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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hill, by Horace Annesley Vachell
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Hill
+       A Romance of Friendship
+
+Author: Horace Annesley Vachell
+
+Release Date: October 23, 2007 [EBook #23154]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HILL ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Stephen Blundell and the
+Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+_ALSO BY HORACE A. VACHELL_
+
+QUINNEYS'
+
+
+
+
+           THE HILL
+
+    A ROMANCE OF FRIENDSHIP
+
+
+
+    HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL
+
+
+
+
+
+            LONDON
+ JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET
+
+
+
+
+  FIRST EDITION             _April, 1905_
+
+ _Fortieth Impression_      _Jan., 1950_
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+    Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Greek
+    text appears as originally printed.
+
+
+
+
+ To
+ GEORGE W. E. RUSSELL
+
+I dedicate this Romance of Friendship to you with the sincerest pleasure
+and affection. You were the first to suggest that I should write a book
+about contemporary life at Harrow; you gave me the principal idea; you
+have furnished me with notes innumerable; you have revised every page of
+the manuscript; and you are a peculiarly keen Harrovian.
+
+In making this public declaration of my obligations to you, I take the
+opportunity of stating that the characters in "The Hill," whether
+masters or boys, are not portraits, although they may be called,
+truthfully enough, composite photographs; and that the episodes of
+Drinking and Gambling are founded on isolated incidents, not on habitual
+practices. Moreover, in attempting to reproduce the curious admixture of
+"strenuousness and sentiment"--your own phrase--which animates so
+vitally Harrow life, I have been obliged to select the less common types
+of Harrovian. Only the elect are capable of such friendship 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 better than yourself.
+
+                                Believe me,
+                                  Yours most gratefully,
+                              HORACE ANNESLEY VACHELL
+
+ BEECHWOOD,
+   _February 22, 1905_
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+ CHAP.                               PAGE
+
+    I. THE MANOR                        1
+   II. CÆSAR                           19
+  III. KRAIPALE                        35
+   IV. TORPIDS                         58
+    V. FELLOWSHIP                      70
+   VI. A REVELATION                    92
+  VII. REFORM                         107
+ VIII. VERNEY BOSCOBEL                123
+   IX. BLACK SPOTS                    140
+    X. DECAPITATION                   158
+   XI. SELF-QUESTIONING               173
+  XII. "LORD'S"                       189
+ XIII. "IF I PERISH, I PERISH"        211
+  XIV. GOOD NIGHT                     230
+
+
+
+
+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 the
+long platform. The boy wondered why the man, his uncle, was so strangely
+silent. Then, suddenly, the elder John Verney had placed his hands upon
+the shoulders of the younger John, looking down into eyes as grey and as
+steady as his own.
+
+"You'll find plenty of fellows abusing Harrow," he said quietly; "but
+take it from me, that the fault lies not in Harrow, but in them. Such
+boys, as a rule, do not come out of the top drawer. Don't look so
+solemn. You're about to take a header into a big river. In it are rocks
+and rapids; but you know how to swim, and after the first plunge you'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's
+place of Verney Boscobel, this uncle, his dead father's only brother,
+was worshipped as a hero. Indeed he filled so large a space in the boy's
+imagination, that others were cramped for room. John Verney in India, in
+Burmah, in Africa (he took continents in his stride), moved colossal.
+And when uncle and nephew met, behold, the great traveller stood not
+much taller than John himself! That first moment, the instant shattering
+of a precious delusion, held anguish. But now, as the train whirled away
+the silent, thin, little man, he began to expand again. John saw him
+scaling heights, cutting a path through impenetrable forests, wading
+across dismal swamps, an ever-moving figure, seeking the hitherto
+unknowable and irreclaimable, introducing order 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, the
+sense, not yet to be analysed by a boy, of standing alone upon the edge
+of a river, indeed, into which he must plunge headlong in a few minutes.
