but with a breaking heart. 

Next day he asked Fluff to walk with him, but Fluff was walking withsome one else. The Duffer had letters to write, and stigmatizedwalking as a beastly grind. John determined to walk by himself; but ashe was leaving the Manor he met the Caterpillar, a tremendous buck, arrayed in his best--patent-leather boots, white waistcoat, a flower inhis buttonhole. 

"Where are you off to, Jonathan?"

"To Preston. You'd better come, Caterpillar. "

"I never walk far in these boots. Peal made 'em. "

"Change 'em, can't you?"

"Right. "

While he was absent, John seriously considered the propriety of takingEgerton into his confidence. Sincerely attached to Egerton, andvaluing his advice, he knew, none the less, that the Caterpillar lookedat everybody and everything with the eyes of a colonel in the Guards. To tell Colonel Egerton's son that one's heart was lacerated becauseCaesar Desmond was playing bridge on Sunday, seemed to invite jeers. And, besides, that wasn't the real reason. John felt wretched becausethe Sunday walk had been sacrificed to Moloch. Presently Egerton camedownstairs, spick and span, but not quite so smart. The boys walkedquickly, talking of cricket. 

"The Demon'll get his Flannels, " said Egerton. "I'm glad Lovell gaveyou your cap, Jonathan; you deserved it a month ago. It wasn't myfault you didn't get it at the beginning of the term. "

"I'm sure of that, " said John, gratefully. 

"You don't look particularly bucked-up. A grin improves your face, mydear fellow. "

At this John burst into explosive speech. Those beasts had got hold ofCaesar. The Caterpillar stared; he had never heard John let himselfgo. John's vocabulary surprised him. 

"Whew-w-w!" he whistled. "Gad! Jonathan, you do pile on the agony. Caesar's all right. Don't worry. "

"He's not all right. I thought Caesar had backbone, I----"

"Hold on, " said the Caterpillar, gravely. 

John thought he was about to be rebuked for disloyalty to a pal, anabominable sin in the Caterpillar's eyes. 

"Well?" said John. 

"I'm going to tell you something, " said Egerton. "But you must swearnot to give me away. "

"I'll swear. "

"You're a good little cove, Jonathan, but sometimes you smell just alittle bit of--er--bread and butter. Keep cool. Personally, I wouldsooner that you, at your age, did smell of bread and butter thanwhisky. Well, you think that Caesar is going straight to the bow-wowsbecause he plays bridge. You accuse him in your own little mind offeebleness, and so forth. Yes, just so. And it's doosid unfair toCaesar, because he's given up his walk to-day entirely on your account. Ah! I thought that would make you sit up. "

"My account?" John repeated blankly. 

"Yes; Caesar would be furious if he knew that I was peaching, but hewon't know, and instead of this--er--trifling affair weakening yourgood opinion of your pal, it will strengthen it. "

"Oh, do go on, Caterpillar. "

"Yesterday I was in Lovell's room. We were talking of the first Housematch. Scaife and Caesar were there. I took it upon myself to say youought to be given your 'cap'; and then Caesar burst out, 'Oh yes, Lovell, do give him his "cap. " If you knew how he'd slaved to earnit. ' But Lovell only laughed. And then Scaife chipped in, 'Look here, Caesar, ' he said, 'do I understand that you put this thing, which afterall is none of your business or mine, as a favour which Lovell might do_you_?' And Caesar answered, 'You can put it that way, if you like, Demon. ' And then Scaife laughed. I don't like Scaife's laugh, Jonathan. "

"I loathe it, " said John. 

"Well, when Scaife laughed, Lovell looked first at him and then atCaesar. It came to me that Lovell was primed to say something. At anyrate, he turned to Caesar, and said slowly, 'Tit for tat. If I do thisfor you, will you do something for me?' And Caesar spoke up as usual, without a second's hesitation, 'Of course, I will. ' And then Scaifelaughed again, just as Lovell said, 'All right, I'll give Verney his"cap" before tea, and you will make a fourth at bridge with usto-morrow afternoon. '"

"Oh, oh!" groaned John. 

"Dash it all, don't look so wretched. There's not much more. Caesarhesitated a moment. Then he said quietly enough, 'Done!' Personally, I don't think Lovell was playing--well--cricket, but I do know that hewanted a fourth at bridge, because I'd just refused to make that fourthmyself. They play too high for me. "

"It's awfully good of you to have told me this. "

"Pray don't mention it! Hullo! What's up now?"

John's face was very red, and his fists were clenched. 

"Nothing, " he gasped. "Only this--I'd like to kill Scaife. I'd liketo cut off his infernal head. "

The Caterpillar laughed indulgently. "Jonathan, you're a rum 'un. Youthink it wicked to play cards on Sunday; but you would like"--heimitated John's trembling, passionate voice--"you would like to cut offScaife's infernal head. "

"Yes--I would, " said John. 

That same week he had a memorable talk with Warde; recorded because itillustrates Warde's methods, and because, ultimately, it came to beregarded by John as the turning-point of his intellectual life. Sincehe had taken the Lower Remove, John's energies of mind and body hadbeen concentrated upon improving himself at games. Vaguely aware thatsome of the School-prizes were within his grasp, he had not deemed themworth the winning. To him, therefore, Warde abruptly began--

"You pride yourself upon being straight--eh, Verney?"

"Why, yes, " said John, meeting Warde's blue eyes not without misgiving. 

"Well, to me, you're about as straight as a note of interrogation. Inever see you without saying to myself, 'Is Verney going to bury histalents in the cricket-ground?'"

"Oh!"

"Some parents, too many of them, send their boys here to make a fewnice friends, to play games, to scrape up the School with a remove oncea year. That, I take it, is not what Mrs. Verney wants?"

"N--no, sir. "

"You ought to be in the Sixth--and you know it. Twice, or oftener, youhave deliberately taken things easy, because you wanted a soft time ofit during the summer term, and because you wished to remain in the sameform with Desmond, who, intellectually, is your--inferior. Is thatsquare dealing with your people?"

John was silent, but red of countenance. Warde went on, morevehemently--

"I know all about your co-operative system of work. I have a hardername for it. And I know just what you can do, and I want to see you doit, for your own sake, for the sake of Mrs. Verney, and for the Hill'ssake. I've pushed you on at cricket a bit, haven't I? Yes. You oweme something. Pay up by entering for a School-prize, and winning it!"

"A School-prize?"

"Yes; Lord Charles Russell's Shakespeare Medal. The exam. Is nextOctober. I'll coach you. Is it a bargain?"

He held out his hand, staring frankly, but piercingly, into John's eyes. 

"All right, sir, " said John, after a pause. "I'll try. "

"And buck up for your remove. "

John smiled feebly, and sighed. 

[1] There is a tablet on the wall of the Old Schools which bears thefollowing inscription:--Near this spot ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER Afterwardsthe 7th Earl of Shaftesbury, K. G. While yet a boy in Harrow School Sawwith shame and indignation The pauper's funeral Which helped to awakenhis lifelong Devotion to the service of the poor And the oppressed. 

CHAPTER IX

BLACK SPOTS

 "The Avon bears to endless years A magic voice along, Where Shakespeare strayed in Stratford's shade, And waked the world to song. We heard the music soft and wild, We thrilled to pulses new; The winds that reared the Avon's child Were Herga's[1] nurses too. "

That evening John told Caesar what Warde had said to him, and thenadded, "I mean to have a shot at 'the Swan of Avon. '" Caesar lookedglum. 

"But how about the remove? We'd agreed to stay in the Second Fifthtill Christmas. It's the jolliest form in the school. "

"If we put our backs--and heads--into Trials, [2] we can easily get aremove. "

"Blow Trials. "

John turned aside. 

"Look here, Jonathan, " said Caesar, eagerly. "To please me, give upyour swatting scheme. We can't spoil the end of this jolly term. "

He caught hold of John's arm, squeezing it affectionately. Never hadour hero been so sorely tempted. 

"We must stick together, you and I, " entreated Desmond. 

"No, " said John. 

"As you please, " Caesar replied coldly. 

A detestable week followed. John tackled his Shakespeare alone, working doggedly. Then, quite suddenly, the giant gripped him. He hadalways possessed a remarkable memory, and as a child he had learnt byheart many passages out of the plays (a fact well known to the craftyWarde); but these he had swallowed without digesting them. Now hebecame keen, the keener because he met with violent opposition from theCaterpillar and the Duffer, who were of opinion that Shakespeare was a"back number. "

John won the prize, and on the following Speech Day saw his mother'sface radiant with pride and happiness, as he received the Medal fromthe Head Master's hands. 

"You look as pleased as if I'd got my Flannels, " said John. 

"Surely this Medal is a greater thing?"

"Oh, mum, you don't know much about boys. "

"Perhaps not, but, " her eyes twinkled, "I know something aboutShakespeare, and he's a friend that will stand by you when cricketingdays are over. "

"If you're pleased, so am I, " said John. 

Scaife got his Flannels; and at Lord's his fielding was mentioned asthe finest ever seen in a Public School match. John witnessed the gamefrom the top of the Trent coach, and he stopped at Trent House. But hedidn't enjoy his exeat, because he knew that Caesar was in trouble. Caesar owed Scaife thirteen pounds, and the fact that this debt couldnot be paid without confession to his father was driving himdistracted. Scaife, it is true, laughed genially at Caesar's distress. "Settle when you please, " he said; "but, for Heaven's sake, don't peachto your governor! Mine would laugh and pay up; yours will pay up andmake you swear not to touch another card while you're at Harrow. "

"Just what he _will_ do, " Caesar told John. 

"And the best thing that could happen, " John said bluntly. "If youdon't cut loose now, it will be much worse next term. "

"Rot, " Desmond had replied. "I'm paying the usual bill for learning adifficult game. That's how the Demon puts it. But I've a turn forbridge, and now I can hold my own. I'm better than Beaumont-Greene, and quite as good as Lovell. The Demon, of course, is in anotherclass. "

"And therefore he oughtn't to play with you. It's robbery. "

"Now you're talking bosh. "

The Eton and Harrow match ended in another draw. Time and Scaife'sfielding saved Harrow from defeat. The fact of a draw hadsignificance. A draw spelled compromise. John had indulged in asuperstitious fancy common enough to persons older than he. "If Harrowwins, " he put it to himself, "Caesar will triumph; if Eton wins, Caesarwill lose. " When the match proved a draw, John drew the conclusionthat his pal would "funk" telling the truth; an apprehension presentlyconfirmed. 

"I didn't tell the governor, " said Caesar, when John and he met. "Myeldest brother, Hugo, is coming home, and I shall screw it out of him. He's a good sort, and he's going to marry a girl who is simply rolling. He'll fork out, I know he will. I feel awfully cheery. "

"I don't, " said John. 

He had good reason to fear that Caesar and he were drifting apart. Nowhe worked by himself. And his voice had broken. A small thing this, but John was sensible that his singing voice touched corners inCaesar's soul to which his speaking voice never penetrated. More, Caesar and he had agreed to differ upon points of conscience other thancard-playing. And every point of conscientious difference increasesthe distance between true friends in geometrical progression. PoorJonathan!

But we have his grateful testimony that Warde stood by him. And Wardemade him see life at Harrow (and beyond) in a new light. Warde, indeed, decomposed the light into primary colours, a sort of experimentin moral chemistry, and not without fascination for an intelligent boy. Sometimes, it became difficult to follow Warde--members of the AlpineClub said that often it was impossible--because he jumped where otherscrawled. And he clipped words, phrases, thoughts so uncommonly short. 

"You're beginning to see, Verney, eh? Scales crumbling away, my boy. And strong sunshine hurts the eyes--at first. Black spots are dancingbefore you. I know the little devils. "

Or again--

"This remove will wipe a bit more off the debt, won't it? Ha, ha!I've made you reckon up what you owe Mrs. Verney. But there areothers----"

"I'm awfully grateful to you, sir. "

"Never mind me. "

"What do you mean, sir?"

"New Testament; Matthew; twenty-fifth chapter--I forget verse. [3] Lookit up. Christ answers your question. Make life easier and happier forsome of the new boys. Pass on gratitude. Set it a-rolling. See?"

John had appetite for such talk, but Warde never gave much of it--halfa dozen sentences, a smile, a nod of the head, a keen look, and astriding off elsewhere. But when John repeated what Warde had said toCaesar, that young gentleman looked uneasy. 

"Warde means well, " he said; "and he's doing wonders with the Manor, but I hope he's not going to make a sort of tin parson of you?"

"As if he could!" said John. 

"You're miles ahead of me, Jonathan. "

"No, no. "

"I say--yes. "

"Caesar, " said John, in desperation, "perhaps we _are_ sliding apart, but it isn't my fault, indeed it isn't. And think what it meansto--me. You've heaps of friends, and I never was first, I know that. You can do without me, but I can't do without you. "

"Dear old Jonathan. " Caesar held out his hand, smiling. 

"I'm a jealous ass, Caesar. And, as for calling me a parson, " helaughed scornfully, "why, I'd sooner walk with you, even if you werethe worst sinner in the world, than with any saint that ever lived. "

The feeling in John's voice drove Caesar's gay smile from his face. Did he realize, possibly, for the first time, that if John and heremained friends, he might drag John down? Suddenly his facebrightened. 

"Jonathan, " he said gravely, "to please you, I'll not touch a cardagain this term, and we'll have such good times this last three weeksthat you'll forget the rest of it. "

 'And what delights can equal those That stir the spirit's inner deeps, When one that loves but knows not reaps A truth from one that loves and knows?

The Manor played in the cock-house match at cricket, being but barelydefeated by Damer's. Everybody admitted that this glorious state ofaffairs was due to Warde's coaching of the weaker members of theEleven. Scaife fielded brilliantly, and John, watching him, said tohimself that at such times the Demon was irresistible, Warde invitedthe Eleven to dinner, and spoke of nothing but football, much to everyone's amusement. 

"He's right, " said the Caterpillar; "we're not cock-house at cricketthis year, but we may be at footer. "

John spent his holidays abroad with his mother, and when the Schoolreassembled, he found himself in the First Fifth _alone_. Withsatisfaction he reflected that this was Lovell's last term, andBeaumont-Greene's too. Warde said a few words at first lock-up. 

"We are going to be cock-house at footer, I hope, " he began, "and nextterm Scaife will show the School what he can do at racquets; but I wantmore. I'm a glutton. How about work, eh? Lot o' slacking last term. Is it honest? You fellows cost your people a deal of money. And it'swell spent, if, _if_ you tackle everything in school life as youtackled Mr. Damer's last July. That's all. "

"He's giving you what he gave me, " said John. 

"Good fellow, Warde, " observed the Caterpillar; "in his room everynight after prayers to mug up his form work. "

"What?" Murmurs of incredulity. 

"Fact, 'pon my word. And he never refuses a 'con' to a fellow whowants it. "

"He's paid for it, " sneered Scaife. 

The other boys nodded; enthusiasm was chilled. Yes, of course Wardewas paid for it. John caught Scaife's eye. 

"You don't believe that he's in love with his job, as he told us?"

"Skittles--that!"

John looked solemn. He had a bomb to throw. 

"Skittles, is it?" he echoed. The other boys turned to listen. "Doyou think he'd take a better-paid billet?"

Scaife laughed derisively. "Of course he would, like a shot. But he'snot likely to get the chance. "

"He has just been offered the Head Mastership of Wellborough. It'sworth about four thousand a year. "

"Pooh! who told you that?"

"Caesar's father. "

"It's true, " said Caesar. 

"And he refused it, " said John, triumphantly. 

"Then he's a fool, " said Scaife, angrily. He marched out of the room, slamming the door. But the Manor, as a corporate body, when it heardof Warde's refusal to accept promotion, was profoundly impressed. Thusthe term began with good resolutions upon the part of the better sort. 

Very soon, however, with the shortening days, bridge began again. Johnmade no protest, afraid of losing his pal. He called himself coward, and considered the expediency of learning bridge, so as to be in thesame boat with Caesar. Caesar told him that he had not asked hisbrother Hugo for the thirteen pounds. Hugo, it seemed, had come backfrom Teheran with a decoration and the air of an ambassador. He spokeof his "services. "

"I knew that Hugo would make me swear not to play again, " said Caesarto John, "and, naturally, I want to get some of the plunder back. I amgetting it back. I raked thirty bob out of Beaumont-Greene last night. "

John said nothing. 

Presently it came to his ears that Caesar was getting more plunderback. The Caterpillar, an agreeable gossip, because he condemnednothing except dirt and low-breeding, told John that Beaumont-Greenewas losing many shekels. And about the middle of October Caesar saidto John--

"What do you think, old Jonathan? I've jolly nearly paid on the Demon. And you wanted me to chuck the thing. Nice sort of counsellor. "

"Beaumont-Greene must have lost a pot?"

"You bet, " said Caesar; "but that doesn't keep me awake at night. Hehas got the _Imperishable Seamless Whaleskin Boot_ behind him. "

Next time John met Beaumont-Greene he eyed him sharply. The big fellowwas pulpier than ever; his complexion the colour of skilly. Yes; helooked much worried. Perhaps the "Imperishable Boot" lasted too long. And, nowadays, so many fellows wore shoes. Thus John to himself. 

Beaumont-Greene, indeed, not only looked worried, he was worried, hideously worried, and with excellent reason. He had an absurdly, wickedly, large allowance, but not more than a sovereign of it wasleft. More, he owed Scaife twenty pounds, and Lovell another ten. Both these young gentlemen had hinted plainly that they wanted to seetheir money. 

"I must have the stuff now, " said Lovell, when Beaumont-Greene askedfor time. "I'm going to shoot a lot this Christmas, and the governormakes me pay for my cartridges. "

"So does mine, " said Scaife, grinning. He was quite indifferent to themoney, but he liked to see Beaumont-Greene squirm. He continuedsuavely, "You ought to settle before you leave. Ain't your people inRome? Yes. And you're going to join 'em. Why, hang it, some Dago maystick a knife into you, and where should we be then--hey? Yourgovernor wouldn't settle a gambling debt, would he?"

This was too true. Scaife grinned diabolically. He knew thatBeaumont-Greene's father was endeavouring to establish a credit-accountwith the Recording Angel. Originally a Nonconformist, he had joinedthe Church of England after he had made his fortune (cf. _Shavings fromthe Workshops of our Merchant Princes_, which appeared in the pages of"Prattle"). Then, the famous inventor of the Imperishable Boot hadtaken to endowing churches; and he published pamphlets denouncing drinkand gambling, pamphlets sent to his son at Harrow, who (with an eye tobacksheesh) had praised his sire's prose somewhat indiscreetly. 

"You shall have your confounded money, " said Beaumont-Greene, violently. 

"Thanks, " said Scaife, sweetly. "When we asked you to join us" (slightemphasis on the "us"), "we knew that we could rely on you to settlepromptly. "

The Demon grinned for the third time, knowing that he had touched aweak spot; not a difficult thing to do, if you touched the big fellowat all. A young man of spirit would have told his creditors to go toJericho. Beaumont-Greene might have said, "You have skinned me a bit. I don't whine about that; I mean to pay up; but you'll have to waittill I have the money. I'm stoney now. " Scaife and Lovell must haveaccepted this as an ultimatum. But Beaumont-Greene's wretched prideinterfered. He had posed as a sort of Golden Youth. To confesshimself pinchbeck seemed an unspeakable humiliation. 

Men have been known to take to drink under the impending sword ofdishonour. Beaumont-Greene swallowed instead large quantities of foodat the Creameries; and then wrote to his father, saying that he wouldlike to have a cheque for thirty pounds by return of post. He wasleaving Harrow, he pointed out, and he wished to give his friends somehandsome presents. Young Desmond, for instance, the great minister'sson, had been kind to him (Beaumont-Greene prided himself upon thistouch), and Scaife, too, he was under obligations to Scaife, who wouldbe a power by-and-by, and so forth. . . . To confess frankly that heowed thirty pounds gambled away at cards required more cheek than ourstout youth possessed. His father refused to play bridge on principle, because he could never remember how many trumps were out. 

The father answered by return of post, but enclosed no cheque. Hepointed out to his dear Thomas that giving handsome presents withanother's money was an objectionable habit. Thomas received a large, possibly too large an allowance. He must exercise self-denial, if hewished to make presents. His quarterly allowance would be paid asusual next Christmas, and not a minute before. There would be timethen to reconsider the propriety of giving young Desmond a suitablegift. . . . 

Common sense told Beaumont-Greene to show this letter to Scaife andLovell. But he saw the Demon's derisive grin, and recoiled from it. 

At this moment temptation seized him relentlessly. Beaumont-Greenenever resisted temptation. For fun, so he put it, he would write thesort of letter which his father ought to have written, and which wouldhave put him at his ease. It ran thus--

"MY DEAR THOMAS, "No doubt you will want to give some leaving presents, and a spread ortwo. I should like my son to do the thing handsomely. You know betterthan I how much this will cost, but I am prepared to send you, saytwenty-five or thirty pounds for such a purpose. Or, you can have thebills sent to me. 

"With love, "Your affectionate father, "GEORGE BEAUMONT-GREENE. "

Beaumont-Greene, like the immortal Mr. Toots, rather fancied himself asa letter-writer. The longer he looked at his effusion, the more heliked it. His handwriting was not unlike his father's--modelled, indeed, upon it. With a little careful manipulation of a fewletters----!