+Well, Uncle John had taken his "header" with a stout heart--who dared to
+doubt that? Surely he had not waited, shivering and hesitating, at the
+jumping-off place.
+
+The train was now out of sight. John slipped the uncle's tip into his
+purse, and walked out of the station and on to the road beyond, the road
+which led to the top of the Hill.
+
+_The Hill._
+
+Presently, the boy reached some iron palings and a wicket-gate. His
+uncle had pointed out this gate and the steep path beyond which led to
+the top of the Hill, to the churchyard, to the Peachey tomb on which
+Byron dreamed,[1] to the High Street--and to the Manor. It was pleasant
+to remember that he was going to board at the Manor, with its
+traditions, its triumphs, its record. In his uncle's day the Manor
+ranked first among the boarding-houses. Not a doubt disturbed John's
+conviction that it ranked first still.
+
+The boy stared upwards with a keen gaze. Had the mother seen her son at
+that moment, she might have discerned a subtle likeness between uncle
+and nephew, not the likeness of the flesh, but of the spirit.
+
+September rains, followed by a day of warm sunshine, had lured from the
+earth a soft haze which obscured the big fields at the foot of the Hill.
+John could make out fences, poplars, elms, Scotch firs, and spectral
+houses. But, above, everything was clear. The school-buildings, such as
+he could see, stood out boldly against a cloudless 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, where
+mists were chill and blinding, he had been impelled to leave the broad
+high-road and take a path which led into a shadowy future. In obedience
+to an impulse stronger than himself he had taken the short cut to what
+awaited him.
+
+For a few minutes he stood outside the palings, trying to choke down an
+abominable 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 the
+entrance examination. A master from his preparatory school accompanied
+him, an Etonian, who had stared rather superciliously--so John
+thought--at buildings less venerable than those which Henry VI raised
+near Windsor. John, who had perceptions, was elusively conscious that
+his companion, too much of a gentleman to give his thoughts words, might
+be contrasting a yeoman's work with a king's; and when the Etonian,
+gazing across the plains below to where Windsor lay, a soft shadow upon
+the horizon, said abruptly, "I wish Eton had been built upon a hill,"
+John replied effusively: "Oh, sir, it _is_ decent of you to say that."
+The examination, however, distracted his attention from all 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 and taken back to town.
+Coming down the flight of steps, he had seen a few boys hurrying up or
+down the road. At these the Etonian cocked a twinkling eye.
+
+"Queer kit you Harrow boys wear," he said.
+
+John, inordinately grateful at this recognition of himself as an
+Harrovian, forgave the gibe. It had struck him, also, that the shallow
+straw hat, the swallow-tail coat, did look queer, but he regarded them
+reverently as the uniform of a crack corps.
+
+To-day, standing by the iron palings, John reviewed the events of the
+last hour. The view was blurred by unshed tears. His uncle and he had
+driven together to the Manor. Here, the explorer had exercised his
+peculiar personal magnetism upon the house-master, a tall, burly man of
+truculent aspect and speech. John realized proudly that his uncle was
+the bigger of the two, and the giant acknowledged, perhaps grudgingly,
+the dwarf's superiority. The talk, short enough, had wandered into
+Darkest Africa. His uncle, as usual, said little, replying almost in
+monosyllables to the questions of his host; but John junior told himself
+exultantly that it was not necessary for Uncle John to talk; the wide
+world knew what he had done.
+
+Then his house-master, Rutford, had told John where to buy his first
+straw hat.
+
+"You can get one without an order at the beginning of each term," said
+he, in a thick, rasping voice. "But you must ask me for an order if you
+want a second."
+
+Then he had shown John his room, to be shared with two other boys, and
+had told him the hour of lock-up. And then, after tea, came the walk
+down the hill, the tip, the firm grasp of the sinewy hand, and a
+final--"God bless you."
+
+Coming to the end of these reflections, confronted by the inexorable
+future, and the necessity, no less inexorable, of stepping into it, John
+passed through the gate. His heart fluttered furiously, and the lump in
+the throat swelled inconveniently. John, however, had provided himself
+with a "cure-all." Plunging his hand into his pocket, he pulled out a
+cartridge, an unused twenty-bore gun cartridge. Looking at this, John
+smiled. When he smiled he became good-looking. The face, too long,
+plain, but full of sense and humour, rounded itself into the gracious
+curves of youth; the serious grey eyes sparkled; the lips, too firmly
+compressed, parted, revealing admirable teeth, small and squarely set;
+into the cheeks, brown rather than pink, flowed a warm stream of colour.
+
+The cartridge stood for so much. Only a week before, Uncle John, on his
+arrival from Manchuria, had handed his nephew a small leather case and 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 it back
+into his pocket, and strode forward and upward.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Close to the School Chapel, John remarked a curly-headed young gentleman
+of wonderfully prepossessing appearance, from whom emanated an air, an
+atmosphere, of genial enjoyment which diffused itself. The bricks of the
+school-buildings seemed redder and warmer, as if they were basking in
+this sunny smile. The youth was smiling now, smiling--at John. For
+several hours John had been miserably aware that surprises awaited him,
+but not smiles. He knew no Harrovians; at his school, a small one, his
+fellows were labelled Winchester, Eton, Wellington; none, curiously
+enough, Harrow. And already he had passed half a dozen boys, the
+first-comers, some strangers, like himself, and in each face he had read
+indifference. Not one had taken the trouble to say, "Hullo! Who are
+you?" after the rough and ready fashion of the private school.
+
+And now this smiling, fascinating person was actually about to address
+him, 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. John
+wished that his father had not died.
+
+"Yes," pursued the smiling one, "I met him--partridge-shooting at
+home--and he asked me to be on the look-out for you. It's queer you
+should 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 a kid."
+
+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 not
+Hardacre, who are you?"
+
+"Verney. I've just come."
+
+"Verney? That's a great Harrow name. Are you any relation to the
+explorer?"
+
+"Nephew," said John, blushing.
+
+"Ah--you ought to have been here last Speecher.[2] We cheered him, I can
+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 know a
+soul at Harrow."
+
+Desmond smiled. The smile assured John that his name would secure him a
+cordial welcome. Desmond added abruptly, "My name, Desmond, is a Harrow
+name. My father, my grandfather, my uncles, and three brothers were
+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's face,
+he added quickly, "We call _him_ Dirty Dick, you know; but the house
+is--er--one of the oldest and biggest--er--houses." He continued
+hurriedly: "I'm going into Damer's next term. Damer's is always
+chock-a-block, you know."
+
+"Why is Rutford called 'Dirty Dick'?" John asked nervously. "He doesn'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 he
+was unclean. He told his form--oh! the cheek of it!--that in his filthy
+mind one bath a week was plenty," unconsciously the boy mimicked the
+thick, rasping tones--"two, luxury, and three--superfluity! After that
+he was called Dirty Dick. There's another story. They say that years ago
+he went to a Turkish bath, and after a rare good scraping the man who
+was scraping him--nasty job that!--found something which Dirty Dick
+recognized as a beastly flannel shirt he had lost when he was at the
+'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 said
+nothing. John put on his hat, and gave Rutford's name to the young man
+who waited on him. He had an absurd feeling that the young man would
+say, "Oh yes--Dirty Dick's!" One very nice-looking pink-cheeked boy said
+to another boy that he was at Damer's. John could have sworn that the
+hatter's assistant regarded the pink youth with increased deference.
+Why had Uncle John sent him to Dirty Dick's? He hurried out of the shop,
+fuming. Then he remembered the hammerless gun. After all, the Manor had
+been _the_ house once, and it might be _the_ house again.