The day was cold, but Beaumont-Greene suddenly found himself in aperspiration. None the less, it seemed easier to forge a letter thanto avow himself penniless. Detection? Impossible! Two or threetradesmen in Harrow would advance the money if he showed them thisletter. Next Christmas they would be paid. Within a quarter of anhour he made up his mind to cross the Rubicon, and crossed it withundue haste. He forged the letter, placed it in an envelope which hadcome from Rome, and went to his tailor's. 

Under pretext of looking at patterns, he led the man aside. 

"You can do me a favour, " he began, in his usual heavy, hesitatingmanner. 

"With pleasure, " said the tradesman, smiling. Then, seeing anopportunity, he added, "You are leaving Harrow, Mr. Beaumont-Greene, but I trust, sir, you will not take your custom with you. We havealways tried to please you. "

Beaumont-Greene, in his turn, saw opportunity. 

"Yes, yes, " he answered. Then he produced the letter, envelope andall. "I have here a letter from my father, who is in Rome. I'll readit to you. No; you can read it yourself. "

The tailor read the letter. 

"Very handsome, " he replied; "_very_ handsome indeed, sir. Your fatheris a true gentleman. "

"It happens, " said Beaumont-Greene, more easily, for the thing seemedto be simpler than he had anticipated--"it happens that I _do_ want tomake some presents, but I'm not going to buy them here. I shall sendto the Stores, you know. I have their catalogue. "

"Just so, sir. Excellent place the Stores for nearly everything;except, perhaps, my line. "

"I should not think of buying clothes there. But at the Stores onemust pay cash. I've not got the cash, and my father is in Rome. Ishould like to have the money to-day, if possible. Will you oblige me?"

The tradesman hesitated. In the past there have been grave scandalsconnected with lending money to boys. And Harrow tradesmen are at themercy of the Head Master. If a school-tailor be put out of bounds, hecan put up his shutters at once. Still----

"I'll let you have the money, " said the man, eying Beaumont-Greenekeenly. 

"Thanks. "

The tailor observed a slight flush and a sudden intake of breath--signswhich stirred suspicion. 

"Will you take it in notes, sir?"

Here Beaumont-Greene made his first blunder. He had an ill-definedidea that paper was dangerous stuff. 

"In gold, please. "

He forgot that gold is not easily sent in a letter. The tailorhesitated, but he had gone too far to back out. 

"Very well, sir. I have not twenty-five pounds----"

"Thirty, if you please. I shall want thirty. "

"I have not quite that amount here, but I can get it. "

When the man came back with a small canvas bag in his hand, Beaumont-Greene had pocketed the letter. He received the money, counted it, thanked the tailor, and turned to go. 

"If you please, sir----"

"Yes?"

"I should like to keep your father's letter, sir. As a form ofreceipt, sir. When you settle I'll return it. If--if anything shouldhappen to--to you, sir, where would I be?"

Beaumont-Greene's temper showed itself. 

"You all talk as if I was on my death-bed, " he said. 

The tailor stared. Others, then, had suggested to this large, unwholesome youth the possibility of premature decease. 

"Not at all, sir, but we do live in the valley of shadders. My wife'sstep-father, as fine and hearty a specimen as you'd wish to see, sir, was taken only last month; at breakfast, too, as he was chipping histhird egg. "

Beaumont-Greene said loftily, "Blow your wife's step-father and histhird egg. Here's the letter. "

He flung down the letter and marched out of the shop. The tradesmanlooked at him, shaking his head. "He'll never come back, " he muttered. "I know his sort too well. " Then, business happening to be slack, here-read the letter before putting it away. Then he whistled softly andread it for the third time, frowning and biting his lips. The"Beaumont-Greene" in the signature and on the envelope did not look tobe written by the same hand. 

"There's something fishy here, " muttered the tradesman. "I must showthis to Amelia. "

It was his habit to consult his wife in emergencies. The chief cutterand two assistants said that Amelia was the power behind the throne. Amelia read the letter, listened to what her husband had to say, staredhard at the envelope, and delivered herself--

"The hand that wrote the envelope never wrote the letter, that'splain--to me. Now, William, you've got me and the children to thinkof. This may mean the loss of our business, and worse too. You put onyour hat and go straight to the Manor. Mr. Warde's a gentleman, and Idon't think he'll let me and the children suffer for your foolishness. Don't you wait another minute. "

Nor did he. 

After prayers that night, Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to come to hisstudy. Beaumont-Greene obeyed, smiling blandly. Within three weeks hewas leaving; doubtless Warde wanted to say something civil. The bigfellow was feeling quite himself. He had paid Scaife and Lovell, notwithout a little pardonable braggadocio. 

"You fellows have put me to some inconvenience, " he said. "I make it arule not to run things fine, but after all thirty quid is no great sum. Here you are. "

"We don't want to drive you into the workhouse, " said Scaife. "Thanks. Give you your revenge any time. I dare say between now and the end ofthe term you'll have most of it back. "

Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to sit down in a particular chair, whichfaced the light from a large lamp. Then he took up an envelope. Suddenly cold chills trickled down Beaumont-Greene's spine. Herecognized the envelope. That scoundrel had betrayed him. Not for amoment, however, did he suppose that the forgery had been detected. 

"On the strength of this letter, " said Warde, gravely, "you borrowedthirty pounds from a tradesman?"

Denial being fatuous, Beaumont-Greene said--

"Yes, sir. "

"You know, I suppose, that Harrow tradesmen are expressly forbidden tolend boys money?"

"I am hardly a boy, sir. And--er--under the circumstances----"

Warde smiled very grimly. 

"Ah--under the circumstances. Have you any objection to telling me theexact circumstances?"

"Not at all, sir. I wished to make some presents to my friends. I amgoing to give a large leaving-breakfast. "

"Oh! Still, thirty pounds is a large sum----"

"Not to my father, sir. I--er--thought of coming to you, sir, withthat letter. "

"Did you?"

Warde took the letter from the envelope, and glanced at it with faintinterest, so Beaumont-Greene thought. Then he picked up a magnifyingglass and played with it. It was a trick of his to pick up objects onhis desk, and turn them in his thin nervous fingers. Beaumont-Greenewas not seriously alarmed. He had great faith in a weapon which hadserved him faithfully, his lying tongue. 

"Yes, sir. I thought you would be willing to advance the money for afew days, and then----"

"And then?"

"And then I thought I wouldn't bother you. It never occurred to methat I was getting a tradesman into trouble. I hope you won't be hardon him, sir. "

"I shall not be hard on him, " said Warde, "because"--for a moment hiseyes flashed--"because he came to me and confessed his fault; but Iwon't deny that I gave him a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour. Hesat in your chair. "

Beaumont-Greene shuffled uneasily. 

"Have you this thirty pounds in your pocket?" asked Warde, casually. 

Beaumont-Greene began to regret his haste in settling. 

"No, sir. "

"Some of it?"

"None of it. "

"You sent it to London? To buy these handsome presents?"

"Ye-es, sir. "

"You hadn't much time. Lock-up's early, and you received the money ingold. Did you buy Orders?"

Beaumont-Greene's head began to buzz. He found himself wondering whyWarde was speaking in this smooth, quiet voice, so different from hisusual curt, incisive tones. 

"Yes, sir. "

"At the Harrow post-office?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Ah. "

Again the house-master picked up the letter, but this time he didn'tlay down the lens. Instead he used it, very deliberately. Beaumont-Greene shivered; with difficulty he clenched his teeth, so asto prevent them clicking like castanets. Then Warde held up the sheetof paper to the light of the lamp. Obviously he wished to examine thewatermark. The paper was thin notepaper, the kind that is soldeverywhere for foreign correspondence. Beaumont-Greene, economical insuch matters, had bought a couple of quires when his people wentabroad. The paper he had bought did not quite match the Romanenvelope. Warde opened a drawer, from which he took some thin paper. This also he held up to the light. 

"It's an odd coincidence, " he said, tranquilly; "your father in Romeuses the same notepaper that I buy here. But the envelope is Italian?"

He spoke interrogatively, but the wretch opposite had lost the power ofspeech. He collapsed. Warde rose, throwing aside his quiet manner asif it were a drab-coloured cloak. Now he was himself, alert, on edge, sanguine. 

"You fool!" he exclaimed; "you clumsy fool! Why, a child could findyou out. And you--you have dared to play with such an edged tool asforgery. Now, do the one thing which is left to you: make a cleanbreast of it to me--at once. "

In imposing this command, a command which he knew would be obeyed, inasmuch as he perceived that he dominated the weak grovelling creaturein front of him, Warde overlooked the possibility that this boy'sconfession might implicate other boys. Already he had formed in hismind a working hypothesis to account for this forged letter. Thefellow, no doubt, was in debt to some Harrow townsman. 

"For whom did you _steal_ this money? To whom did you pay it to-day?Answer!"

And he was answered. 

"I owed the money to Scaife and Lovell. "

Then he told the story of the card-playing. At the last word he fellon his knees, blubbering. 

"Get up, " said Warde, sharply. "Pull yourself together if you can. "

The master began to walk up and down the room, frowning and biting hislips. From time to time he glanced at Beaumont-Greene. Seeing hisutter collapse, he rang the bell, answered by the ever-discreetDumbleton. 

"Dumbleton, take Mr. Beaumont-Greene to the sick-room. There is no onein it, I believe?"

"No, sir. "

"You will fetch what he may require for the night; quietly, youunderstand. "

"Very good, sir. "

"Follow Dumbleton, " Warde addressed Beaumont-Greene. "You willconsider yourself under arrest. Your meals will be brought to you. You will hold no communication with anybody except Dumbleton and me;you will send no messages; you will write no notes. Do you hear?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Then go. "

Dumbleton opened the door. Young man and servant passed out and intothe passage beyond. Warde waited one moment, then he followed theminto the passage; but instead of going upstairs, he paused for aninstant with his fingers upon the handle of the door which led from theprivate side to the boys' quarters. He sighed as he passed through. 

At this moment Lovell was sitting in his room alone with Scaife. Theyhad no suspicion of what had taken place in the study. In theafternoon there had been a match with an Old Harrovian team, and bothScaife and Lovell had played for the School. But as yet neither hadgot his Flannels. As Warde passed through the private side door, Scaife was saying angrily--

"I believe Challoner" (Challoner was captain of the football Eleven anda monitor) "has a grudge against us. If we had a chance--and wehad--of getting our Flannels last year, why isn't it a cert. This, eh?"

Lovell shrugged his shoulders. 

"It is a cert. , " he answered; "and you're right. Challoner doesn'tlike us, and it amuses him to keep us out of our just rights. Themonitors know I detest 'em, and they don't think you're called theDemon for nothing. Challoner is more of a monitor than afooter-player. How about a rubber? There's just time. "

"I don't mind. "

Lovell went to the door and opened it. 

"Bo-o-o-o-o-o-y!"

The familiar cry--that imperious call which makes an Harrovian feelhimself master of more or less willing slaves--echoed through thehouse. Immediately the night-fag came running; it was not consideredhealthy to keep Lovell waiting. 

"Ask Beaumont-Greene to come up here and----"

He paused. Warde had just turned the corner, and was approaching. Lovell hesitated. Then he repeated what he had just said, with aslight variation for Warde's benefit. "Tell him I want to ask him aquestion about the house-subscriptions. "

"Right, " said the fag, bustling off. 

Lovell waited to receive his house-master. He had very good manners. 

"Can I do anything for you, sir?" he asked. 

"Yes, " said Warde, deliberately. He entered Lovell's room and lookedat Scaife, who rose at once. 

"I wish to speak with you alone, Lovell. "

"Certainly, sir. Won't you sit down?"

Warde waited till Scaife had closed the door, then he said quietly--

"Lovell, does Beaumont-Greene owe you money?"

[1] The Anglo-Saxon form of Harrow. 

[2] The terminal examination. 

[3] "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these Mybrethren, ye have done it unto Me. "

CHAPTER X

DECAPITATION

"Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the firstmagnitude!"

Lovell betrayed his astonishment by a slight start; however, he facedWarde with a smile. Warde, clean-shaven, alert, with youthful figure, looked but little older than his pupil. For a moment the two staredsteadily at each other; then, very politely, Lovell said--

"No, sir, he does not. "

Warde continued curtly, "Then he has paid you what he did owe you?"

Lovell nodded, shrugging his shoulders. Plainly, Warde had discoveredthe fact of the debt. Probably that fool Beaumont-Greene had appliedto his father, and the father had written to Warde. It was unthinkablethat Warde knew more than this. Having reached this conclusion, Lovellturned over in his mind two or three specious lies that might meet theexigency. 

"Yes, " he replied, with apparent frankness, "Beaumont-Greene did owe memoney, and he has paid me. "

After a slight pause, Warde said quietly, "It is my duty, as yourtutor, to ask you how Beaumont-Greene became indebted to you?"

"I lent him the money, " said Lovell. 

"Ah! Please call 'Boy. '"

Lovell went into the passage. Had he an intuition that he was about tocall "Boy" for the last time, or did the pent-up excitement find anoutlet in sound? He had never called "Boy" so loudly or clearly. Thenight-fag scurried up again. 

"Tell him to send Scaife here, " said Warde. 

Lovell's florid face paled. Scaife would introduce complications. Andyet, if it had come to Warde's ears that Beaumont-Greene was in debt totwo of his school-fellows, and if he had found out the name of one, itwas not surprising that he knew the name of the other also. As he gavethe fag the message, he regretted that Scaife and he could not have aminute's private conversation together. 

"You lent Beaumont-Greene ten pounds, Lovell?"

"Yes, sir. "

Scaife came in, cool, handsomer than usual because of the sparkle inhis eyes. 

"Shut the door, Scaife. Look at me, please. Beaumont-Greene owed youmoney?"

Scaife glanced at Lovell, whose left eyelid quivered. 

"Kindly stand behind Scaife, Lovell. Thank you. Answer my question, Scaife. "

"Yes, sir; he owed me money. "

"Have you lent him money too?" said Lovell. 

It was admirably done--the hint cleverly conveyed, the mild amazement. Warde smiled grimly. Scaife understood, and took his cue. 

"Yes; I have lent him money, " said he, after a slight pause. 

"Twenty pounds?"

"I believe, sir, that is the amount. "

"And can you offer me any explanation why Beaumont-Greene, whosefather, to my knowledge, has always given him a very large allowance, should borrow thirty pounds of you two?"

"I haven't the smallest idea, have you, Lovell?"

"No, " said Lovell. "Unless his younger brother, who is at Eton, hasgot into trouble. He's very fond of his brothers. "

"Um! You speak up for your--friend. "

Lovell frowned. "A friend, sir--no. "

"Of course, " said Warde, reflectively, "if it is true thatBeaumont-Greene borrowed this money to help a brother----"

He paused, staring at Lovell. From the bottom of a big heart he waspraying that Lovell would not lie. 

"Beaumont-Greene certainly gave me to understand that the affair waspressing. Having the money, I hadn't the heart to refuse. "

"But you pressed for repayment?" said Warde, sharply. 

"That is true, sir. I'm on an allowance; and I shall have manyexpenses this holidays. "

"You, Scaife, asked for your money?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, between you, you have driven this unhappy wretch into crime. "

"Crime, sir?"

At last their self-possession abandoned them. Crime is a word whichlooms large in the imaginations of youth. What had Beaumont-Greenedone?

"What crime, sir?"

Scaife, the more self-possessed, although fully two years the younger, asked the question. 

"Forgery. "

"Forgery?" Lovell repeated. He was plainly shocked. 

"The idiot!" exclaimed Scaife. 

"Yes--forgery. Have you anything to say? It is a time when the truth, all the truth, might be accepted as an extenuating circumstance. Ispeak to you first, Lovell. You're a Sixth Form boy--remember, I havebeen one myself--and it is your duty to help me. "

"I beg pardon, sir, " Lovell replied. "I have never considered it myduty as a Sixth Form boy to play the usher. "

"Nor did I; but you ought to work on parallel lines with us. Youaccepted the privileges of the Sixth. "

Lovell's flush deepened. 

"More, " continued Warde, "you know that we, the masters, have implicittrust in the Sixth Form, a trust but seldom betrayed. For instance, Ishould not think of entering your room without tapping on the door;under ordinary circumstances I should accept your bare wordunhesitatingly. I say emphatically that if you, knowing these things, have accepted the privileges of your order with the deliberateintention of ignoring its duties, you have not acted like a man ofhonour. "

"Sir!"

"Don't bluff! Now, for the last time, will you give me what I havegiven you--trust?"

"I have nothing more to say, " Lovell answered stiffly. 

"And you, Scaife?"

"I am sorry, sir, that Beaumont-Greene has been such a fool. We lenthim this money, because he wanted it badly; and he said he would pay usback before the end of the term. "

"You stick to that story?"

"Why, yes, sir. Why should we tell you a lie?"

"Ah, why, indeed?" sighed Warde. Then his voice grew hard and sharp. The persuasiveness, the carefully-framed sentences, gave place to hiscurtest manner. "This matter, " said he, "is out of my hands. The HeadMaster will deal with it. I must ask you for your keys, Lovell. "

"And if I refuse to give them up?"

"Then we must break into your boxes. Thanks. " He took the keys. "Follow me, please. "

The pair followed him into the private side, upstairs, and into thesick-room. There were three beds in it; upon one sat Beaumont-Greene. His complexion turned a sickly drab when he saw Lovell and Scaife. Heeven glanced at the window with a hunted expression. The window wasthree stories from the ground, and heavily barred ever since a boy indelirium had tried to jump from it. 

"Your night-things will be brought to you, " said Warde. 

He went out slowly. The boys heard the key turn in the massive lock. They were prisoners. Scaife walked up to Beaumont-Greene. 

"You told Warde about the bridge?"

"Ye-es; I had to. Scaife, don't look at me like that. Lovell"--hisvoice broke into a terrified scream--"don't let him hit me. I couldn'thelp it--I swear I----"

"You cur!" said Scaife. "I wouldn't touch you with a forty-foot pole. "

Just what passed between Warde and the Head Master must be surmised. Carefully hidden in Lovell's boxes were found cards and markers. Uponthe latter remained the results of the last game played, and under thewinning column a rough calculation in pounds, shillings, and pence. There were no names. 

Next day, during first school, a notice came round to each Form to bein the Speech-room at 8. 30. Not a boy knew or guessed the reason ofthis summons. The Manorites, aware that three of their House were inthe sickroom, believed that an infectious disease had broken out. OnlyDesmond, John, and the Caterpillar experienced heart-breaking fearsthat a catastrophe had taken place. 

When the School assembled at half-past eight, the monitors came in, followed by the Head Master in cap and gown. Then, a moment later, theSchool Custos entered with Scaife. They sat down upon a small benchnear the door. Immediately the whispers, the shuffling of feet, theoccasional cough, died down into a thrilling silence. The Head Masterstood up. 

He was a man of singularly impressive face and figure. And his voicehad what may be described as an edge to it--the cutting quality soinvaluable to any speaker who desires to make a deep impression uponhis audience. He began his address in the clear, cold accents of onewho sets forth facts which can neither be controverted nor ignored. Slowly, inexorably, without wasting a word or a second, he told theSchool what had happened. Then he paused. 

As his voice melted away, the boys moved restlessly. Upon their facesshone a curious excitement and relief. Gambling in its many-headedforms is too deeply rooted in human hearts to awaken any greatantipathy. So far, then, the sympathy of the audience lay with theculprits; this the Head Master knew. 

When he spoke again, his voice had changed, subtly, but unmistakably. 

"You were afraid, " he said, "that I had something worse--ah, yes, unspeakably worse--to tell you. Thank God, this is not one of thosecases from which every clean, manly boy must recoil in disgust. But, on that account, don't blind yourselves to the issues involved. Thisplaying of bridge--a game you have seen your own people playing nightafter night, perhaps--is harmless enough in itself. I can say more--itis a game, and hence its fascination, which calls into use some of thefinest qualities of the brain: judgment, memory, the faculty of makingcorrect deductions, foresight, and patience. It teaches restraint; itmakes for pleasant fellowship. It does all this and more, providedthat it never degenerates into gambling. The very moment that the gamebecomes a gamble, if any one of the players is likely to lose a sumgreater than he can reasonably afford to pay, greater than he wouldcheerfully spend upon any other form of entertainment, then bridgebecomes cursed. And because you boys have not the experience todetermine the difference between a mere game and a gamble, card-playingis forbidden you, and rightly so. Now, let us consider what hashappened. A stupid foolish fellow, playing with boys infinitelycleverer than himself, has lost a sum of money which he could not pay. To obtain the means of paying it, he deliberately forged a letter and asignature. And then followed the inevitable lying--lie upon lie. Thatis always the price of lies--'to lie on still. '

"I would mitigate the punishment, if I could, but I must think of themajority. This sort of malignant disease must be cut out. Two of thethree offenders are young men; they were leaving at the end of thisterm. They will leave, instead--to-day. The third boy is muchyounger. Because of his youth, I have been persuaded by hishouse-master to give him a further chance. "

Again he paused. Then he exclaimed loudly, "Scaife!"

Scaife stood up, very pale. "Here, sir!"

"Scaife, you will go into the Fourth Form Room, [1] and prepare toreceive the punishment which no member of the Eleven should everdeserve. "

John sat with his Form while the Head Master was addressing the School. Not far off was the Caterpillar, less cool than usual, so Johnremarked. His collar, for instance, seemed to be too tight; and hemoved restlessly upon his chair. Many very brave men become nervouswhen a great danger has passed them by. Egerton said afterwards, "Ifelt like getting down a hole, and pulling the hole after me. Not myown. Some Yankee's, you know. " Still, he displayed remarkableself-possession under trying circumstances. Two of Lovell's particularfriends were seen to turn the colour of Cheddar cheese. But Desmond, so John noticed, grew red rather than yellow. Nor did he tremble, buthis fists were clenched, and his eyes kindled. 

As Scaife left the Speech-room, followed by Titchener (the provider ofbirches, whose duty it is to see that boys about to be swished areproperly prepared to receive punishment), the boys began to shuffle intheir places. But the Head Master held up his hand. It was then thatLovell's two particular friends, who had partially recovered, felt thatthe earth was once more slipping from under them. 

"It takes four to play bridge. " The Caterpillar's fingers went to hiscollar again. "In this case there must have been a fourth, possiblya fifth and a sixth. Not more, I think, because the secret wastoo well kept. We are confronted with the disagreeable fact thatthree boys are going to receive the most severe punishments I caninflict, and that another escapes scot-free. _For I do not knowthe--name--of--the--fourth_. "

The Head Master waited to let each deliberate word soak in. Perhaps hehad calculated the effect of his voice upon a boy of sensibility andimagination. That Scaife, his friend, should suffer the indignity of aswishing, and that he should escape scot-free, seemed to Caesar Desmondnot a bit of rare good fortune--as it appeared to the others--but anincredible miscarriage of justice. To submit tamely to such a burdenwas unthinkable. He sprang to his feet, ardent, impetuous, afire withthe spirit which makes men accept death rather than dishonour; andthen, in a voice that rang through the room, thrilling the coldest andmost callous heart, he exclaimed--

"I was the fourth. "

A curious sound escaped from the audience--a gasp of surprise, ofadmiration, and of dismay, at least, so the Head Master interpreted it. And looking at the faces about him, he read approval or disapproval, according as each boy betrayed the feeling in his heart. 

"You, Desmond?"

"Yes, sir. "

The Caterpillar rose slowly. He was cool enough now. 

"I was the fifth. "

But Lovell's two particular friends sat tight, as they put it. Let usnot blame them. 

"You, Egerton?"

"Yes, sir. "

For a moment the Head Master hesitated. Into his mind there flashedthe image of two notable figures--the fathers whom he had entreated tosend sons to the Manor. If--if by so doing he had compassed the boys'ruin, could he ever have forgiven himself? But now, the boysthemselves had justified his action; they had proved worthy of theirbreeding and the traditions of the Hill. 

"Come here, " he said. 

When they stood opposite to him, he continued--

"You give yourselves up to receive the punishment I am about to inflictupon Scaife?"

The boys did not answer, save with their eyes. The silence in thegreat room was so profound that John made sure that the beating of hisheart must be heard by everybody. 

"I shall not punish you. This voluntary confession has done much toredeem your fault. Meet me in my study at nine this evening, and Iwill talk to you. When I came here I hardly hoped to find saints, butI did expect to find--gentlemen. And I have not been disappointed. "He addressed the others. "You will return to your boarding-houses, andquietly, if you please. "

The immediate and most noticeable effect of Lovell's expulsion was theloss of the next House match. Damer's defeated the Manor easily. Someof the fags whispered to each other that the injuries inflicted by theHead Master on Scaife had been so severe as to incapacitate thestar-player of the House. Two boys had concealed themselves in theArmoury (which is just below the Fourth Form Room) upon the morningwhen Scaife was flogged. But they reported--nothing. However severethe punishment might have been, Scaife received it without a whimper. 

In truth, Scaife received but one cut, and that a light one. The HeadMaster wished to lay stripes upon the boy's heart, not his body. Whenhe saw him prepared to receive punishment, he said gravely--

"I have never flogged a member of the Eleven. And now, at the lastmoment, I offer you the choice between a flogging and expulsion. "

"I prefer to be flogged. "

_And then--one cut_. 

But Scaife never forgot the walk from the Yard to the Manor, afterexecution. He was too proud to run, too proud not to face the boys hehappened to meet. They turned aside their eyes from his furious glare. But he met no members of his own House. They had the delicacy to leavethe coast clear. When he reached his room, he found Desmond alone. Desmond said nervously--

"I asked Warde if we could have breakfast here this morning, instead ofgoing into Hall. I've got some ripping salmon. "

Scaife had faced everything with a brazen indifference, but thesympathy in his friend's voice overpowered him. He flung himself uponthe sofa by the window and wept, not as a boy weeps, but with thecruel, grinding sobs of a man. He wept for his stained pride, for hisvain-glory, not because he had sinned and caused others to sin. Theboy watching him, seeing the hero self-abased, hearing hisheartbreaking sobs, interpreted very differently those sounds. Infinitely distressed, turning over and over in his mind some soothingphrases, some word of comfort and encouragement, Desmond waited tillthe first paroxysm had passed. What he said then shall not be set downin cold print. You may be sure he proved that friendship between twostrong vigorous boys is no frail thread, but a golden chain whichadversity strengthens and refines. Scaife rose up with his heartsoftened, not by his own tears, but by the tears he saw in Desmond'seyes. 

"I'm all right now, " he said. Then, with frowning brows, he addedthoughtfully, "I deserve what I got for being a fool. I ought to haveforeseen that such a swine as Beaumont-Greene would be sure to betrayus sooner or later. I shall be wiser next time. "

"Next--time?" The dismay in Desmond's voice made Scaife smile. 

"Don't worry, Caesar. No more bridge for me; but, " he laughed harshly, "the leopard can't change his spots, and he won't give up huntingbecause he has fallen into a trap, and got out of it. Come, let'stackle the salmon. "

The winter term came to an end, and the School broke up. Upon theevening of the last Sunday, Warde said a few words to John. 

"I propose to make some changes in the house, " he said abruptly. "Would you like to share No. 7 with Desmond?"

No. 7 was the jolliest two-room at the Manor. It overlooked thegardens, and was larger than some three-rooms. Then John rememberedScaife and the Duffer. 

"Desmond has been with Scaife ever since he came to the house, sir. "

"True. But I'm going to give Scaife a room to himself. He's entitledto it as the future Captain of the Eleven. That is--settled. You andDuff must part. He's two forms below you in the school, and neverlikely to soar much higher than the Second Fifth. Next term you willbe in the Sixth, and by the summer I hope Desmond will have joined you. You will find[2] together. Of course Scaife can find with you, if youwish. I've spoken to him and Desmond. "

And so, John's fondest hope was realized. When he came back to theManor, Desmond and he spent much time and rather more money than theycould afford in making No. 7 the cosiest room in the house. Consciences were salved thus:--John bought for Desmond some picture orother decorative object which cost more money than he felt justified inspending on himself; then Desmond made John a similar present. It waswhipping the devil round the stump, John said, but oh! the delight ofgiving his friend something he coveted, and receiving presents from himin return. 

During this term, Scaife became one of the school racquet-players. Inmany ways he was admittedly the most remarkable boy at Harrow, theAdmirable Crichton who appears now and again in every decade. He wonthe high jump and the hurdle-race. These triumphs kept him out ofmischief, and occupied every minute of his time. He associated withthe "Bloods, " and one day Desmond told John that he considered himselfto have been "dropped" by this tremendous swell. John discreetly heldhis tongue; but in his own mind, as before, he was convinced thatScaife and Desmond would come together again. The inexorablecircumstance of Scaife's superiority at games had separated the boys, but only for a brief season. Desmond would become a "Blood" soon, andthen it would be John's turn to be "dropped. " Being a philosopher, ourhero did not worry too much over the future, but made the most of thepresent, with a grateful and joyous heart. In his humility, he wasunable to measure his influence on Desmond. In athletic pursuits aninferior, in all intellectual attainments he was pulling far ahead ofhis friend. The artful Warde had a word to say, which gave John foodfor thought. 

"You can never equal your friend at cricket or footer, Verney. If youwish to score, it is time to play your own game. "

Shortly after this, John realized that Warde had read Caesar aright. Charles Desmond's son, as has been said, acclaimed quality wherever hemet it. John's intellectual advance amazed and then fascinated him. When John discovered this, he worked harder. Warde smiled. John ransecond for the Prize Poem. He had genuine feeling for Nature, but helacked as yet the technical ability to display it. A more practisedversifier won the prize; but John's taste for history and literaturesecured him the Bourchier, not without a struggle which whetted tokeenness every faculty he possessed. More, to his delight, he realizedthat his enthusiasm was contagious. Caesar entered eagerly into hisfriend's competitions; struggle and strife appealed to the Irishman. He talked over John's themes, read his verses, and predicted triumphs. Warde told John that Caesar Desmond might have stuck in the FirstFifth, had it not been for this quickening of the clay. The dayssucceeded each other swiftly and smoothly. Warde was seen to smilemore than ever during this term. Certain big fellows who opposed himwere leaving or had already left. Bohun, now Head of the House, was asturdy, straightforward monitor, not a famous athlete, but able to holdhis own in any field of endeavour. Just before the Christmas holidays, Warde discovered, to his horror, that the drainage at the Manor was outof order. At great expense a new and perfect system was laid down. Atlast Warde told himself his house might be pronounced sanitary withinand without. 

When the summer term came, Desmond joined John in the Sixth Form. Theywere entitled to single rooms, but they asked and obtained permissionto remain in No. 7. Desmond was invested with the right to fag, andthe right to "find. " How blessed a privilege the right to find is, boys who have enjoyed it will attest. The cosy meals in one's ownroom, the pleasant talk, the sense of intimacy, the freedom fromrestraint. Custom stales all good things, but how delicious they tasteat first!

The privilege of fagging is not, however, unadulterated bliss. WhenWarde said to Caesar, "Well, Desmond, how do you like ordering aboutyour slave?" Desmond replied, ruefully, "Well, sir, little Duff hasbroken my inkstand, spilt the ink on our new carpet, and let Verney'sbullfinch escape. I think, on the whole, I'd as lief wait on myself. "

Early in June it became plain that unless the unforeseen occurred, Harrow would have a strong Eleven, and that Desmond would be a memberof it. John and Fluff were playing in the Sixth Form game; but Johnhad no chance of his Flannels, although he had improved in batting andbowling, thanks to Warde's indefatigable coaching. Scaife hardly everspoke to John now, but occasionally he came into No. 7 to talk toDesmond. Upon these rare occasions John would generally find an excusefor leaving the room. Always, when he returned, Desmond seemed to berestless and perplexed. His admiration for Scaife had waxed ratherthan waned. Indeed, John himself, detesting Scaife--for it had come tothat--fearing him on Desmond's account, admired him notwithstanding:captivated by his amazing grace, good looks, and audacity. Hisrecklessness held even the "Bloods" spellbound. A coach ran throughHarrow in the afternoons of that season. Scaife made a bet that hewould drive this coach from one end of the High Street to the other, under the very nose of Authority. The rules of the school set forthrigorously that no boy is to drive in or on any vehicle whatever. Onlythe Cycle Corps are allowed to use bicycles. Scaife's bet, you may besure, excited extraordinary interest. He won it easily, disguised asthe coachman--a make-up clever enough to deceive even those who were inthe secret. His friends knew that he kept two polo-ponies at Wembley. One afternoon he dared to play in a match against the Nondescripts. Warde's daughter, just out of the schoolroom, happened to be present, and she rubbed her lovely eyes when she saw Scaife careering over thefield. Scaife laughed when he saw her; but before she left the grounda note had reached her. 

"DEAR MISS WARDE, "I am sure that you have too much sporting blood in your veins to tellyour father that you have seen me playing polo. 

"Yours very sincerely, "REGINALD SCAIFE. "

To run such risks seemed to John madness; to Desmond it indicatedgenius. 

"There never was such a fellow, " said Caesar to John. 

When Caesar spoke in that tone John knew that Scaife had but to hold upa finger, and that Caesar would come to him even as a bird drops intothe jaws of a snake. Caesar was strong, but the Demon was stronger. 

After the Zingari Match, Desmond got his Flannels. He was cheered atsix Bill. Everybody liked him; everybody was proud of him, proud ofhis father, proud of the long line of Desmonds, all distinguished, good-looking, and with charming manners. The School roared itssatisfaction. John stood a little back, by the cloisters. Caesar ranpast him, down the steps and into the street, hat in hand, blushinglike a girl. John felt a lump in his throat. He thrilled becauseglory shone about his friend; but the poignant reflection came, thatCaesar was running swiftly, out of the Yard and out of his own life. And before lock-up he saw, what he had seen in fancy a thousand times, Caesar arm-in-arm with Scaife and the Captain of the Eleven, Caesar inhis new straw, [3] looking happier than John had ever seen him, Caesar, the "Blood, " rolling triumphantly down the High Street, the envied ofall beholders, the hero of the hour. 

John called himself a selfish beast, because he had wished for oneterrible moment, wished with heart and soul, that Caesar was unpopularand obscure. 

[1] The place of execution. 

[2] "Finding" is the privilege, accorded to the Sixth Form, of havingbreakfast and tea served in their own rooms instead of in Hall. 

[3] The black-and-white straw hat only worn by members of the SchoolCricket Eleven. 

CHAPTER XI

SELF-QUESTIONING

 "Friend, of my infinite dreams Little enough endures; Little howe'er it seems, It is yours, all yours. Fame hath a fleeting breath, Hope may be frail or fond; But Love shall be Love till death, And perhaps beyond. "

Until the Metropolitan Railway joined Harrow to Baker Street, the Hillstood in the midst of genuine and unspoilt country, separated by fivemiles of grass from the nearest point of the metropolis, andencompassed by isolated dwellings, ranging in rank and scale fromvillas to country houses. [1] Most of the latter have fallen victims tothe speculative builder, and have been cut up into alleys of brick andstucco. But one or two still remain among their hayfields andrhododendrons. 

John Verney had an eager curiosity, not common in schoolboys, to knowsomething about the countryside in which he dwelt. As a Lower Boy, whenever released from "Compulsory" and House-games, he used to wanderwith alert eyes and ears up and down the green lanes of Roxeth andHarrow Weald, enjoying fresh glimpses of the far-seen Spire, makingfriends with cottagers, picking up traditions of an older and morelawless[2] epoch, and, with these, an ever-increasing love and loyaltyto Harrow. So Byron had wandered a hundred years before. 

These solitary rambles, however, were regarded with disfavour byschoolfellows who lacked John's imaginative temperament. TheCaterpillar, for instance, protested, "Did I see you hobnobbing with achaw the other day? I thought so; and you looked like a confoundedbughunter. " The Duffer's notions of topography were bounded by thecricket-ground on the one side of the Hill, and the footer-fields onthe other; and his traditions held nothing much more romantic than A. J. Webbe's scores at Lord's. Fluff, as has been said, was too farremoved from John to make him more than an occasional companion. Andso, for several terms, John, for the most part, walked alone. By thetime Desmond joined him, he had gleaned a knowledge which fascinated afriend of like sensibility and imagination. Together they revisitedthe old and explored the new. One never-to-be-forgotten day the boysdiscovered a deserted house of some pretensions about a mile from theHill. Its grounds, covering several acres, were enclosed by a high oakpaling, within which stood a thick belt of trees, effectuallyconcealing what lay beyond. Grim iron gates, always locked, frownedupon the wayfarer; but John, flattening an inquisitive nose against theironwork, could discern a carriage-drive overgrown with grass andweeds, and at the end of it a white stone portico. After this theplace became to both boys a sort of Enchanted Castle. A dozen timesthey peered through the gates. No one went in or out of thegrass-grown drive. The gatekeeper's lodge was uninhabited; there wereno adjacent cottages where information might be sought. The boyscalled it "The Haunted House, " and peopled it with ghosts; gorgeousbucks of the Regency, languishing beauties such as Lawrence painted, fiery politicians, duellists, mysterious black-a-vized foreigners. John connected it in fancy with the days when the gorgeous Duke ofChandos (who had Handel for his chapel-organist and was a Governor ofHarrow and guardian of Lord Rodney) kept court at Cannons. He toldCaesar anecdotes of Dr. Parr, with his preposterous wig, his clouds oftobacco, his sesquipedalian quotations, coming down from Stanmore; andalso of the great Lord Abercorn, another Governor of the school, whoused to go out shooting in the blue riband of the Garter, and whoentertained Pitt and Sir Walter Scott at Bentley Priory. 

"What a lot you know!" said Caesar. "And you have a memory like myfather's. I'm beginning to think, Jonathan, that you'll be a swelllike him some day--in the Cabinet, perhaps. "

"Ah, " said John, with shining eyes. 

"I hope I shall live to see it, " Desmond added, with feeling. 

"Thanks, old chap. A crust or a triumph shared with a pal tastes twiceas good. "

One soft afternoon in spring, after four Bill, Desmond and John wereapproaching the iron gates of the Haunted House. They had not takenthis particular walk since the day when Desmond got his Flannels. During the winter term, Scaife and Desmond became members of theFootball Eleven. During this term Scaife won the hundred yards andquarter-mile; Desmond won the half-mile and mile. In a word, they haddone, from the athletic point of view, nearly all that could be done. A glorious victory at Lord's seemed assured. Scaife, Captain andepitome of the brains and muscles of the Eleven, had grown into apowerful man, with the mind, the tastes, the passions of manhood. Desmond, on the other hand, while nearly as tall (and much handsomer inJohn's eyes), still retained the look of youth. Indeed, he lookedyounger than John, although a year his senior; and John knew himself tobe the elder and wiser, knew that Desmond leaned upon him whenever acrutch was wanted. 

The chief difficulty which besets a school friendship between two boysis that of being alone together. In Form, in the playing-fields, inthe boarding-house, life is public. Even in the most secluded lane, aHarrow boy is not secure against the unwelcome salutations of heatedathletes who have been taking a cross-country run, or leaping over, orinto, the Pinner brook. To John the need of sanctuary had becomepressing. 

Upon this blessed spring afternoon--ever afterwards recalled withspecial affection--a retreat was suddenly provided. As the boys jumpedover the last stile into the lane which led to the Haunted House, Desmond exclaimed--

"By Jove, the gates are open!"

Then they saw that a man, a sort of caretaker, was in the act ofshutting them. 

"May we go in?" John asked civilly. 

The man hesitated, eying the boys. Desmond's smile melted him, as itwould have melted a mummy. 

"There's nothing to see, " he said. 

Then, in answer to a few eager questions, he told the story of theHaunted House; haunted, indeed, by the ghosts of what might have been. A city magnate owned the place. He had bought it because he wished toeducate his only son at Harrow as a "Home-Boarder, " or day-boy. A fewweeks before the boy should have joined the school, he fell ill withdiphtheria, and died. The mother, who nursed him, caught the diseaseand died also. The father, left alone, turned his back upon a place heloathed, resolving to hold it till building-values increased, but neverto set eyes on it again. The caretaker and his wife occupied a coupleof rooms in the house. 

The boys glanced at the house, a common-place mansion, and began toexplore the gardens. To their delight they found in the shrubberies, now a wilderness of laurel and rhododendron, a tower--what ourforefathers called a "Gazebo, " and their neighbours a "Folly. " The topof it commanded a wide, unbroken view--

 "Of all the lowland western lea, The Uxbridge flats and meadows, To where the Ruislip waters see The Oxhey lights and shadows. "

"There's the Spire, " said John. 

The man, who had joined them, nodded. "Yes, " said he, "and my mistressand her boy are buried underneath it. She wanted him to be there--atthe school, I mean--and there he is. "

"We're very much obliged to you, " said Desmond. He slipped a shillinginto the man's hand, and added, "May we stay here for a bit? andperhaps we might come again--eh?"

"Thank you, sir, " the man replied, touching his hat. "Come wheneveryou like, sir. The gates ain't really locked. I'll show you the trickof opening 'em when you come down. "

He descended the steep flight of steps after the boys had thanked him. 

"Sad story, " said John, staring at the distant Spire. 

Desmond hesitated. At times he revealed (to John alone) a curiousmelancholy. 

"Sad, " he repeated. "I don't know about that. Sad for the father, ofcourse, but perhaps the son is well out of it. Don't look so amazed, Jonathan. Most fellows seem to make awful muddles of their lives. Youwon't, of course. I see you on pinnacles, but I----" He broke offwith a mirthless laugh. 

John waited. The air about them was soft and moist after a recentshower. The south-west wind stirred the pulses. Earth was once moretumid, about to bring forth. Already the hedges were green under thebrown; bulbs were pushing delicate spears through the sweet-smellingsoil; the buds upon a clump of fine beeches had begun to open. In thissolitude, alone with teeming nature, John tried to interpret hisfriend's mood; but the spirit of melancholy eluded him, as if it were awill-o'-the-wisp dancing over an impassable marsh. Suddenly, therecame to him, as there had come to the quicker imagination of hisfriend, the overpowering mystery of Spring, the sense of inevitablechange, the impossibility of arresting it. At the moment all thingsseemed unsubstantial. Even the familiar Spire, powdered with gold bythe slanting rays of the sun, appeared thinly transparent against therosy mists behind it. The Hill, the solid Hill, rose out of thevalley, a lavender-coloured shade upon the horizon. 

"He came here, " continued Desmond, dreamily--John guessed that he wasspeaking of the father--"a rich, prosperous man. I dare say he workedlike a slave in the city. And he wanted peace and quiet after theStock Exchange. Who wouldn't? And he planted out these gardens, thinking that every plant would grow up and thrive, and his son withthem. And then the boy died; and the wife followed; and the enchantedcastle became a place of horror; and now it is a wilderness. Haunted?I should think it was--haunted! I wish we'd never set foot in it. There's a curse on it. "

"Let's go, " said John. 

"Too late. We'll stay now, and we'll come again, every Sunday. Wildand desolate as things look, they will be lovely when we get back insummer. Don't talk. I'm going to light a pipe. "

Through the circling cloud of tobacco-smoke John stared at the facewhich had illumined nearly every hour of his school-life. Its peculiarvividness always amazed John, the vitality of It, and yet the perfectdelicacy. Scaife's handsome features were full of vitality also, butcoarseness underlay their bold lines and peered out of the keen, flashing eyes. When the Caterpillar left Harrow he had said to John--

"Good-bye, Jonathan. Awful rot your going to such a hole as Oxford!One has had quite enough schooling after five years here. It's settledI'm going into the Guards. My father tells me that old Scaife tried toget the Demon down on the Duke's list. But we don't fancy the Scaifebrand. "

Often and often John wondered whether Desmond saw the brand as plainlyas the Caterpillar and he did. Sometimes he felt almost sure that aword, a look, a gesture betraying the bounder, had revolted Desmond;but a few hours later the bounder bounded into favour again, captivating eye and heart by some brilliant feat. And then his brains!He was so diabolically clever. John could always recall his face as helay back in the chair in No. 15, sick, bruised, befuddled, and yet evenin that moment of extreme prostration able to "play the game, " as heput it, to defeat house-master and doctor by sheer strength of will andintellect. It was Scaife who had persuaded Desmond to smoke. . . . Caesar's voice broke in upon these meditations. 

"I say--what are you frowning about?"

John, very red, replied nervously, "Now that you're in the Sixth, youought to chuck smoking. "

"What rot!" said Caesar. "And here, in this tower, where one couldn'tpossibly be nailed----"

"That's it, " said John. "It's just because you can't possibly benailed that it seems to me not quite square. "

Caesar burst out laughing. "Jonathan, you are a rum 'un. Anyway--heregoes!"

As he spoke he flung the pipe into the bushes below. 

"Thanks, " said John, quietly. 

"We'll come here again. I like this old tower. "

"You won't come here without me?"

"Oh, ho! I'm not to let the Demon into our paradise--eh? What ajealous old bird you are! Well, I like you to be jealous. " And helaughed again. 

"I am jealous, " said John, slowly. 

The School broke up on the following Tuesday, and Desmond went homewith John. 

This happened to be the first time that the friends had spent Eastertogether. John wondered whether Caesar would take the Sacrament withhis mother and him. He and Caesar had been confirmed side by side inthe Chapel at Harrow. He felt sure that Desmond would not refuse if hewere asked. On Easter Eve, Mrs. Verney said, in her quiet, persuasivevoice--

"You will join us to-morrow morning, Harry?"

Desmond flushed, and said, "Yes. "

Not remembering his own mother, who had died when he was a child, heoften told John that he felt like a son to Mrs. Verney. Upon Eastermorning, the three met in the hall, and Desmond asked for a Prayer-book. 

"I've lost mine, " he murmured. 

That afternoon, when they were alone upon the splendid moor aboveStoneycross, Desmond said suddenly--

"Religion means a lot to you, Jonathan, doesn't it?"

"Yes. "

"But you never talk about it. "

"No. "

"Why not?"

"I don't know how to begin. "

"There's such sickening hypocrisy in this world. "

John nodded. 

"But your religion is a help to you, eh? Keeps you straight?"

John nodded again. Then Desmond said with an air of finality--

"I wish I'd some of your faith. I want it badly. "

"If you want it badly, you will get it. "

A long silence succeeded. Then Desmond exclaimed--

"Hullo! By Jove, there's a fox, a splendid fellow! He's come up hereamongst the rabbits for a Sunday dinner. Gone awa-a-a-ay!"

He put his hand to his mouth and halloaed. A minute later he wastalking of hunting. Religion was not mentioned till they wereapproaching the house for tea. On the threshold, Desmond said with anervous laugh--

"I'd like your mother to give me a Prayer-book--a small one, nothingexpensive. "

During the following week they hunted with fox hounds or stag-houndsevery day, except Wednesday. In the New Forest the Easter hunting isunique. Tremendous fellows come down from the shires--masters offamous packs, thrusters, keen to see May foxes killed. And the Forestentertains them handsomely, you may be sure. Big hampers are unpackedunder the oaks which may have been saplings when William Rufus ruled inEngland; there are dinners, and, of course, a hunt-ball in the ancientvillage of Lyndhurst. But as each pleasant day passed, John toldhimself that the end was drawing near. This was almost the lastholidays Caesar and he would spend together; and, afterwards, wouldthis friendship, so romantic a passion with one at least of them--wouldit wither away, or would it endure to the end?

At the end of a fortnight, Desmond returned to Eaton Square. Upon theeve of departure, Mrs. Verney gave him a small Prayer-book. 

"I have written something in it, " she said; "but don't open it now. "

He looked at the fly-leaf as the train rolled out of Lyndhurst Station. Upon it, in Mrs. Verney's delicate handwriting, were a few lines. First his name and the date. Below, a text--"Unto whomsoever much isgiven, of him shall be much required. " And, below that again, a verse--

 "Not thankful when it pleaseth me, As if Thy blessings had spare days: But such a heart whose pulse may be-- Thy praise. "

Desmond stared at the graceful writing long after the train had passedTotton. "Am I ungrateful?" he asked himself. "Not to them, " hemuttered; "surely not to them. " He recalled what Warde had said aboutingratitude being the unpardonable sin. Ah! it was loathsome, ingratitude! And much had been given to him. How much? For the firsttime he made, so to speak, an inventory of what he had received--hisinnumerable blessings. _What had he given in return_? And now thefine handwriting seemed blurred; he saw it through tears which he oughtto have shed. "Oh, my God, " he murmured, "am I ungrateful?" Thequestion bit deeper into his mind, sinking from there into his soul. 

When the School reassembled, a curious incident occurred. Johnhappened to be going up the fine flight of steps that leads to the OldSchools. He was carrying some books and papers. Scaife, running downthe steps, charged into him. By great good fortune, no damage was doneexcept to a nicely-bound Sophocles. John, however, felt assured thatScaife had deliberately intended to knock him down, seized, possibly, by an ecstasy of blind rage not uncommon with him. Scaife smiledderisively, and said--

"A thousand apologies, Verney. "

"_One_ is enough, " John replied, "if it is sincere. "

They eyed each other steadily. John read a furious challenge inScaife's bold eyes--more, a menace, the threatening frown of powerthwarted. Scaife seemed to expand, to fill the horizon, to blot outthe glad sunshine. Once again the curious certainty gripped theyounger that Scaife was indeed the personification of evil, the moremalefic because it stalked abroad masked. For Scaife had outlived hisreputation as a breaker of the law. Since that terrible experience inthe Fourth Form Room, he had paid tithe of mint and cummin. As a SixthForm boy he upheld authority, laughing the while in his sleeve. Heknew, of course, that one mistake, one slip, would be fatal. And heprided himself on not making mistakes. He gambled, but not with boys;he drank, not with boys; he denied his body nothing it craved; but henever forgot that expulsion from Harrow meant the loss of a commissionin a smart cavalry regiment. When it was intimated to him that theGuards did not want his father's son, he laughed bitterly, and swore tohimself that he would show the stuck-up snobs what a soldier they hadturned away. A soldier he fully intended to be--a dashing cavalryleader, if the Fates were kind. His luck would stand by him; ifnot--why--what was life without luck? He had never been a reader, buthe read now the lives of soldiers. Murat, Uxbridge, Cardigan, Hodson, were his heroes. Talking of their achievements, he inflamed his ownmind and Desmond's. 

The pleasant summer days passed. May melted into June. And eachSunday John and Desmond walked to the Haunted House, ascended thetower, and talked. Scaife was leaving at the end of the summer. Desmond was staying on for the winter term; then John would have himentirely to himself. This thought illumined dark hours, when he sawhis friend whirled away by Scaife, transported, as it were, by theirresistible power of the man of action. That nothing should bewanting to that trebly-fortunate youth, he had helped to win the PublicSchools' Racquets Championship. The Manor was now the crackhouse--cock-house at racquets and football, certain to be cock-house atcricket. And Scaife got most of the credit, not Warde, who smiled morethan ever, and talked continually of Balliol Scholarships. He neverbragged of victories past. 

Meantime, John was devoting all energies to the competition for thePrize Essay. The Head Master had propounded as theme: "The History andInfluence of Parliamentary Oratory. " Bit by bit, John read ordeclaimed it to Desmond. Then, according to custom, Desmond copied itout for his friend. Signed "_Spero Infestis_, " with a sealed envelopecontaining John's name inside and the motto outside, the MS. Was placedin the Head Master's letter-box. John, cooling rapidly after the feverof composition, condemned his stuff as hopelessly bad; Caesar wentabout telling everybody that Jonathan would win easily, "with a bit tospare. " John did win, but that proved to be the least part of histriumph. The Essay had to be declaimed upon Speech Day. Once moreJohn experienced the pangs that had twisted him at the concert, longago, when he had sung to the Nation's hero. And as before, he beganweakly. Then, the fire seizing him, self-consciousness was exorcisedby feeling, and forgetful of the hundreds of faces about him, he burstinto genuine oratory. Thrilled himself, he thrilled others. His voicefaltered again, but with an emotion that found an echo in the hearts ofhis audience; his hand shook, feeling the pulse of old and young infront of him. Dominated, swept away by his theme, he dominated others. When he finished, in the silence that preceded the roar of applause, heknew that he had triumphed, for he saw Desmond's glowing countenance, radiant with pleasure, transfigured by amazement and admiration. Nextday a great newspaper hailed the Harrow boy as one destined to delightand to lead, perhaps, an all-conquering party in the House of Commons. And yet, warmed to the core by this praise, John counted it as nothingcompared with his mother's smile and Desmond's fervent grip. 

Fortune, however, comes to no man--or boy--with both hands full. Immediately after Speech Day, John's bubble of pride and happiness waspricked by Scaife. Midsummer madness seized the Demon. One mayconceive that the innate recklessness of his nature, suppressed by aniron will, and smouldering throughout many months, burst at last intoflame. Desmond told John that the Demon had spent a riotous night intown. He had slipped out of the Manor after prayers, had driven up toa certain club in Regent Street, returned in time for first school, fresh as paint--so Desmond said--and then, not content with such anachievement, must needs brag of it to Desmond. 

"And if he's nailed, Eton wins, " concluded Desmond. "I've told you, because together we must put a stop to such larks. "

John slightly raised his thick eyebrows. It was curious that Caesaralways chose to ignore the hatred which he must have known to existbetween his two friends. Or did be fatuously believe that, becauseJohn exercised an influence over himself, the same influence would orcould be exercised over Scaife?

"We?" said John. 

"I've tried and failed. But together, I say----"

"I shan't interfere, Caesar. "

"Jonathan, you must. "

"It would be a fool's errand. "

"We three have gone up the School together. You have never been fairto Scaife. I tell you he's sound at core. Why, after he wasswished----"

Desmond told John what had passed; John shook his head. He couldunderstand better than any one else why Scaife had broken down. 

"He has splendid ambitions, " pursued Desmond. "He's going to be agreat soldier, you see. He thinks of nothing else. You never haveliked him, but because of that I thought you would do what you could. "

The disappointment and chagrin in his voice shook John's resolution. 

"To please you, I'll try. "

And accordingly the absurd experiment was made. Afterwards, John askedhimself a thousand times why he had not foreseen the inevitable result. But the explanation is almost too simple to be recorded: he wished toconvince a friend that he would attempt anything to prove hisfriendship. 

That night they went together to Scaife's room. The second-best roomin the Manor, situated upon the first floor, it overlooked the back ofthe garden, where there was a tangled thicket of laurustinus andrhododendron. Scaife had spent much money in making this room ascomfortable as possible. It had the appearance of a man's room, andpresented all the characteristics of the man who lived in it. Everything connected with Scaife's triumphal march through the Schoolwas preserved. On the walls were his caps, fezes, and cups. You couldhardly see the paper for the framed photographs of Scaife and hisfellow "bloods. " Scaife as cricketer, Scaife as football-player, Scaife as racquet-player and athlete, stared boldly and triumphantly atyou. He had a fine desk covered with massive silver ornaments. Uponthis, as upon everything else in the room, was the hall-mark of thesuccessful man of business. The papers, the pens and pencils, thefiled bills and letters, the books of reference, spoke eloquently of amind that used order as a means to a definite end. All his books werewell bound. His boots were on trees. His racquets were in theirpress. Had you opened his chest of drawers, you would have found hisclothes in perfect condition. Obviously, to an observant eye, theowner of this room gave his mind to details, because he realized thaton details hang great and successful enterprises. 

Scaife stared at John, but welcomed him civilly enough. Cricket, ofcourse, explained this unexpected visit. As Desmond blurted out whatwas in his mind, Scaife frowned; then he laughed unpleasantly. 

"And so I told Jonathan, " concluded Desmond. 

"So you told Jonathan, " repeated Scaife. "Are you in the habit oftelling Jonathan, "--the derisive inflection as he pronounced the namewarned John at least that he had much better have stayed away--"thingswhich concern others and which don't concern him?"

"If you're going to take it like that----"

"Keep cool, Caesar. I'll admit that you mean well. I should like tohear what Verney has to say. "

At that John spoke--haltingly. Fluent speech upon any subject verydear to him had always been difficult. He could talk glibly enoughabout ordinary topics; his sense of humour, his retentive memory, madehim welcome even in the critical society of Eaton Square, but you knowhim as a creature of unplumbed reserves. The matter in hand was sovital that he could not touch it with firm hands or voice. He spoke athis worst, and he knew it; concluding an incoherent and slightlyinarticulate recital of the reasons which ought to keep Scaife in hishouse at night with a lame "Two heads ought to prevail against one. "

Scaife showed his fine teeth. "You think that? Your head and Caesar'sagainst mine?"

The challenge revealed itself in the derisive, sneering tone. 

John shrugged his shoulders and rose. "I have blundered; I am sorry. "

"Hold hard, " said Scaife. He read censure upon Desmond's ingenuouscountenance. Then his temper whipped him to a furious resentmentagainst John, as an enemy who had turned the tables with good breeding;who had gained, indeed, a victory against odds. Scaife drew in hisbreath; his brows met in a frown. "You have not blundered; and you arenot sorry, " he said deliberately. "I'm not a fool, Verney; but perhapsI have underrated your ability. You're as clever as they make 'em. You knew well enough that you were the last person in the world to leadme in a string; you knew that, I say, and yet you come here to pose asthe righteous youth, doing his duty--eh?--against odds, and acceptingcredit for the same from Caesar. Why, it's plain to me as the noseupon your face that in your heart you would like me to be sacked. "

Desmond interrupted. "You are mad, Demon. Take that back; take itback!"

"Ask him, " said Scaife. "He hates me, and common decency ought to havekept him out of this room. But he's not a liar. Ask him. Put it yourown way. Soften it, make pap of it, if you like, but get an answer. "

"Jonathan, it is not true, is it? You don't like Scaife; but you wouldbe sorry, very sorry, to see him--sacked. "

"I'm glad you've not funked it, " said Scaife. "You've put it squarely. Let him answer it as squarely. "

John was white to the lips, white and trembling; despicable in his owneyes, how much more despicable, therefore, in the eyes of his friend, whose passionate faith in him was about to be scorched and shrivelled. 

Scaife began to laugh. 

"For God's sake, don't laugh!" said Desmond. "Jonathan, I know you aretoo proud to defend yourself against such an abominable charge. "

"He's not a liar, " said Scaife. 

"It's true, " said John, in a strangled voice. 

"You have wished that he might be sacked?"

"Yes. "

John met Desmond's indignant eyes with an expression which the otherwas too impetuous, too inexperienced, to interpret. Into that look ofpassionate reproach he flung all that must be left unsaid, all thatScaife could read as easily as if it were scored in letters of flame. Because, in his modesty and humility, he had ever reckoned that Scaifewould prevail against himself--because, with unerring instinct, he hadapprehended, as few boys could apprehend, the issues involved, he haddesired, fervently desired, that Scaife should be swept from Caesar'spath. But this he could not plead as an excuse to his friend; andScaife had known that, and had used his knowledge with fiendishsuccess. John lowered his eyes and walked from the room. 

When he met Desmond again, nothing was said on either side. John toldhimself that he would speak, if Desmond spoke first. But evidentlyDesmond had determined already the nature of their future relations. They no longer shared No. 7, John being in the Upper Sixth with a roomto himself, but they still "found" together. To separate would mean apublic scandal from which each shrank in horror. No; let them meet atmeals as before till the end of the term. Indeed, so little change wasmade in their previous intercourse, that John began to hope that Caesarwould walk with him as usual upon the following Sunday. And if hedid--if he did, John felt that he would speak. On the top of thetower, looking towards the Spire, alone with his friend, exalted abovethe thorns and brambles or the wilderness, words would come to him. 

But on the following Sunday Desmond walked with Scaife. 

[1] Of these, the Park, now a boarding-house, was a characteristicspecimen. It belonged to Lord Northwick, Lord of the Manor of Harrow. 

[2] In the thirties Harrow boys played "Jack o' Lantern, " or nocturnalHare and Hounds. They used to attend Kingsbury Races and Pinner Fair. Lord Alexander Russell, when he was a boy at the Grove, kept a pack ofbeagles at the foot of the Hill. 

CHAPTER XII

"LORD'S"

 "There we sat in the circle vast, Hard by the tents, from noon, And looked as the day went slowly past And the runs came all too soon; And never, I think, in the years gone by, Since cricketer first went in, Did the dying so refuse to die, Or the winning so hardly win. "

"My dear Jonathan, I'm delighted to see you. You know my father, Ithink?" It was the Caterpillar that spoke. 

John shook hands with Colonel Egerton. 

The three were standing in the Members' Enclosure at Lord's. TheCaterpillar, gorgeous in frock-coat, with three corn-flowers[1] in thelapel of it, was about as great a buck as his sire, quite as conspicuous, and, seemingly, as cool. It happened to be a blazing hot day, but heatseldom affected Colonel Egerton. 

"By Jove, " he said to John, "I'm told it's a certainty this year, andI've come early, too early for me, to see a glorious victory. There'scivil war raging on the top of the Trent coach, I give you my word. "

"We've won the toss, " said John. 

"Ah, there's Charles Desmond, an early bird too. "

He bustled away, leaving John and the Caterpillar together. The greatground in front of them was being cleared. One could see, through thefew people scattered here and there, the wickets pitched in the middle ofthat vast expanse of lawn, and the umpires in their long white coats. Upon the top of the steps, in the middle of the pavilion, the Etoncaptain was collecting his Eleven. The Duffer, who had got his Flannelsat the last moment, came up and joined John and the Caterpillar. 

"The Manor's well to the front, " said the Caterpillar. "By Jove! Inever thought to see Fluff in the Eleven. "

"Fluff came on tremendously this term, " the Duffer replied. 

"Of course the Kinlochs are a cricketing family. "

"Good joke the brothers playing against each other, " said John. 

"Warde, " the Duffer nodded in the direction of Warde, who was talkingwith Charles Desmond and Colonel Egerton, "has worked like a slave. Hemade a cricketer out of Fluff and a scholar out of Jonathan. He's so madkeen to see us win, that he's given me the jumps. "

"You must keep cool, " the Caterpillar murmured. "I've just come from theTrent coach. Fluff has it from the brother who is playing that the Etonbowling is weak. But Strathpeffer, the eldest son, tells me the batsmenare stronger than last year. He seemed anxious to bet; so we have afiver about it. They're taking the field. "

The Eton Eleven walked towards the wicket, loudly cheered. Caesar cameup in his pads, carrying his bat and gloves. He shook hands with theCaterpillar, and said, with a groan, that he had to take the first ball. 

"Keep cool, " said the Caterpillar. "The bowling's weak; I have it fromCosmo Kinloch. They're in a precious funk. "

"So am I, " said the Duffer. 

"But you're a bowler, " said Desmond. "If I get out first ball, I shallcut my throat. "

But Caesar looked alert, cool, and neither under- nor over-confident. 

"You'll cut the ball, not your throat, " said the Duffer. Cutting wasCaesar's strong point. 

The Caterpillar nodded, and spoke oracularly--

"My governor says he never shoots at a snipe without muttering tohimself, 'Snipe on toast. ' It steadies his nerves. When you see theball leave the bowler's band, you say to yourself, 'Eton on toast. '"

"Your own, Caterpillar?"

"My own, " said the Caterpillar, modestly. "I don't often make a joke, but that's mine. Pass it on. "

The other Harrovian about to go in beckoned to Desmond. 

"Caesar won't be bowled first ball, " said the Caterpillar. "He's thesort that rises to an emergency. Can't we find a seat?"

They sat down and watched the Eton captain placing his field. Desmondand his companion were walking slowly towards the wickets amid Harrowcheers. The cheering was lukewarm as yet. It would have fire enough init presently. The Caterpillar pointed out some of the swells. 

"That's old Lyburn. Hasn't missed a match since '64. Was brought hereonce with a broken leg! Carried in a litter, by Jove! That fellow withthe long white beard is Lord Fawley. He made 78 _not out_ in the days ofCharlemagne. "

"It was in '53, " said the Duffer, who never joked on really serioussubjects; "and he made 68, not 78. He's pulling his beard. I believehe's as nervous as I am. "

Presently the innumerable voices about them were hushed; all eyes turnedin one direction. Desmond was about to take the first ball. It wasdelivered moderately fast, with a slight break. Desmond played forward. 

"Well played, sir! Well pla-a-ayed!"

The shout rumbled round the huge circle. The beginning and the end of agreat match are always thrilling. The second and third balls were playedlike the first. John could hear Mr. Desmond saying to Warde, "He hasHugo's style and way of standing--eh?" And Warde replied, "Yes; but he'sa finer batsman. Ah-h-h!"

The first real cheer burst like a bomb. Desmond had cut the sixth ballto the boundary. 

Over! The new bowler was a tall, thin boy with flaxen hair. 

"That's Cosmo Kinloch, Fluff's brother, " said John. 

"I wonder they can't do better than that. Even I knocked him all overthe shop at White Ladies last summer. "

"He's come on, they tell me, " said the Caterpillar. "Good Lord, henearly had him first ball. "

Fluff's brother bowled slows of a good length, with an awkward break fromthe off to the leg. 

"Teasers, " said the Caterpillar, critically. "Hullo! No, my youngfriend, that may do well enough in Shropshire, not here. "

A ball breaking sharply from the off had struck the batsman's pad; he hadstepped in front of his wicket to cut it. Country umpires are oftenbeguiled by bowlers into giving wrong decisions in such cases, not soyour London expert. Cosmo Kinloch appealed--in vain. 

"He'll send a short one down now, " said John. "You see. "

And, sure enough, a long hop came to the off, curling inwards after itpitched. The Eton captain had nearly all his men on the off side. TheHarrovian pulled the ball right round to the boundary. 

"Well hit!"

"Well pulled!"

"Two 4's; that's a good beginning, " said the Duffer. 

A couple of singles followed, and then the first "10" went up amid cheers. 

"Here's my governor, " said the Duffer. "He was three years in the Elevenand Captain his last term. "

"You've told us that a thousand times, " said the Caterpillar. 

The Rev. Septimus Duff greeted the boys warmly. His eyes sparkled out ofa cheery, bearded face. Look at him well. An Harrovian of theHarrovians this. His grandfathers on the maternal and paternal side hadbeen friends at Harrow in Byron's time. The Rev. Septimus wore rather ashabby coat and a terrible hat, but the consummate Caterpillar, whorespected pedigrees, regarded him with pride and veneration. He came upfrom his obscure West Country vicarage to town just once a year--to seethe match. If you asked him, he would tell you quite simply that hewould sooner see the match and his old friends than go to Palestine; andthe Rev. Septimus has yearned to visit Palestine ever since he leftCambridge; and it is not likely that this great wish will ever begratified. He is the father of three sons, but the Duffer is the firstto get into the Eleven. Charles Desmond joins them. At the moment, Charles Desmond is supposed to be one of the most harried men in theEmpire. Times are troublous. A war-cloud, as large as Kruger's hand, has just risen in the South, and is spreading itself over the wholeworld. But to-day the great Minister has left the cares of office inDowning Street. He hails the Rev. Septimus with a genial laugh and ahearty grasp of the hand. 

"Ah, Sep, upon your word of honour, now--would you sooner be here to seethe Duffer take half a dozen wickets, or be down in Somerset, bishop ofBath and Wells?"

"When _you_ offer me the bishopric, " replied the Rev. Septimus, with atwinkle, "I'll answer that question, my dear Charles, and not before. "

"You old humbug! You're so puffed up with sinful pride that you've stuckyour topper on to your head the wrong way about. "

"Bless my soul, " said the Duffer's father, "so I have. "

"That topper of the governor's, " the Duffer remarked solemnly, "has seentwenty-five matches at least. "

John looked at no hats; his eyes were on the pitch. Another round ofcheers proclaimed that "20" had gone up. Both boys are batting steadily;no more boundary hits; a snick here, a snack there--and then--mercifulHeavens!--Caesar has cut a curling ball "bang" into short slip's hands. 

Short slip--wretched youth--muffs it! Derisive remarks from the Rev. Septimus. 

"Well caught! Well held! Tha-a-nks!"

The Caterpillar would pronounce this sort of chaff bad form in acontemporary. He removes his hat. 

"By Jove!" says he. "It's very warm. "

Caesar times the next ball beautifully. It glides past point and underthe ropes. 

Early as it is, the ground seems to be packed with people. Gloriousweather has allured everybody. Stand after stand is filled up. Thecolour becomes kaleidoscopic. The Rev. Septimus, during the briefinterval of an over, allows his eyes to stray round the huge circle. Upon the ground are the youth, the beauty, the rank and fashion of thekingdom, and, best of all, his old friends. The Rev. Septimus has aweakness, being, of course, human to the finger-tips. He calls himself a_laudator temporis acti_. In his day, the match was less of a function. The boys sat round upon the grass; behind them were the carriages andcoaches--you could drive on to the ground then!--and here and there, onlyhere and there, a tent or a small stand. _Consule Planco_--the parsonloves a Latin tag--the match was an immense picnic for Harrovians andEtonians. And, my word, you ought to have heard the chaff when anunlucky fielder put the ball on the floor. Or, when a batsman interposeda pad where a bat ought to have been. Or, if a player was bowled firstball. Or, if he swaggered as he walked, the cynosure of all eyes, fromthe pavilion to the pitch. Upon this subject the Rev. Septimus willpreach a longer (and a more interesting) sermon than any you will hearfrom his pulpit in Blackford-Orcas Church. 

Loud cheers put an end to the parson's reminiscences. Desmond'scompanion has been clean bowled for a useful fifteen runs. He walkstowards the pavilion slowly. Then, as he hears the Harrow cheers, heblushes like a nymph of sixteen, for he counts himself a failure. Lastyear he made a "duck" in his first innings, and five in the second. Nocheers then. This is his first taste of the honey mortals call success. He has faced the great world, and captured its applause. 

"When does Scaife go in?" the Rev. Septimus asks. 

"Second wicket down. "

More cheers as the second man in strolls down the steps. A careful cove, so the Duffer tells his father--one who will try to break the back of thebowling. 

"They're taking off Fluff's brother, " the Caterpillar observes. 

A thick-set young man holds the ball. He makes some slight alteration inthe field. The wicket-keeper stands back; the slips and point retreat afew yards. The ball that took the first wicket was the last of an over. Desmond has to receive the attack of the new bowler. 

The thick-set Etonian, having arranged the off side to his satisfaction, prepares to take a long run. He holds the ball in the left hand, runssideways at great speed, changes the ball from the left hand to the rightat the last moment, and seems to hurl both it and himself at the batsman. 

"Greased lightning!" says John. 

A dry summer has made the pitch rather fiery. The ball, short-pitched, whizzes just over Caesar's head. A second and a third seem to graze hiscap. Murmurs are heard. Is the Eton bowler trying to kill or maim hisantagonist? Is he deliberately endeavouring to establish a paralysing"funk"?

But the fourth ball is a "fizzer"--the right length, a bailer, terrifically fast, but just off the wicket. Desmond snicks it betweenshort slip and third man; it goes to the boundary. 

"That's what Caesar likes, " says the Duffer. "He can cut behind thewicket till the cows come home. "

"Cut--and come again, " says the Caterpillar. 

The fifth ball is played forward for a risky single. The Rev. Septimusforgets that times have changed. And if they have, what of it? Hehasn't. His deep vibrant voice rolls across the lawn right up to thebatsman--

"Steady there! Steady!"

And now the new-comer has to take the last ball of the over--his first. Alas and alack! The sixth ball is dead on to the middle stump. TheHarrovian plays forward. Man alive, you ought to have played back atthat! The ball grazes the top edge of the bat's blade and flies straightinto the welcoming hands of the wicket-keeper. 

Two wickets for 33. 

Breathless suspense, broken by tumultuous cheers as Scaife strides on tothe ground. His bat is under his arm; he is drawing on his gloves. Thousands of men and as many women are staring at his splendid face andfigure. 

"What a mover!" murmurs the Rev. Septimus. 

Scaife strides on. Upon his face is the expression John knows so welland fears so much--the consciousness of power, the stern determination tobe first, to shatter previous records. John can predict--and does sowith absolute certainty--what will happen. For six overs the Demon willtreat every ball--good, bad, and indifferent--with the most distinguishedconsideration. And then, when his "eye" is in, he will give the Etonianssuch leather-hunting as they never had before. 

After a long stand made by Scaife and Desmond, Caesar is caught atcover-point, but Scaife remains. It is a Colossus batting, not a Harrowboy. The balls come down the pitch; the Demon's shoulders and chestwiden; the great knotted arms go up--crash! First singles; then twos;then threes; and then boundary after boundary. To John--and to how manyothers?--Scaife has been transformed into a tremendous human machine, inexorably cutting and slicing, pulling and drawing--the embodied symbolof force, ruthlessly applied, indefatigable, omnipotent. 

The Eton captain, hopeful against odds, puts on a cunning and cool dealerin "lobs. " Fluff is in, playing steadily, holding up his wicket, lettingthe giant make the runs. The Etonian delivers his first ball. Scaifeleaves the crease. Fluff sees the ball slowly spinning--harmless enoughtill it pitches, and then deadly as a writhing serpent. Scaife will notlet it pitch. The ball curves slightly from the leg to the off. Scaifeis facing the pavilion----

A stupendous roar bursts from the crowd. The ball, hit with terrificforce, sails away over the green sward, over the ropes, over the heads ofthe spectators, and slap on to the top of the pavilion. 

Only four; but one of the finest swipes ever seen at Lord's. Shade ofMynn, come forth from the tomb to applaud that mighty stroke!

But the dealer in lobs knows that the man who leaves his citadel, leavesit, sooner or later, not to return. In the hope that Scaife, intoxicatedwith triumph, will run out again, he pitches the next lob too much up--ahalf-volley. Scaife smiles. 

John's prediction has been fulfilled. A record has been established. Never before in an Eton and Harrow match have two balls been hit over theropes in succession. The crowds have lost their self-possession. Men, women, and children are becoming delirious. The Rev. Septimus throws hisancient topper into the air; the Caterpillar splits a brand-new pair ofdelicate grey gloves. Upon the tops of the coaches, mothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins are cheering like Fourth-Form boys. 

The Harrow first innings closed with 289 runs, Scaife carrying out hisbat for an almost flawless 126. Desmond made 72; Fluff was in fortwenty-seven minutes--a great performance for him--and was caught in theslips after compiling a useful 17. 

But the remarkable feature of the innings was the short time in which somany runs were made--exactly three hours. The elevens went in to lunch, as the crowd poured over the ground, laughing and chattering. This is adelightful hour to the Rev. Septimus. He will walk to the wickets, andwait there for his innumerable friends. It will be, "Hullo, Sep!" "ByJove, here's dear old Sep!" "Sep, you unfriendly beast, why do you nevercome to see us?" "Sep, when are you going to send that awful tile ofyours to the British Museum?" And so on. 

Twenty men, at least--some of them with names known wherever the UnionJack waves--will ask the Rev. Sep to lunch with them; but the Rev. Sepwill say, as he has said these thirty years, that he doesn't come toLord's to "gorge. " A sandwich presently, and a glass of "fizz, " if youplease; but time is precious. A tall bishop strolls up--one of thepillars of the Church, an eloquent preacher, and an autocrat in hisdiocese. Most people regard him with awe. The Rev. Sep greets him witha scandalous slap on the back, and addresses him, the apostolic one, as--Lamper. [2] And the Lord Bishop of Dudley says, like the others--

"Hullo, Sep! We used to think you a slogger, but you never came anywherenear that smite of Scaife's. "

"I thought his smite was coming too near me, " says the Rev. Sep, with ashrewd glance at the pavilion. "Lamper, old chap, I _am_ glad to seeyour 'phiz' again. "

And so they stroll off together, mighty prelate and humble countryparson, once again happy Harrow boys. 

And now, before Eton goes in, we must climb on to the Trent coach. Fluffand his brother Cosmo, the Eton bowler, are lunching in other company, but we shall find Colonel Egerton and the Caterpillar and Warde; so theHill slightly outnumbers the Plain, as the duke puts it. Next to theduchess sits Mrs. Verney. The duke is torn nearly in two between hisdesire that Fluff should make runs and that Cosmo, the Etonian, shouldtake wickets. His Eton sons regard him as a traitor, a "rat" and ColonelEgerton gravely offers him the corn-flowers out of his coat. 

"You can laugh, " the duke says seriously, "but when I see what Harrow hasdone for Esmé, I'm almost sorry"--he looks at his youngest son (nearly, but not quite, as delicate-looking as Fluff used to be)--"I'm almostsorry that I didn't send Alastair there also. "

Alastair smiles contemptuously. "If you had, " he says, "I should havenever spoken to you again. Esmé is a forgiving chap, but you've wreckedhis life. At least, that's my opinion. "

After luncheon, the crowd on the lawn thickens. The ladies want to seethe pitch, and, shall we add, to display their wonderful frocks. Theenclosure at Ascot on Cup Day is not so gay and pretty a scene as this. The Caterpillar, sly dog, has secured Iris Warde, and looks uncommonlypleased with himself and his companion; a smart pair, but smart pairs arecommon as gooseberries. It is the year of picture hats and Gainsboroughdresses. 

"England at its best, " says Miss Iris. 

"And in its best, " the Caterpillar replies solemnly. 

Iris Warde is as keen as her father's daughter ought to be. She tellsthe Caterpillar that when she was a small girl with only threepence aweek pocket-money, she used to save a penny a week for twelve weekspreceding the match, so as to be able to put a shilling into the plate onSunday _if Harrow won_. 

"And I dare say you'll marry an Etonian and wear light blue after all, "growls the Caterpillar. 

"Never!" says Miss Iris. 

Now, amongst the black coats in the pavilion you see a white figure ortwo. The Elevens have finished lunch, and are mixing with the crowd. Scaife is talking with a famous Old Carthusian, one of the finest livingexponents of cricket, sometime an "International" at football, and aD. S. O. The great man is very cordial, for he sees in Scaife anAll-England player. Scaife listens, smiling. Obviously, he is impatientto begin again. As soon as possible he collects his men, and leads theminto the field. One can hear the policemen saying in loud, firm voices, "Pass along, please; pass along!" As if by magic the crowds on the lawnmelt away. In a few minutes the Etonians come out of the pavilion. Thesun shines upon their pale-blue caps and sashes, and upon faces slightlypale also, but not yet blue. For Eton has a strong batting team, andScaife and Desmond have proved that it is a batsman's wicket. 

And now the connoisseurs, the really great players, settle themselvesdown comfortably to watch Scaife field. That, to them, is the greatattraction, apart from the contest between the rival schools. Some ofthese Olympians have been heard to say that Scaife's innings against weakbowling was no very meritorious performance, although the two "swipes, "they admit, were parlous knocks. Still, Public School cricket iskindergarten cricket, and if you've not been at Eton or Harrow, and ifyou loathe a fashionable crowd, and if you think first-class fielding isworth coming to Lord's to see, why, then, my dear fellow, look at Scaife!

Scaife stands at cover-point. If you put up your binoculars, you willsee that he is almost on his toes. His heels are not touching theground. And he bends slightly, not quite as low as a sprinter, but solow that he can start with amazing speed. For two overs not a ball worthfielding rolls his way. Ah! that will be punished. A long hop comesdown the pitch. The Etonian squares his shoulders. His eye, to be sure, is on the ball, but in his mind's eye is the boundary; in his ear thefirst burst of applause. Bat meets ball with a smack which echoes fromthe Tennis-Court to the stands across the ground. Now watch Scaife! Hedashes at top speed for the only point where his hands may intercept thathard-hit ball. And, by Heaven! he stops it, and flicks it up to thewicket-keeper, who chips off the bails. 

"How's that?"

"Not out!"

"Well fielded; well fielded, sir!"

"A very close squeak, " says the Caterpillar. "They won't steal many runsfrom the Demon. "

"Sometimes, " says Miss Iris, "I really think that he is a demon. "

The Caterpillar nods. "You're more than half right, Miss Warde. "

Presently, the first wicket falls; then the second soon after. And thescore is under twenty. The Rev. Septimus is beaming; the Bishop seatedbeside him looks as if he were about to pronounce a benediction; CharlesDesmond is scintillating with wit and good humour. Visions of a singleinnings victory engross the minds of these three. They are in the frontrow of the pavilion, and they mean to see every ball of the game. 

But soon it becomes evident that a determined stand is being made. Runscome slowly, but they come; the score creeps up--thirty, forty, fifty. Fluff goes on to bowl. On his day Fluff is tricky, but this, apparently, is not his day. The runs come more quickly. The Rev. Septimus removeshis hat, wipes his forehead, and replaces his hat. It is on the back ofhis head, but he is unaware of that. The Bishop appears now as if hewere reading a new commination--to wit, "Cursed is he that smiteth hisneighbour; cursed is he that bowleth half volleys. " The Minister isfrowning; things may look black in South Africa, but they're lookingblacker in St. John's Wood. 

One hundred runs for two wickets. 

The Eton cheers are becoming exasperating. A few seats away Warde istwiddling his thumbs and biting his lips. Old Lord Fawley has slippedinto the pavilion for a brandy and soda. 

At last!

Scaife takes off Fluff and puts on a fast bowler, changing his own placein the field to short slip. The ball, a first ball and very fast, puzzles the batsman, accustomed to slows. He mistimes it; it grazes theedge of his bat, and whizzes off far to the right of Scaife, but theDemon has it. Somehow or other, ask of the spirits of the air--not ofthe writer--somehow his wonderful right hand has met and held the ball. 

"Well caught, sir; well caught!"

"That boy ought to be knighted on the spot, " says Charles Desmond. Thenthe three generously applaud the retiring batsman. He has played abrilliant innings, and restored the confidence of all Etonians. 

The Eton captain descends the steps; a veteran this, not a dashingplayer, but sure, patient, and full of grit. He asks the umpire to givehim middle and leg; then he notes the positions of the field. 

"Whew-w-w-w!"

"D----n it!" ejaculates Charles Desmond. Bishop and parson regard himwith gratitude. There are times when an honest oath becomes expedient. The Eton captain has cut the first ball into Fluff's hands, and Fluff hasdropped it! Alastair Kinloch, from the top of the Trent coach, screamsout, "Jolly well muffed!" The great Minister silently thanks Heaven thatpoint is the Duke's son and not his. 

And, of course, the Eton captain never gives another chance till he isdismissed with half a century to his credit. Meantime five more wicketshave fallen. Seven down for 191! Eton leaves the field with a score of226 against Harrow's 289. Harrow goes in without delay, and one wicketis taken for 13 runs before the stumps are drawn. Charles Desmond looksat the sky. 

"Looks like rain to-night, " he says anxiously. 

And so ends Friday's play. 

The morrow dawned grey, obscured by mist rising from ground soaked by twohours' heavy rain. You may be sure that all our friends were early atLord's, and that the pitch was examined by thousands of anxious eyes. The Eton fast bowler was seen to smile. Upon a similar wicket had he notdone the famous hat-trick only three weeks before? The rain, however, was over, and soon the sun would drive away the filmy mists. No manalive could foretell what condition the pitch would be in after a fewhours of blazing sunshine. The Rev. Septimus told Charles Desmond thathe considered the situation to be critical, and, although he had read themorning paper, he was not alluding even indirectly to South Africanaffairs. Charles Desmond said that, other things being equal, the Hillwould triumph; but he admitted that other things were very far fromequal. It looked as if Harrow would have to bat upon a treacherouswicket, and Eton on a sound one. 

At half-past ten punctually the men were in the field. Scaife issuedlast instructions. "Block the bowling; don't try to score till you seewhat tricks the ground will play. A minute saved now may mean a quarterof an hour to us later. " Caesar nodded cheerfully. The fact that theluck had changed stimulated every fibre of his being. And he said thathe felt in his bones that this was going to be a famous match, like thatof '85--something never to be forgotten. 

Charles Desmond spoke few words while his son was batting. It was atradition among the Desmonds that they rose superior to emergency. TheMinister wondered whether his Harry would rise or fall. The fast bowlerdelivered the first ball. It bumped horribly. The Rev. Septimusshuddered and closed his eyes. Caesar got well over it. The third ballwas cut for three. The fourth whizzed down--a wide. The fast bowlerdipped the ball into the sawdust. 

"It isn't all jam for him, " whispered the Rev. Septimus. 

"Well bowled--well bowled!"

Alas! the middle stump was knocked clean out of the ground. Caesar'spartner, a steady, careful player, had been bowled by his first ball. 

Two wickets for 17. 

The crowd were expecting the hero, but Fluff was walking towards thewickets, wondering whether he should reach them alive. Never had hisheart beat as at this moment. Scaife had come up to him as soon as hehad examined the pitch. 

"Fluff, I am putting you in early because you are a fellow I can trust. My first and last word is, hit at nothing that isn't wide of the wicket. The ground will probably improve fast. "

Fluff nodded. A hive of bees seemed to have lodged in his head, and anactive automatic hammer in his heart; but he didn't dare tell the Demonthat funk, abject funk, possessed him, body and soul. 

The second bowler began his first over. He bowled slows. Desmond playedthe six balls back along the ground. A maiden over. 

And then that thick-set, muscular beast, for so Fluff regarded him, stared fixedly at Fluff's middle stump. Fluff glanced round. Thewicket-keeper had a grim smile on his lips, for his billet was no easyone. Cosmo Kinloch at short slip looked as if it were a foregoneconclusion that Fluff would put the ball into his hands. Then Flufffaced the bowler. Now for it!

The first ball was half a foot off the wicket, but Fluff let it go by. The second came true enough. Fluff blocked it. The third flew pastFluff's leg, but he just snicked it. Desmond started to run, and thenstopped, holding up his hand. Cheers rippled round the ring for thefirst hit to the boundary. That was a bit of sheer luck, Fluff reflected. 

After this both boys played steadily for some ten minutes. Then, veryslowly, Caesar began to score. He had made about fifteen when he drove aball hard to the on, Fluff backing up. Desmond, watching the travellingball, called to him to run. It seemed to Desmond almost certain that theball would go to the boundary. Too late he realized that it had beenmagnificently fielded. Desmond strained every nerve, but his bat had notreached the crease when the bails flew to right and left. 

Out! And run out!

Three wickets for 41!

A quarter of an hour later Fluff was bowled with a yorker. He had madeeleven runs, and kept up his wicket during a crisis. Harrow cheered himloudly. 

And then came the terrible moment of the morning. Scaife went in whenFluff's wicket fell. The ground had improved, but it was stilltreacherous. The fast bowler sent down a straight one. It shot underScaife's bat and spread-eagled his stumps. 

The wicket-keeper knows what the Harrow captain said, but it does notbear repeating. Every eye was on his scowling, furious face as hereturned to the pavilion; and the Rev. Septimus scowled also, because hehad always maintained that any Harrovian could accept defeat like agentleman. Upon the other side of the ground the Caterpillar was sayingto his father, "I always said he was hairy at the heel. "

It was admitted afterwards that the Duffer's performance was the onereally bright spot in Harrow's second innings. Being a bowler, he wentin last but one. It happened that Fluff's brother was in possession ofthe ball. It will never be known why the Duffer chose to treat CosmoKinloch's balls with utter scorn and contempt. The Duffer was tall, strong, and a terrific slogger. Nobody expected him to make a run, buthe made twenty in one over--all boundary hits. When he left the wicketshe had added thirty-eight to the score, and wouldn't have changed placeswith an emperor. The Rev. Septimus followed him into the room where theplayers change. 

"My dear boy, " he said, "I've never been able to give you a gold watch, but you must take mine; here it is, and--and God bless you!"

But the Duffer swore stoutly that he preferred his own Waterbury. 

Eton went in to make 211 runs in four hours, upon a wicket almost assound as it had been upon the Friday. Scaife put the Duffer on to bowl. The Demon had belief in luck. 

"It's your day, Duffer, " he said. "Pitch 'em up. "

The Duffer, to his sire's exuberant satisfaction, "pitched 'em up" sosuccessfully that he took four wickets for 33. Four out of five! Theother bowlers, however, being not so successful, Eton accumulated ahundred runs. The captains had agreed to draw stumps at 7. 30. To win, therefore, the Plain must make another hundred in two hours; and three oftheir crack batsmen were out. 

After tea an amazing change took place in the temper of the spectators. Conviction seized them that the finish was likely to be close andthrilling; that the one thing worth undivided attention was taking placein the middle of the ground. As the minutes passed, a curious silencefell upon the crowd, broken only by the cheers of the rival schools. Theboys, old and young alike, were watching every ball, every stroke. TheEton captain was still in, playing steadily, not brilliantly; the Harrowbowling was getting slack. 

In the pavilion, the Rev. Septimus, Warde, and Charles Desmond weresitting together. Not far from them was Scaife's father, a big, burlyman with a square head and heavy, strongly-marked features. He had neverbeen a cricketer, but this game gripped him. He sat next to aworld-famous financier of the great house of Neuchatel, whose sons hadbeen sent to the Hill. Run after run, run after run was added to thescore. Scaife's father turned to Neuchatel. 

"I'd write a cheque for ten thousand pounds, " he said, "if we could win. "

Lionel Neuchatel nodded. "Yes, " he muttered; "I have not felt so excitedsince Sir Bevis won the Derby. "

In the deep field Desmond was standing, miserable because he had nothingto do. No balls came his way; for the Eton captain had made up his mindto win this match with singles and twos. Very carefully he placed hisballs between the fielders; very carefully his partner followed hischief's example. No stealing of runs, no scoring off straight balls, nogallery play--till victory was assured. 

Poor Lord Fawley retired at this point into an inner room, pullingsavagely at his white beard. Old Lyburn, who had been sitting besidehim, gurgling and gasping, staggered after him. The Rev. Septimus keptwiping his forehead. 

"I can't stand this much longer, " said Warde, in a hoarse whisper. 

"Well hit, sir! Well hit!"

The Eton cheering became frantic. After nearly an hour's pawky, uninteresting play, the Eton captain suddenly changed his tactics. His"eye" was in; now or never let him score. A half-volley came down fromthe pavilion end--a half-volley and off the wicket. The Etonian put allthe strength and power he had suppressed so manfully into a tremendousswipe, and hit the ball clean over the ropes. 

"Do you want to double that bet?" said Strathpeffer to the Caterpillar. They were standing on the top of the Trent coach. 

"No, thanks. "

"Give you two to one, Egerton?"

"Done--in fivers. "

The unhappy bowler sent down another half-volley. Once more the Etoniansmote, and smote hard; but this ball was not quite the same as the first, although it appeared identical. The ball soared up and up. Would itfall over the ropes? Thousands of eyes watched its flight. Desmondstarted to run. Golconda to a sixpence on the fall! It is falling, falling, falling. 

"He'll never get there in time, " says Charles Desmond. 

"Yes he will, " Warde answers savagely. 

"He has!" screamed the Rev. Septimus. "He--_has_!"

Pandemonium broke loose. Grey-headed men threw their hats into the air;M. P. 's danced; lovely women shrieked; every Harrovian on the groundhowled. For Caesar held the ball fast in his lean brown hands. 

The Eton captain walks slowly towards the pavilion. He has to passCaesar on his way, and passing him he pauses. 

"That was a glorious catch, " he says, with the smile of a gallantgentleman. 

And as Harrow, as cordially as Eton, cheers the retiring chieftain, theCaterpillar whispers to Mrs. Verney--

"Did you see that? Did you see him stop to congratulate Caesar?"

"Yes, " says Mrs. Verney. 

"I hope Scaife saw it too, " the Caterpillar replies coolly. "That Etoncaptain is cut out of whole cloth; no shoddy there, by Jove!"

And Desmond. How does Desmond feel? It is futile to ask him, because hecould not tell you, if he tried. But we can answer the question. If thecountry that he wishes to serve crowns him with all the honours bestowedupon a favoured son, never, _never_ will Caesar Desmond know again amoment of such exquisite, unadulterated joy as this. 

Six wickets down and 39 runs to get in less than half an hour!

Every ball now, every stroke, is a matter for cheers, derisive orotherwise. The Rev. Septimus need not prate of golden days gone by. Boys at heart never change. And the atmosphere is so charged withelectricity that a spark sets the firmament ablaze. 

_Seven wickets for_ 192. 

_Eight wickets for_ 197. 

Signs of demoralization show themselves on both sides. The bowling hasbecome deplorably feeble, the batting even more so. Four more singlesare recorded. Only ten runs remain to be made, with two wickets to fall. 

And twelve minutes to play!

Scaife puts on the Duffer again. The lips of the Rev. Sep are seen tomove inaudibly. Is he praying, or cursing, because three singles arescored off his son's first three balls?

"Well bowled--well bowled!"

A ball of fair length, easy enough to play under all ordinarycircumstances, but a "teaser" when tremendous issues are at stake, hasdefeated one of the Etonians. The last man runs towards the pitchthrough a perfect hurricane of howls. Warde rises. 

"I can't stand it, " he says, and his voice shakes oddly. "You fellowswill find me behind the Pavvy after the match. "

"I'd go with you, " says the Rev. Septimus, in a choked tone, "but if Itried to walk I should tumble down. "

Charles Desmond says nothing. But, pray note the expression sofaithfully recorded in _Punch_--the compressed lips, the stern frowningbrows, the protruded jaw. The famous debater sees all fights to afinish, and fights himself till he drops. 

_Seven runs to make, one wicket to fall, and five minutes to play_!!!

Evidently the last man in has received strenuous instructions from hischief. The bowling has degenerated into that of anaemic girls--and twowhacks to the boundary mean--Victory. The new-comer is the square, thick-set fast bowler, the worst bat in the Eleven, but a fellow ofdetermination, a slogger and a run-getter against village teams. 

He obeys instructions to the letter. The Duffer's fifth ball goes to theboundary. 

Three runs to make and two and a half minutes to play!

The Duffer sends down the last ball. The Rev. Septimus covers his eyes. O wretched Duffer! O thou whose knees are as wax, and whose arms are aschop-sticks in the hands of a Griffin! O egregious Duff! O degenerateson of a noble sire, dost thou dare at such a moment as this to attackthine enemy with a--long hop?

The square, thick-set bowler shows his teeth as the ball pitches short. Then he smites and runs. Runs, because he has smitten so hard that nohand, surely, can stop the whirling sphere. Runs--ay--and so does theDemon at cover point. This is the Demon's amazing conjuring-trick--whatelse can you call it? And he has practised it so often, that he reckonsfailure to be almost impossible. To those watching he seems to springlike a tiger at the ball. By Heaven! he has stopped it--he's snapped itup! But if he despatches it to the wicket-keeper, it will arrive toolate. The other Etonian is already within a couple of yards of thecrease. Scaife does not hesitate. He aims at the bowler's wickettowards which the burly one is running as fast as legs a thought tooshort can carry him. 

He aims and shies--instantaneously. He shatters the wicket. 

"How's that?"

The appeal comes from every part of the ground. 

And then, clearly and unmistakably, the umpire's fiat is spoken--

"Out!"

The Rev. Sep rises and rushes off, upsetting chairs, treading on toes, bent only upon being the first to tell Warde that Harrow has won. 

"_Io_! _Io_! _Io_!"

[1] The blue of the Harrow colours. 

[2] Lamper, _i. E. _ Lamp-post. 

CHAPTER XIII

"IF I PERISH, I PERISH"

 "Since we deserved the name of friends, And thine effect so lives in me, A part of mine may live in thee And move thee on to noble ends. "

The cheering at Bill upon the following Tuesday must be recorded, inasmuch as it has, indirectly, bearing upon our story. It will beguessed that the enthusiasm, the uproar, the tumultuous excitement wereeven greater than on a similar occasion some fifteen years before. But, to his amazement, Desmond, not Scaife, was made the particularhero of the hour. Scaife's display of temper festered in the hearts ofboys who can forgive anything sooner than low breeding. The Hill hadseen the Etonian stop to speak his cheery word of congratulation toCaesar, and not the Caterpillar alone, but urchins of thirteen had madecomparisons. 

Scaife, however, could not complain of his reception upon thatmemorable Tuesday afternoon; the cheering must have been heard a mileaway. But Desmond was acclaimed differently. The cheers were nolouder--that was impossible--but afterwards, when the excitement hadsimmered down, Caesar became the object of a special demonstration bythe Monitors and Sixth Form. Nearly every boy of note in the UpperSchool insisted upon shaking his hand or patting him on the back. Scaife came up with the others, but he left the Yard almost immediatelyand retired to his room. He had won the great match; Desmond had savedit; and the School apprehended the subtle difference. More, Scaifeknew that John had gone up to Desmond with outstretched hands after thematch at Lord's. He could hear John's eager voice, see the flame ofadmiration in his eyes, as he said, "Oh, Caesar, I am glad it was youwho made that catch!" And with those generous words, with that warmclasp of the hand, Scaife had seen the barrier which he had builtbetween the friends dissolve like ice in the dog-days. 

The attention of the Manor was now fixed upon the house-matches. Itseemed probable that with four members of the School Eleven in theteam, the ancient house must prove invincible. But to John's surprise, as this delightful probability ripened into conviction, Warde betrayedunwonted anxiety and even irritability. Miss Iris confided to Desmond, who paid her much court, that she couldn't imagine what was the matterwith papa. And mamma, it transpired (from the same source), reallyfeared that the strain at Lord's had been too much, that herindefatigable husband was about to break down. Finally, John made uphis mind to ask a question. He was second in command; he had a rightto ask the chief if anything were seriously amiss. Accordingly, hewaited upon Warde after prayers. 

But when he put his question, and expressed, modestly enough, hisanxiety and desire to help if he could, Warde bit his lips. Then heburst out violently--

"I am miserable, Verney. "

John said nothing. His tutor rose and began to pace up and down thestudy; then, halting, facing John, he spoke quickly, with restlessgestures indicating volcanic disturbance. 

"I'm between the devil and the deep sea, " he said, "as many a betterman has been before me. I thought I'd wiped out the grosser evils inthe Manor, but I haven't--I haven't. Do you know that a fellow in thishouse, perhaps two of 'em, but one at any rate, is getting out at nightand going up to town? You needn't answer, Verney. If you do know it, you are powerless to prevent it, or it wouldn't occur. "

"Thank you, sir. "

"I can only guess who it is. I am not certain. And to make certain, Imust play the spy, creep and crawl, do what I loathe to do--suspect theinnocent together with the guilty. It's almost breaking my heart. "

"I can understand that, sir, after what you have done for us. "

Warde smiled grimly. "I don't think you do quite understand, " he saidslowly. "At this moment I am tempted, tempted as I never have beentempted, to let things slide, to shut both eyes and ears, till thisterm is over. Next term"--he laughed harshly--"I shan't stand in suchan awkward place. The deep sea will always be near me, but thedevil--the devil will be elsewhere. "

John nodded. His serious face expressed neither approval nordisapproval to the man keenly watching it. Afterwards Warde rememberedthis impassivity. 

"If I do not act"--Warde's voice trembled--"I am damned as a traitor inmy own eyes. "

John had never doubted that his house-master would act. As forcreeping and crawling, can peaks be scaled without creeping andcrawling? Never----

"You are not to speak a word of warning, " Warde continued vehemently. "If you know what I don't know yet, still you cannot speak to me, because the sinner in this case is a Sixth-Form boy. You cannot speakto me; and you will not speak to him, on your honour?"

There was interrogation in the last sentence. John replied almostinaudibly--

"I shall not speak--on my honour!"

"It is hard, hard indeed, that I should have to foul my own nest, butit must be so. Good night. "

John went back to his room, calm without, terribly agitated within. What ruthless spirit had driven him to Warde's study? Yes; at last, inexorably, discovery, disgrace, the ineffaceable brand of expulsion, impended over the head of his enemy, to whom he was pledged to utter noword of warning. Like Warde, he did not know absolutely, but heguessed that Scaife had spent another riotous night to town since thematch. He had read it in the eyes glittering with excitement, in thederisive smile of conscious power, in the magnetic audacity of Scaife'sglance. And then he remembered Lawrence's parting words--

"It will be a fight to a finish, and, mark me, Warde will win!"

Two wretched days and nights passed. More than once John spurredhimself to the point of going to Warde and saying, "Think what you likeof me, I am going to warn the boy I loathe that you are at his heels. "Still, always at the last moment he did not go. Some power seemed torestrain him. But when he tried to analyse his feelings, he confessedhimself muddled. He had obtained, nay, invited, Warde's confidence;and he dared not abuse it. It was a time of anguish. He was unable toconcentrate his mind upon work or play, deprived of sleep, haunted bythe conviction that if Desmond knew all, he would turn from him forever. Then, at the most difficult moment of his life, the way ofescape was opened. 

Since the match, John and Caesar had resumed the former unrestrainedand continual intimacy and intercourse. John was in and out ofDesmond's room, Desmond was in and out of John's room, at all hours. They "found" together, of course, but it is not, fortunately, at mealsthat boys or men discuss the things nearest to their hearts. But atnight, just before lights were turned out, or just after, when anOlympian is privileged to work a little longer by the light of theuseful "tolly, " Caesar and Jonathan would talk freely of past, present, and future. It was during these much-valued minutes, or on Sundayafternoons, that John would read to his friend the essays or verseswhich always fired Desmond's admiration and enthusiasm. To John'sintellectual activities Caesar played, so to speak, gallery; even asJohn upon many an afternoon had sat stewing in the coveredracquet-court, applauding Desmond's service into the corner, or his hotreturns just above the line. At home, in the holidays, the boys hadalways met upon the same plane. Of the two, John was the better riderand shot. Both were members of the Philathletic Club[1] of Harrow, andthe fact that Desmond was incomparably his superior as an athlete wascounterbalanced by John's fine intellectual attainments. If John, attimes, wished that he could cut behind the wicket in Caesar's faultlessstyle, Desmond, on the other hand, spoke enviously of the Medal, or theEssay, or some other of John's successes. John spoke often and well inthe Debating Society, getting up his subjects with intelligence andcare. So it was give-and-take between them, and this adjusted thebalance of their friendship, and without this no friendship can bepronounced perfect. 

None the less, free and delightful as this resumption of the oldintimacy had been, John knew Caesar too well not to perceive thatbetween them lay an unmentionable five weeks, during which somethinghad occurred. From signs only too well interpreted before, Johnguessed that Caesar was once more in debt to the Demon. And finally, Caesar confessed that he had been betting, that he had won, followingScaife's advice, and then had lost. The loss was greater than thegain, and the difference, some five and twenty pounds, had been sent toScaife's bookmaker by Scaife. As before, Scaife ridiculed thepossibility of such a debt causing his pal any uneasiness, but itchafed Desmond consumedly. 

Upon the Saturday of the semi-final house match, in which the Manor hadwon a great victory by an innings and twenty-three runs, John went toDesmond's room after prayers. He noticed at once that his friend wasunusually excited. John, however, attributed this to Caesar's bigscore. Success always inflamed Caesar, just as it seemed totranquillize John. John began to talk, but he noticed that Caesar wasabstracted, answered in monosyllables, and twice looked at his watch. 

"Have you an appointment, Caesar?"

"No. What were you saying, Jonathan?"

"You look rather queer to-night. "

"Do I?" He laughed nervously. 

"You're not bothering over that debt?"

This time Caesar laughed naturally. 

"Rather not. Why, that debt----" He stopped. 

"Is it paid?" said John. 

"It will be. Don't worry!"

But John looked worried. He perceived that Caesar's finely-formedhands were trembling, whenever they were still. 

"Harry, " said he--he never called Desmond Harry except when they wereat home--"Harry, what's wrong?"

"Why, nothing--nothing, that is, which amounts to anything. "

"Harry, you are the worst liar in England. Something is wrong. Can'tyou tell me? You must. I'm hanged if I leave you till you do tell me. "

He looked steadily at Desmond. In his clear grey eyes were tinydancing flecks of golden brown, which Desmond had seen once or twicebefore, --which came whenever John was profoundly moved. The dancingflecks transformed themselves in Desmond's fancy into sprites, the airycreatures of John's will, imposing John's wishes and commands. 

"Scaife said I might tell you, if I liked. "

"Scaife?" John drew in his breath. "Then Scaife wanted you to tellme; I am sure of that. " He felt his way by the dim light ofsmouldering suspicion. If Scaife wanted John to know anything, it wasbecause such knowledge must prove pain, not pleasure. John did not saythis. Then, very abruptly, Desmond continued, "You swear that what I'mabout to tell you will be regarded as sacred?"

"Yes. "

"It is a matter which concerns Scaife and me, not you. You won'tinterfere?"

"No. "

"I'm going to London. "

"_What_?"

"Don't look at me like that, you silly old ass! It's not--not what youthink, " he laughed nervously. "I have bet Scaife twenty-five pounds, the amount of my debt in fact, that the bill-of-fare of to-night'ssupper at the Carlton Hotel will be handed to him after Chapelto-morrow morning. I bike up to town, and bike back. If I don't gothis Saturday, I have one more chance before the term is over. That'sall. "

"That's all, " repeated John, stupefied. 

"If you can show me an easier way to make a 'pony, ' I'll be obliged toyou. "

"Scaife egged you on to this piece of folly?"

"No, he didn't. "

"You may as well make a clean breast of it. "

Bit by bit John extracted the facts. Behind them, of course, stoodScaife, loving evil for evil's sake, planting evil, gleaning evil, deliberately setting about the devil's work. Desmond, it appeared, hadpersuaded Scaife not to go to town till the Lord's match was over. Since the match Scaife had spent two nights in London, whetting aninordinate appetite for forbidden fruit; exciting in Desmond also, notan appetite for the fruit itself, but for the mad excitement of aperilous adventure. Then, when the thoughtless "I'd like a lark ofthat sort" had been spoken, came the derisive answer, "You haven't thenerve for it. " And then again the subtle leading of an ardent andself-willed nature into the morass, Scaife pretending to dissuade afriend, entreating him to consider the risk, urging him to go to bed, as if he were a headstrong child. And finally Desmond's challenge, "Bet you I have the nerve, " and its acceptance, protestingly, by theother, and permission given that John should be told. 

"And it's to-night?"

"I mean to have that bill-of-fare. Do you think I'd back out now?"

In his mind's eye, our poor John was gazing down a long lane with noturning at the end of it. Could he make his friend believe that Scaifehad brought this thing to pass from no other motive than wishing tohurt mortally an enemy by the hand of a friend? No, never would suchan ingenuous youth as Caesar accept, or even listen to, such anabominable explanation. 

"Good night, " said John. 

"I see you're rather sick with me, Jonathan. Remember, you made mespeak. To-morrow morning we'll have a good laugh over it. We'll walkto the Haunted House, and I'll tell my tale. I shall be on my way inless than an hour. "

John went back to his room. The necessity for silence and thought hadbecome imperative. What could he do? It was certain that Warde waswaiting and watching. He had inexhaustible patience. Desmond, not theDemon, would be caught and expelled. John returned to Desmond's room. 

"You've told me so much, " he said; "tell me a little more. How are yougoing to do it?"

"To do what?"

"Get out of the house? Get a bike--and all that?"

"Easy. Lovell went out that way, and others. You jump from the sillof the first landing window into the horse-chestnut. One must be ableto jump, of course; but I can jump. Then you shin down the tree, nipthrough the shrubbery, and over the locked wicket-gate. "

"Yes, " John said slowly, "over the gate. "

"I borrowed a bike from one of the Cycle Corps, and have ridden[Transcriber's note: hidden?] it in the garden, in a bush to the rightof the gate. "

John nodded. 

"It's moonlight after ten; I shall enjoy the ride immensely. "

"You will try to get back into the house at night?"

"Too dangerous. Lovell did it; but the Demon marches in boldly justbefore Chapel. He may have slipped out on half a dozen errands as soonas the door is opened in the morning. I shall sleep under a stack. It's a lovely night. Now, old Jonathan, I hope you're satisfied thatI'm not either the fool or the sinner you took me to be. "

"Look here, Harry. If I appeal to you in the name of our friendship;if I ask you for my sake and for my mother's sake not to do thisthing----"

"Jonathan, I must go. Don't make it harder than it is. "

"Then it is hard?"

"I won't whine about that. I courted this adventure, and, by Jove!I'm going to see it through. The odds are a hundred to one against mybeing nailed. "

"All right; I'll say no more. Good night. "

"Good night, old Jonathan. "

John went back to his room, waited three minutes, and then, in despair, made up his mind to seek Scaife. He felt certain that the Demon'sextraordinary luck was about to stand between him and expulsion. Desmond would be caught red-handed, but not he. John ground his teethwith rage at the thought. He found Scaife alone--at work on cricketingaccounts. 

"Hullo, Verney!"

"Caesar tells me that he is going up to London to-night. "

"Oh, he told you that, did he?"

"Yes; you wished him to tell me?"

"Perhaps. " Scaife laughed louder. 

"You want to prove to me, " said John, slowly, "that you are thestronger?"

"Perhaps. " Scaife laughed. 

"Well, if I surrender, if I admit that you are the stronger, that youhave defeated me, won't that be enough?"

"Eh? I don't quite take you. "

"You are the stronger. " John's voice was very miserable. "I havetried to dissuade him, as you knew I should try, and I have failed. Isn't that enough? You have your triumph. But now be generous. Turnround and use your strength the other way. Make him give up thisfolly. You don't want to see your own pal--sacked?"

"Precious little chance of that!"

"There is the chance. "

Scaife hesitated. Did some worthier impulse stir within him? Who cantell? His keen eye softened, and then hardened again. 

"No, " he said quickly. "If I agree to what you propose, it is, afterall, you who triumph, not I. And I doubt if I could stop him now, evenif I tried. " He laughed again, for the third time, savagely. "You arehoist with your own petard, Verney. You wanted to see me sacked; andnow that there is a chance in a thousand that Caesar will be sacked, you squirm. I swore to get my knife into you, and, by God, I've doneit. "

John went out, very pale. He passed through into the private side, andtapped at Warde's study door. Mrs. Warde's voice bade him enter. Shelooked at John's face. Afterwards she testified that he lookedsingularly cool and self-possessed. 

"I wish to see Mr. Warde, " he said. 

"He's dining at the Head Master's. "

"Will he be in soon?"

"I--er--don't know. Perhaps not. I wouldn't wait for him, Verney, ifI were you. "

"Thank you, " said John. "Good night. "

He went back to his room. In Mrs. Warde's eyes had read--what?Excitement? Apprehension? Suddenly, conviction came to him that thisdinner at the Head Master's was a blind. Why, during that veryafternoon, Warde had mentioned casually to Scaife that he was diningout. He had deliberately informed the Demon that the Coast was dear. And at this moment, probably, Warde lay concealed near the chestnuttree, waiting, watching, about to pounce upon the--wrong man!

The temptation to cry "_Cave_!" tore at his vitals. Till this momentthe tyranny of honour had never oppressed John. Having resolved totell Warde that he meant to break his word, it may seem inexplicablethat he shouldn't go a step further and break his word without warningthe house-master. Upon such nice points of conscience hang issues ofworld-wide importance. To John, at any rate, the difference betweenthe two paths out of a tangled wood was greater than it might appear tosome of us. Warde had trusted him implicitly: could he bring himselfto violate Warde's confidence without giving the man notice?

However, what he might have done under pressure must remain a matter ofsurmise. At this moment a third path became visible. And down it Johnrushed, without consideration as to where it might lead. The one thingplain at this crisis was the certainty that he had discovered a plan ofaction which would save two things he valued supremely--his friendshipfor Caesar and his word of honour. 

Here we are at liberty to speculate what John would have done had heconsidered dispassionately the consequences of an action to beaccomplished at once or not at all. But he had not time to consideranything except the fact that action would put to rout some verytormenting thoughts. 

He crumpled his bed, disarranged his room, and put on a cap and a thinovercoat, as all lights in the boys' side of the Mandi wereextinguished. Then he stole out of his room, and crept to the windowat the end of the passage. A moment later, he had squeezed through it, and was standing upon the sill outside, gazing fearfully at the voidbeneath, and the distance between the sill and the branch in front ofhim. Afterwards, he confessed that this moment was the most difficult. He was an active boy, but he had never jumped such a chasm. If hemissed the bough----

To hesitate meant shameful retreat. John felt the sweat break uponhim; craven fear clutched his heart-strings, and set them a-jangling. 

He jumped. 

The ease with which he caught the branch was such a physical reliefthat he almost forgot his errand. He slid quietly down the tree, pausing as he reached the bottom of it. The moon was just rising abovethe horizon, but under the trees the darkness was Stygian. John pushedquietly through the shrubberies, treading as lightly as possible. Every moment he expected to see the flash of a lantern, to hear Warde'svoice, to feel an arresting hand upon the shoulder. It was quiteimpossible to guess with any reasonable accuracy what part of thegarden Warde had selected for a hiding-place. Very soon he reached theedge of the shrubbery, and gazed keenly into the moonlit, park-likemeadow below him. Peer as he might, he could see no trace of Warde. Adozen trees might conceal him. Perhaps with the omniscience of thehouse-master, he had divined that the wicket-gate was the ultimateplace of egress. Perhaps the wicket had been used for a similarpurpose when Warde himself was a boy at the Manor. It was vital toJohn's plan that Warde should see him without recognizing him, and givechase. The chase would end in capture at some point as reasonably farfrom the Manor as possible. Warde might ask for explanations, but nonewould be forthcoming till the morrow. Meantime, the coast would beclear for Desmond. John, in fine, was playing the part of apilot-engine. 

But where was Warde?

The question answered itself within a minute, and after a fashionabsolutely unforeseen. As John was crossing from the shrubbery to thewicket he looked back. To his horror, he saw lights in the boys' side, light in the window of Scaife's room. Instantly John divined what hadcome to pass, and cursed himself for a fool. Warde, from some coign ofvantage, had seen a boy leave his house. Why should he try to arrestthe boy? why should he risk the humiliation of running after him, and, perhaps, failing to capture him? No, no; men forty were not likely towork in that boyish fashion. Warde had adopted an infinitely betterplan. Assured that a boy had left the house, he had nothing to do butwalk round the rooms and find out which one was absent. He had begunwith Scaife. Next to Scaife was the room belonging to the Head of theHouse; then came John's room, and then Caesar's. Long before Wardereached Caesar's room, Caesar would have heard him. Caesar, at anyrate, was saved. John crept back under cover of the shrubberies. Hesaw the light flicker out of Scaife's window, and shine more steadilyin the next room. The window of this room was open, and John couldhear the voice of Warde and the Head of the House. John waited. Andthen the light shone in Desmond's room. John crouched against thewall, trembling. If Caesar had not heard the voices, if he were fullydressed, if---- Suddenly he caught Warde's reassuring words: "Ah, Desmond, sorry to disturb you. Good night. "

John waited. Very soon Scaife would come to Desmond's room. Ah! Justso. The night was so still that he could hear quite plainly the boys'muffled voices. 

"What's up?"

"Warde is going his rounds. Perhaps he smells a rat. "

And then whispers! John strained his ears. Only a word or two morereached him. "Verney---- D--d interfering sneak! Let's see!" It wasScaife who was speaking. 

John heard his own door opened and shut. Scaife, then, had discoveredhis absence, and naturally leaped to the conclusion that he had warnedWarde. Let him think so! The boys were still whispering together. "Not to-night, " Scaife said decisively. "No, no, " Desmond replied. 

John wondered what remained to be done. Warde, of course, wouldsatisfy himself that no boy in his house was missing except John, before he pronounced him the absentee. Poor Warde! This would be ahard knock for him. John's thoughts were jostling each other freely, when he recalled Desmond's words: "I have one more chance before theterm is over. " He had wished to clear the way for his friend, not toblock it. Then he remembered the terms of the bet, and laughed. 

He ran back to the wicket, found the bicycle, lit the lamp, and hoistedthe machine over the gate. Then he laughed again. After all, thisescaping from bondage, this midnight adventure beneath the impendingsword of expulsion, thrilled him to the marrow. 

When John returned on Sunday to the Manor, shortly after the doors wereunlocked in the morning, he found Dumbleton awaiting him. Dumber'sface expressed such amazement and consternation that John nearlylaughed in spite of himself. 

"It's all hup, sir, " said the butler. Only in moments of intenseexcitement did Dumber misplace or leave out the aspirate. "You're tocome with me at once to Mr. Warde's study. "

John followed the butler into the familiar room. Warde was not downyet, but evidently Dumber had instructions not to leave the prisoner. John stared at the writing-desk. Then he turned to Dumbleton, and saidcarelessly--

"This means the sack, eh, Dumber?"

"Yes, sir. 'Ow could you do it, sir? Such a well-be'aved gentlemantoo!"

"Thank you, Dumber. " John took an envelope from the desk, and wroteScaife's name upon it. 

"Dumber, please give Mr. Scaife this--with my compliments. It is, asyou see, a bill of fare. "

"Very good, sir. "

John placed the card into the envelope and handed both to Dumbleton. 

"With my compliments!"

"Certainly, sir. "

"And _after_ Chapel. "

"Yes, sir. "

A moment later Warde came in. Dumbleton went out immediately with asorrowful, backward glance at John. The good fellow looked terriblybewildered. For John's face, John's deportment, had amazed him. Johnwas quite unaware of it, but he looked astonishingly well. Excitementhad flushed his cheek and lent a sparkle to his grey eyes. He hadenjoyed his ride to town and back; he had slept soundly under the leeof a haystack; and he had washed his face and hands in the horse-troughat the foot of Sudbury Hill. And the certainty that Desmond was safe, that in the end he, John, had triumphed over Scaife, filled his soulwith joy. Warde, on the other hand, looked wretched; he had passed asleepless night; he was pale, haggard, gaunt. 

"What have you to say, Verney?"

"Nothing, sir. "

"Nothing. " Warde clenched his hands, and burst into speech, lettingall that he had suffered and suppressed escape in tumultuous words andgestures. "Nothing. You dare to stand there and say--nothing. Thatyou should have done this thing? Why, it's incredible! And I whotrusted you. And you listened to me with a face like brass, laughingin your sleeve, no doubt, at the fool who betrayed himself. And youcame here, so my wife tells me, to see if I was out of the way, if thecoast was clear. And you were cool as a cucumber. Oh, you hypocrite, you damnable hypocrite! I have to see you now, but never again will Ilook willingly upon your face, never! Well, this wretched businessmust be ended. You got out of my house last night. You heard I wasdining with the Head Master. I returned early, and I saw you jump fromthe passage window. You don't deny that you went up to London, Isuppose?"

"No, sir; I don't deny it. "

At the moment John, quite unconsciously, looked as if he were gloryingin what he had done. Warde could have struck his clean, clear face, unblushingly meeting his furious glance. In disgust, he turned hisback and walked to the window. John felt rather than saw that histutor was profoundly moved. When he turned, two tears were tricklingdown his cheeks. The sight of them nearly undid John. When Wardespoke again, his voice was choked by his emotion. 

"Verney, " he said, "I spoke just now in an unrestrained manner, becauseyou--you"--his voice trembled--"have shaken my faith in all I hold mostdear. I say to you--I say to you that I believed in you as I believein my wife. Even now I feel that somehow there is a mistake--that youare not what you confess yourself to be--a brazen-faced humbug. Youhave worked as I have worked for this House, and in one moment you undothat work. Have you paused to think, what effect this will have uponthe others?"

"Not yet, sir. "

John looked respectfully sympathetic. Poor Warde! This was roughindeed upon him. 

Suddenly the door was flung open, and Desmond burst into the room, witha complete disregard of the customary proprieties, and rushed up toWarde. 

"Sir, " he said vehemently, "Verney did this to save--_me_!"

Warde saw the slow smile break upon John's face. And, seeing it, hecame as near hysterical laughter as a man of his character andtemperament can come. He perceived that John, for some amazing reason, had played the scape-goat; that, in fact, he was innocent--not ahumbug, not a hypocrite, not a brazen-faced sinner. And the relief wasso stupendous that the tutor flung himself back into a chair, gasping. Desmond spoke quietly. 

"I was going to town, sir. For the first time, I swear. And only towin a bet, and for the excitement of jumping out of a window. Johntried to dissuade me. When he exhausted every argument, he wenthimself. "

"The Lord be praised!" said Warde. He had divined everything; but helet Desmond tell the story in detail. Scaife's name was left out ofthe narrative. 

Then Warde said slowly, "I shall not refer this business to the HeadMaster; I shall deal with it myself. For your own sake, Desmond, forthe sake of your father, and, above all else, for the sake of thisHouse, I shall do no more than ask you to promise that, for the rest ofyour time at Harrow, you will endeavour to atone for what has been. "

All boys worth their salt are creatures of reserves; let us respectthem. It is easy to surmise what passed between the friends--thegratitude, the self-reproach, the humiliation on one side; thesympathy, the encouragement and shy, restrained affection on the other. A bitter-sweet moment for John this, revealing, without disguise, theweakness of Desmond's character, but illuminating the triumph overScaife, the all-powerful. John had been inhuman if this knowledge hadnot been as spikenard to him. 

Chapel over, the boys came pouring back into the house. In a minutethe fags would be hurrying up with the tea and the jam-pots, asking fororders; in a minute Scaife would rush in with questions hot upon hislips. John chuckled to himself as he heard Scaife's step. 

"Hullo, Caesar! Why did you cut Chapel? And----"

John saw that the Carlton supper-card was in his hand. He chuckledagain. 

"Dumber has just given me--_this_. Did you go, after all?" he askedCaesar. They had not met since Warde's visit of the night before. 

"I didn't go, " said Caesar. 

"Dumber gave it to me, with Verney's compliments. "

"You've lost your bet, " said John. 

"But how?"

"Jonathan went to town instead of me, " said Desmond. "We thought hewas with Warde--he wasn't. This morning, early, I found out that hehadn't slept in his bed. I saw him come back, and I saw Dumber waitingfor him. When Dumber came out of Warde's room, he told me thatJonathan had been up to town, and was going to be--sacked. "

He blurted out the rest of the story, to which Scaife listenedattentively. When Desmond finished, there was a pause. 

"You're devilish clever, " said Scaife to John. 

"I shall pay up the pony, " said Desmond. 

"No, you won't, " said Scaife. "As for the money, I never cared a hangabout that. I'm glad--and you ought to know it--that you've won thebet. All the same, Verney isn't entitled to all the glory that yougive him. "

"He is, he is--and more, too. "

Scaife laughed. John felt rather uncomfortable. Always Scaifeexhibited his amazing resource at unexpected moments. 

"Never mind, " Scaife continued, "I won't burst the pretty bubble. AndI admit, remember, Verney's cleverness. "

He was turning to go, but Desmond clutched his sleeve. When he spokehis fair face was scarlet. 

"You sneer at the wrong man and at the wrong time, " he said angrily, "and you talk as though I was a fool. Well, I am a fool, perhaps, andI blow bubbles. Prick this one, if you can. I challenge you to do it. "

Scaife shrugged his shoulders. "It's so obvious, " he said coolly, "that your kind friend ran no risks other than a sprained ankle or acold. "

"What do you mean?"

"He was certain that you would come forward. He forced your hand. There was never the smallest chance of his being sacked, and he knewit. "

"Yes, " said John, calmly, "I knew it. "

"Just so, " said Scaife. He went out whistling. 

Desmond had time to whisper to John before the fags called them tobreakfast in John's room--

"I say, Jonathan, I'm glad you knew that I wouldn't fail you. As theDemon says, you are clever; you are a sight cleverer than he is. "

John shook his head. "I'm slow, " he said. "As a matter of fact, thethought that you would come to the rescue never occurred to me till Iwas hiking back from town. "

"Anyway, you saved me from being sacked, and as long as I live I----"

"Come on to breakfast, " said John. 

[1] The Philathletic Club deals primarily with all matters whichconcern Harrow games; it is also a social club. Distinguishedathletes, monitors, and so forth, are eligible for membership. TheHead of the School is _ex-officio_ President. 

CHAPTER XIV

GOOD NIGHT

 "Good night! Sleep, and so may ever Lights half seen across a murky lea, Child of hope, and courage, and endeavour, Gleam a voiceless benison on thee! Youth be bearer Soon of hardihood; Life be fairer, Loyaller to good; Till the far lamps vanish into light, Rest in the dreamtime. Good night! Good night!"

The last Saturday of the summer term saw the Manor cock-house atcricket: almost a foregone conclusion, and therefore not particularlyinteresting to outsiders. During the morning Scaife gave his farewell"brekker" [1] at the Creameries; a banquet of the Olympians to whichJohn received an invitation. He accepted because Desmond made a pointof his so doing; but he was quite aware that beneath the veneer of theDemon's genial smile lay implacable hatred and resentment. Thebreakfast in itself struck John as ostentatious. Scaife's father sentquails, _à la Lucullus_, and other delicacies. Throughout the meal thetalk was of the coming war. At that time most of the Conservativepapers poohpoohed the possibility of an appeal to arms, but Scaife'sfather, admittedly a great authority on South African affairs, had toldhis son a fight was inevitable. More, he and his friends were alreadypreparing to raise a regiment of mounted infantry. At breakfast Scaifeannounced this piece of news, and added that in the event ofhostilities he would join this regiment, and not try to pass intoSandhurst. And he added that any of his friends who were present, andover eighteen years of age, were cordially invited to send in theirnames, and that he personally would do all that was possible to securethem billets. The words were hardly out of his mouth, when CaesarDesmond was on his feet, with an eager--

"Put me down, Demon; put me down first!"

And then Scaife glanced at John, as he answered--

"Right you are, Caesar, and if things go well with us, I fancy that weshall get our commissions in regular regiments soon enough. Thegovernor has had a hint to that effect. Let's drink success to'Scaife's Horse. '"

The toast was drunk with enthusiasm. 

During the holidays, John saw nothing of Desmond, although they wroteto each other once a week. John was reading hard with an eye to apossible Scholarship at Oxford; Desmond was playing cricket withScaife. Later, Desmond went to the Scaife moor in Scotland. Johnnoted that his friend's letters were full of two things only: sport, and the ever-increasing probability of war. At the end of August JohnVerney, the explorer, returning to Verney Boscobel after an absence ofnearly four years, began to write his now famous book on the Far East. Then John learned from his mother that his uncle had borne all thecharges of his education. When he thanked him, the uncle said warmly--

"You have more than repaid me, my dear boy; not another word, please, about that. Warde tells me they expect great things of you at Oxford. "

Uncle and nephew were alone, after dinner. John had noticed that thehardships endured in Manchuria and Thibet had left scars upon thetraveller. His hair was white, he looked an old man; one whosewanderings in wild places must perforce come soon to an end. 

"Uncle, " said John. "I want to chuck Oxford. "

"Eh?"

"I should like to go into the Army. "

"Bless my soul!"

The explorer eyed his nephew with wrinkled brow. John gave reasons; wecan guess what they were. The prospect of war had set all ardent soulsafire. 

"I must think this over, my boy, " the uncle replied presently. "I mustsleep on it. Have you told your mother?"

"No; I counted upon you to persuade her. "

"Um. Now tell me about Lord's! Ah! I'm sorry I missed that match. "

Next day, his uncle said nothing of what lay next to John's heart, butthe pair rode together over the estate. During that ride it becameplain to the young man that his uncle had no intention of settlingdown. Once or twice, in the driest, most matter-of-fact tone, theelder spoke as if his heir were likely to inherit soon. Finally, Johnblurted out a protest--

"But, uncle, you are a strong man. Why do you talk as if--as if----"the boy couldn't finish the phrase. 

"Tut, tut, " said the uncle. "I know what I know;" and he fell intosilence. 

Not till the evening, after Mrs. Verney had gone to bed, did the man ofmany wanderings speak freely. 

"John, " said he, quietly, "I have a story to tell you. Years ago, yourfather and I fell in love with the same girl. She married the betterman. " He paused to fill a pipe: John saw that his uncle's fingerstrembled slightly; but his voice was cool, measured, almost monotonous. "I made my first expedition to Patagonia. When I came back you werejust born; and I asked that I might be your godfather. I went toAfrica after the christening. And six years later your father died. Ithink he had the purest and most unselfish love of the poor andhelpless that I have ever known. He wore away his life in the serviceof the outcast and forlorn. And before he died, he expressed a wishthat you should work as he did, for others, but not in precisely thesame way. He knew, none better, the limitations imposed upon a parson. He prayed that you might labour in a field larger than one parish. AndI promised him that I would do what I could when the time came. It hascome--to-night. In my opinion, in Warde's opinion, in your dearmother's opinion, Parliament is the place for you. You will besufficiently well off. Take all Oxford can give you, and then try forthe House of Commons. Charles Desmond will make you one of his PrivateSecretaries. I have spoken to him. You have a great career beforeyou. "

"But if war breaks out, uncle----"

"War _will_ break out. Don't misunderstand me! If you are wanted outthere, and the thing is going to be very serious, if you are wanted, you must go; but decidedly you are not wanted yet. And you are an onlyson; all your mother has. John, you must think of her, and you willthink of her, I know. "

The conviction in his quiet voice communicated itself to his nephew. There was a pause of nearly a minute; and then John answered, in avoice curiously like his uncle's--

"All right. "

Verney senior held out his hand. "I knew you would say that, " hemurmured. 

On the 18th of September, when John returned to the Hill, the countryhad just learned that the proposals of the Imperial Government toaccept the note of August 19 (provided it were not encumbered byconditions which would nullify the intention to give substantialrepresentation to the Uitlanders) had not been accepted. That thismeant war, none, least of all a schoolboy, doubted. Desmond could talkof nothing else. He told John that his father had promised to let himleave Harrow before the end of the term, if war were declared. TheDemon, so John was informed, had made already preparations. He wastaking out his three polo ponies, and had hopes of being appointedGalloper to a certain General. Scaife's Horse was being organized, butin any case would not take the field before several months had elapsed;the Demon intended to be on the spot when the first shot was fired. 

To all this gunpowder-talk John listened with envious ears and acurious sinking of the heart. He had looked forward to having Desmondto himself; and lo! his friend was seven thousand miles away--on theveldt, not on the Hill. 

"You are not keen, " said Desmond. 

On the day of the Goose Match, Saturday, September 30th, Scaife camedown to Harrow to take leave of his friends. Already, John noted anextraordinary difference in his manner and appearance. He treated Johnto a slightly patronizing smile, called him Jonathan, asked if he couldbe of service to him, and posed most successfully as a sort of suckingAlexander. 

That he absorbed Desmond's eyes and mind was indisputable. Everythingoutside South Africa, and in particular the Hill and all thingsthereon, dwindled into insignificance. Scaife made Desmond a presentof the very best maps obtainable, and nailed them on the wall above themantelpiece, pulling down a fine engraving which John had given toDesmond about a year before. Desmond uttered no protest. Theengraving was bundled out of sight behind a sofa. 

And after Scaife's departure, Desmond talked of him continually, andalways with enthusiasm. Warde added a note or two to the chorus. 

"This is an opportunity for Scaife, " he told John. "He may distinguishhimself very greatly, and the discipline of the camp will transmute thebad metal into gold. War is an alchemist. "

Upon the 11th of October war was declared. 

After that, Desmond became as one possessed. He went about saying thathe pitied his father profoundly because he was a civilian and anon-combatant. Warde wrote to Charles Desmond; "If you mean to sendHarry out, send him at once. He's fretting himself to fiddlestrings, doing no work, and causing others to do no work also. "

Sir William Symons' victory and death followed, and then the mortifyingretreat of General Yule. Upon the 30th day of the month eight hundredand fifty officers and men were isolated and captured. Who does notremember the wave of passionate incredulity that swept across thekingdom when the evil tidings flashed over-seas? But Buller and hisstaff were on the _Dunottar Castle_, and all Harrovians believeddevoutly that within a month of landing the Commander-in-Chief woulddrive the invaders back and conquer the Transvaal. 

Day after day, Desmond importuned his father. The "fun" would be over, he pointed out, before he got there--and so on. At last word came. Abillet had been obtained. Desmond received a long envelope from theWar Office. He showed it to all his friends, old and young. Duffjunior--Caesar's fag--became so excited that he asked Warde forpermission to enlist as a drummer-boy. The School cheered Caesar atfour Bill. 

And then came the parting. 

Caesar was to join the Headquarters' Staff as soon as possible. Hespent the last hours with John, but his mind, naturally enough, wasconcentrated upon his kit. He chattered endlessly of saddlery, revolvers, sleeping bags, and Zeiss' glasses. John packed hisportmanteau. And on the morrow the friends parted at the stationwithout a word beyond--

"Good-bye, old Jonathan. Wish you were coming. "

"Good-bye, Caesar. Good luck!"

And then the shrill whistle, the inexorable rolling of the wheels, thebright eager face leaning far out of the window, the wavedhandkerchief, the last words; "So long!" and John's reply, "So long!"

John saw the face fade; the wheels of the vanishing train seemed tohave rolled over his heart; the scream of the engine was the scream ofanguish from himself. He left the station and ran to the Tower. There, after the first indescribable moments, some kindly spirittouched him. He became whole. But he had ceased to be a boy. Aloneupon the tower he prayed for his friend, prayed fervently that it mightbe well with him, now and for ever-- Amen. 

When he returned to the Manor, however, peace seemed to forsake him. The horrible gap, ever-widening, between himself and Desmond, mightindeed be bridged by prayer, but not by the shouts of boys and theturmoil of a Public School. 

During the rest of the term he worked furiously. Desmond was now onthe high seas, whither John followed him at night and on Sundays. Warde, guessing, perhaps, what was passing in John's heart, talked muchof Desmond, always hopefully. From Warde, John learned that CharlesDesmond had tried to dissuade his favourite son from becoming a soldier. 

"He wanted him to go into Parliament, " said Warde. 

John nodded. 

"It was a disappointment. Yes; a great disappointment. Harry wouldhave made a debater. Yes; yes; a nimble wit, an engaging manner, andthe gift of the gab. And the father would have had him under his owneye. "

"But he wanted to go to South Africa from the beginning. "

"You wanted to go, " said Warde; "your uncle told me so. It was agreater thing for you, John, to stand aside. "

And then John put a question. "Do you think that Harry ought to havestood aside too?"

Warde, however, unwilling to commit himself, spoke of Harry's ardourand patriotism. But at the end he let fall a straw which indicated thetrue current of his thoughts--

"Mr. Desmond is very lonely. "

John swooped on this. 

"Then you think, you do think, that Harry should have stayed behind?"

"Perhaps. One hesitates to accuse the boy of anything more thanthoughtlessness. "

"If he wished to serve his country, " began John, warmly. 

Warde smiled. "Yes, yes, " he assented. "Let us believe that, John;but there has been too much cheap excitement. "

Dark days followed. Who will ever forget Stormberg and Magersfontein?A pall seemed to hang over the kingdom. Ladysmith remained in the gripof the invader; the Boers were not yet driven out of Natal. MeantimeCaesar had reached Sir Redvers Buller. A letter to his father, describing the few incidents of the voyage out, and his arrival inSouth Africa, was sent on to John and received by him on the 1st ofFebruary. "John will understand, " said Caesar, in a postscript, "thatI have little time for writing. " But John did not understand. Hewrote regularly to Desmond; no answer came in return. 

At the end of the Christmas holidays John returned to Harrow. He wasnow Head of his House, and very nearly Head of the School. The weekswent by slowly. Soon, he and a few others would travel to Oxford fortheir examination; there would be the strenuous excitement ofcompetition, and the final announcement of success or failure. To allthis John told himself that he was lukewarm. Nothing seemed to mattersince he had lost sight of Caesar's face, since the train whirled hisfriend out of his life. But he worked hard, so hard that the HeadMaster bade him beware of a breakdown. 

The hour of triumph came. John had gratified his own and Warde'sambition; he was a Scholar of Christ Church. And this well-earnedsuccess seemed to thaw something in his heart. The congratulations, the warm hand-clasps, the generous joy of schoolfellows not asfortunate, restored his moral circulation. A whole holiday was grantedin honour of his success at Oxford. He told himself that now he wouldtake things easy and enjoy himself. The clouds in South Africa werelifting, everybody said the glorious end was in sight. And so farDesmond had escaped wounds and sickness. He had received a commissionin Beauregard's Irregular Horse; in the five days' action about SpionKop he behaved with conspicuous gallantry. Scaife, having obtained hisbillet of Galloper, was with a General under Lord Methuen. 

On the last Monday but one in the term, John was entering the Manorjust before lock-up, when a Sixth Form boy from another house passedhim, running. 

"Have you heard about poor Scaife?" he called out. 

"No--what?"

"Warde will tell you; he knows. " The boy ran on, not wishing to belate. 

John ran too with his heart thumping against his side. He feltcertain, from the expression upon the boy's face, that Scaife was dead. And John recalled with intense bitterness and humiliation moments inpast years when he had wished that Scaife would die. Charles Desmondhad told him only three weeks before that his Harry hoped to join thesmart cavalry regiment in which a commission had been promised toScaife. At that moment John was sensible of an inordinate desire foranything that might come between this wish and its fulfilment. Andnow, Scaife might be lying dead. 

He found Warde in his study staring at a telegram. He looked up asJohn entered, and in silence handed him the message. 

 "_Demon dead. Died gloriously. _"

The telegram came from an Harrovian, an old Manorite at the War Office. 

John sat down, stunned by the news; Warde regarded him gravely. Johnmet his glance and could not interpret it. Presently, Warde saidnervously--

"Why did the fellow write 'Demon' instead of 'Scaife'? I don't likethat. " He looked sharply at John, who did not understand. Then headded, "I've wired for confirmation. There may be a--mistake. "

"What mistake?" said John. Warde's manner confused him, frightenedhim. "What mistake, sir?"

Warde, twisting the paper, answered miserably--

"There has been an action, but not in Scaife's part of Africa. Beauregard's Horse were engaged and suffered severely. And would anyone say 'Demon' in such a serious context?"

"Oh, my God!" said John, pale and trembling. At last he understood. Add two letters to "Demon" and you have "Desmond. " How easily such amistake could be made!--"Desmond, " ill-written, handed to an oldManorite to copy and despatch. 

"It's Scaife--it's Scaife, " John cried. 

Warde said nothing, staring at the thin slip of paper as if he weretrying to wrest from it its secret. 

"Everybody called him 'Demon, '" said John. 

"Still, one ought to be prepared. "

For many hideous minutes they sat there, silent, waiting for the secondtelegram. Dumbleton brought it in, and lingered, anxiously expectant;but Warde dismissed him with a gesture. As the door closed, Wardestood up. 

"If our fears are well founded, " he said solemnly, "may God give youstrength, John Verney, to bear the blow. "

Then he tore open the envelope and read the truth--

 "_Henry Desmond killed in action. _"

"No, " said John, fiercely. "It is Scaife, Scaife!"

Warde shook his head, holding John's hand tight between his sinewyfingers. John's face appalled him. He had known, he had guessed, thestrength of John's feeling for Desmond, but he had not known thestrength of John's hatred of Scaife. And Desmond had been taken--andScaife left. The irony of it tore the soul. 

"Don't speak, " commanded Warde. 

John closed his lips with instinctive obedience. When he opened themagain his face had softened; the words fell upon the silence with aheartrending inflection of misery. 

"And now I shall never know--I shall never know. "

He broke down piteously. Warde let the first passion of grief spenditself; then he asked John to explain. The good fellow saw that ifJohn could give his trouble words it would be lightened enormously. Hedivined what had been suppressed. 

"What is it that you will never know, John?"

At that John spoke, laying bare his heart. He gave details of thenever-ending struggle between Scaife and himself for the soul of hisfriend; gave them with a clearness of expression which proved beyondall else how his thoughts had crystallized in his mind. Wardelistened, holding John's hand, gripping it with sympathy and affection. The romance of this friendship stirred him profoundly; the romance ofthe struggle for good and evil; a struggle of which the issues remainedstill in doubt; a romance which Death had cruelly left unfinished--thishad poignant significance for the house-master. 

"I shall never know now, " John repeated, in conclusion. 

"But you have faith in your friend. "

"He never wrote to me, " said John. 

At last it was out, the thorn in his side which had tormented him. 

"If he had written, " John continued, "if only he had written once. When we parted it was good-bye--just that, nothing more; but I thoughthe would write, and that everything would be cleared up. And now, silence. "

The week wore itself away. A few details were forthcoming: enough toprove that a glorious deed had been done at the cost of a gallant life. England was thrilled because the hero happened to be the son of apopular Minister. The name of Desmond rang through the Empire. Johnbought every paper and devoured the meagre lines which left so muchbetween them. It seemed that a certain position had to be taken--asmall hill. For the hundredth time in this campaign too few men weredetailed for the task. The reek of that awful slaughter on Spion Kopwas still strong in men's nostrils. Beauregard and his soldiers haltedat the foot of the hill, halted in the teeth of a storm of bullets. Then the word was given to attack. But the fire from invisible foessimply exterminated the leading files. The moment came when thosebehind wavered and recoiled. And then Desmond darted forward--alone, cheering on his fellows. They were all afoot. The men rallied andfollowed. But they could not overtake the gallant figure pressing onin front. He ran--so the Special Correspondent reported--as if he wereracing for a goal. The men staggered after him, aflame with hisardour. They reached the top, captured the guns, drove down the enemy, and returned to the highest point to find their leader--shot throughthe heart, and dead, and smiling at death. Of all the men who passedthrough that blizzard of bullets he was the youngest by two years. 

Warde told John that the Head Master would preach upon the last Sundayevening of the term, with special reference to Harry Desmond. CouldJohn bear it? John nodded. Since the first breakdown in Warde'sstudy, his heart seemed to have turned to ice. His religious sense, hitherto strong and vital, failed him entirely. He abandoned prayer. 

Evensong was over in Harrow Chapel. The Head Master, stately insurplice and scarlet hood, entered the pulpit, and, in his clear, calmtones, announced his text, taken from the 17th verse of the FirstChapter of the Book of Ruth--

"The Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee andme. "

The subject of the sermon was "Friendship:" the heart's blood of aPublic School: Friendship with its delights, its perils, its peculiargraces and benedictions. 

"To-night, " concluded the preacher, amid the breathless silence of thecongregation, "this thought of Friendship has for us a specialsolemnity. It is consecrated by the memory of one whom we have justlost. You, who are leaving the school, have been the friends andcontemporaries of Henry Julius Desmond; his features are fresh in yourmemories, and will remain fresh as long as you live. 

 "Tall, eager, a face to remember, A flush that could change as the day; A spirit that knew not December, That brightened the sunshine of May. "

"Those lines, as you know, were written of another Harrovian, who diedhere on this Hill. Henry Desmond died on another hill, and died sogloriously that the shadow of our loss, dark as it seemed to us atfirst, is already melting in the radiance of his gain. To die young, clean, ardent; to die swiftly, in perfect health; to die saving othersfrom death, or worse--disgrace--to die scaling heights; to die and tocarry with you into the fuller ampler life beyond, untainted hopes andaspirations, unembittered memories, all the freshness and gladness ofMay--is not that cause for joy rather than sorrow? I say--yes. HenryDesmond is one stage ahead of us upon a journey which we all must take, and I entreat you to consider that, if we have faith in a future life, we must believe also that we carry hence not only the record of ouracts, whether good or evil, but the memory of them; and that memory, undimmed by falsehood or self-deception, will create for us Heaven orHell. I do not say--God forbid!--that you should desire death becauseyou are still young, and, comparatively speaking, unspotted from theworld; but I say I would sooner see any of you struck down in theflower of his youth than living on to lose, long before death comes, all that makes life worth the living. Better death, a thousand times, than gradual decay of mind and spirit; better death than faithlessness, indifference, and uncleanness. To you who are leaving Harrow, poisedfor flight into the great world of which this school is the microcosm, I commend the memory of Henry Desmond. It stands in our records forall we venerate and strive for: loyalty, honour, purity, strenuousness, faithfulness in friendship. When temptation assails you, think of thatgallant boy running swiftly uphill, leaving craven fear behind, anddrawing with him the others who, led by him to the heights, madevictory possible. You cannot all be leaders, but you can followleaders; only see to it that they lead you, as Henry Desmond led themen of Beauregard's Horse, onward and upward. "

The preacher ended, and then followed the familiar hymn, always sungupon the last Sunday evening of the term:--

 "Let Thy father-hand be shielding All who here shall meet no more; May their seed-time past be yielding Year by year a richer store; Those returning, Make more faithful than before. "

The last blessing was pronounced, and with glistening eyes the boysstreamed out of Chapel; some of them for the last time. 

Upon the next Tuesday, John travelled down into the New Forest. Aprilwas abroad in Hampshire; the larches already were bright green againstthe Scotch firs; the beech buds were bursting; only the oaks retainedtheir drab winter's-livery. 

During the few days preceding Easter Sunday, John rode or walked toevery part of the forest which he had visited in company with his deadfriend. At Beaulieu, standing in the ruins of the Abbey, he could hearDesmond's delightful laugh as he recited the misadventures of HordleJohn; at Stoneycross he sat upon the bank overlooking the moor, whencethey had seen the fox steal into the woods about Rufus's Stone; at theBell tavern at Brook they had lunched; at Hinton Admiral they hadplayed cricket. 

To his mother's and his uncle's silent sympathy John responded butchurlishly. His friend had departed without a word, without a sign;that ate into John's heart and consumed it. For the first time sincehe had been confirmed, he refused to receive the Sacrament. He went tochurch as a matter of form; but he dared not approach the altar in hispresent rebellious mood. 

Again and again he accused himself of having yielded to a craven fearof offending Desmond by speech too plain. Always he had been soterribly afraid of losing his friend; and now he had lost him indeed. This poignancy of grief may be accounted for in part by the previouslong-continued strain of overwork. And it is ever the habit of thosewho do much to think that they might have done more. 

At the beginning of May, John came back to the Hill, for his last term. Out of the future rose the "dreaming spires" of Oxford; beyond them, vague and shadowy, the great Clock-tower of Westminster, keeping watchand ward over the destinies of our Empire. 

In a long letter from Charles Desmond, the Minister had spoken of thesecretaryship to be kept warm for him, of the pleasure and solace thewriter would take in seeing his son's best friend in the place wherethat son might have stood. 

His best friend? Was that true?

The question tormented John. Because Caesar had been so much to him, he desired, more passionately than he had desired anything in his life, the assurance that he had been something--not everything, onlysomething--to Caesar. 

One day, about the middle of the month, John had been playing cricket, the game of all games which brought Caesar most vividly to his mind. Then, just before six Bill, he strolled up the Hill and into theVaughan Library, where go many relics dear to Harrovians are enshrined. Sitting in the splendid window which faces distant Hampstead, John toldhimself that he must put aside the miseries and perplexities of thepast month. Had he been loyal to his friend's memory? Would not amore ardent faith have burned away doubt?

John gazed across the familiar fields to the huge city on the horizon. Soon night would fall, darkness would encompass all things. And then, out of the mirk, would shine the lamps of London. 

Warde's voice put his thoughts to instant flight. Some intuition toldJohn that something had happened. Warde said quietly--

"A letter has come for you in Harry Desmond's hand-writing. "

John, unable to speak, stretched out his hand. 

"Take it, " said Warde, "to some quiet spot where you cannot bedisturbed. "

John nodded. 

"I have seen how it was with you, " Warde continued, with deep emotion, "and you have had my acute sympathy, the more acute, perhaps, becauselong ago a friend went out of my life without a sign. " Warde paused. "Now, unless my whole experience is at fault, you hold in your handwhat you want--and what you deserve. "

Warde left the library; John put the letter into his pocket. Whereshould he go? One place beckoned him. Upon the tower, looking towardsthe Hill, he would read the last letter of his friend. 

Within half an hour he was passing through the iron gates. He had notvisited the garden since that forlorn winter's afternoon, when he camehere, alone, after bidding Desmond good-bye. He could recall thedesolation of the scene: bleak Winter dripping tears upon the tomb ofSummer. With what disgust he had perceived the decaying masses ofvegetation, the sodden turf, the soot upon the bare trunks of thetrees. He had rushed away, fancying that he heard Desmond's voice. "There is a curse on the place. "

Now, May had touched what had seemed dead and hideous, and, lo! amiracle. The hawthorns shone white against the brilliant green of thelaurels; the horse-chestnuts had---to use a fanciful expression ofCaesar's--"lit their lamps. " Out of the waving grass glimmered andsparkled a thousand wild flowers. John heard the glad _Frühlingslied_of bees and birds. Then, opening his lungs, he inhaled thelife-renewing odours of earth renascent; opening his heart he felt aspiritual essence pervading every fibre of his being. Once more thechilled sap in his veins flowed generously. It was well with him andwell with his friend. This conviction possessed him, remember, beforehe opened the letter. 

He ascended the tower, and broke the seal. 

"I have been meaning to write to you, dear old chap, ever since weparted; but, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to tackle it in earnesttill to-night. To-morrow, we have a thundering big job ahead of us;the last job, perhaps, for me. Old Jonathan, you have been the bestfriend a man ever had, the only one I love as much as my ownbrothers--_and even more_. It was from knowing you that I came to seewhat good-for-nothing fools some fellows are. You were always sounselfish and _straight_; and you made me feel that I was the contrary, and that you knew it, and that I should lose your friendship if Ididn't improve a bit. So, if we don't meet again in this jolly oldworld, it may be a little comfort to you to remember that what you havedone for a very worthless pal was not thrown away. 

"Good night, Jonathan. I'm going to turn in; we shall be astir beforedaybreak. Over the veldt the stars are shining. It's so light, that Ican just make out the hill upon which, I hope, our flag will be wavingwithin a few hours. The sight of this hill brings back our Hill. If Ishut my eyes, I can see it plainly, as we used to see it from thetower, with the Spire rising out of the heart of the old school. Ihave the absurd conviction strong in me that, to-morrow, I shall get upthe hill here faster and easier than the other fellows because you andI have so often run up our Hill together--God bless it--and you! Goodnight. "

[1] Brekker, _i. E. _ breakfast. 

THE END

The further fortunes of John Verney and

his friends are related by MR. VACHELL in

JOHN VERNEY