+
+By this time the boys were arriving. Groups were forming. Snatches of
+chatter reached John's ears. "Yes, I shot a stag, a nine-pointer. My
+governor is going to have it set up for me---- What? Walked up your
+grouse with dogs! We drive ours---- I had some ripping cricket, made a
+century in one match---- By Jove! Did you really?----"
+
+John passed on. These were "bloods," tremendous swells, grown men with a
+titillating flavour of the world about their distinguished persons.
+
+A minute later he was staring disconsolately at a group of his fellows
+just in front of Dir----of Rutford's side door. An impulse seized him to
+turn and flee. What would Uncle John say to that? So he advanced. The
+boys made way politely, asking no questions. As he passed through he
+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. Great emphasis had
+been laid on the "brute," whoever he might be.
+
+Upon the second-floor passage, he found his room and one of its tenants,
+who nodded carelessly as John crossed the threshold.
+
+"I'm Scaife," he said. "Are you the Lord, or the Commoner?" He laughed,
+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 advise
+you 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 and chests
+of drawers, four Windsor chairs, and a square table, covered with
+innumerable inkstains and roughly-carved names.
+
+"The beds let down," Scaife said, "and during the first school the maids
+make them, and shut them up again. It is considered a joke to crawl into
+another fellow's room at night, and shut him up. You find yourself
+standing upon your head in the dark, choking. It is a joke--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 awful row,
+because I let him have it a bit too hard; but I've not been shut up
+since. That bed is a beast. It collapses." He chuckled. "Young Kinloch
+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, but he
+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 striking contrast
+to that smiling, genial youth, being dark, almost swarthy of complexion,
+with strongly-marked features and rather coarse hands and feet.
+
+"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 best
+house in the school."
+
+"It used to be," Scaife answered. "To-day, it comes jolly near being the
+worst. The fellows in other houses are decent; they don't rub it in;
+but, between ourselves, the Manor has gone to pot ever since Dirty Dick
+took hold of it. Damer's is the swell house now."
+
+John began to unstrap his portmanteau. Scaife puzzled him. For instance,
+he displayed no curiosity. He did not put the questions always asked at
+a Preparatory School. Without turning his thought into words, John
+divined that at Harrow it was bad form to ask questions. As he wanted to
+ask a question, a very important question, this enforced 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 Verney
+Boscobel."
+
+"Oh! his name is on the panels at the head of the staircase; and it's
+carved 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!' and
+don't go into the next room. Two Fifth Form fellows have it. It would be
+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, the passages
+were swarming with boys. Soon John would see them assembled in Hall,
+where their names would be called over by Rutford. Everybody--John had
+been told--was expected to be present at this first call-over, except a
+few boys who might be coming from a distance. John worked his way along
+the upper passage, and down the second flight of stairs till he came to
+the first landing. Here, close to the house notice-board, were some oak
+panels covered with names and dates, all carved--so John learned
+later--by a famous Harrow character, Sam Hoare, once "Custos" of the
+School. The boy glanced eagerly, ardently, up and down the panels. Ah,
+yes, here was his father's name, and here--his uncle's. And then out of
+the dull, finely-grained oak, shone other names familiar to all who love
+the Hill and its traditions. John's heart 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 made him thrill and tremble. They were _Old
+Harrovians_, these fellows, men whom his uncle had known, men of whom
+his dear mother, wise soul! had spoken a thousand times. The landing and
+the passages were roaring with the life of the present moment. Boys, big
+and small, were chaffing each other loudly. Under some circumstances,
+this new-comer, a stranger, ignored entirely, might have felt desolate
+and forlorn in the heart of such a crowd; but John was tingling with
+delight and pleasure.
+
+Suddenly, the noise moderated. John, looking up, saw a big fellow slowly
+approaching, exchanging greetings with everybody. John turned to 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 read
+there--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. "We
+can't have too many Verneys. If I can do anything for you, let me know."
+
+He nodded, and strode on. John saw that several boys were staring with a
+new interest. None, however, spoke to him; and he returned to his room
+with a blushing face. Scaife had unpacked his clothes and put them away;
+he was now surveying the bare walls with undisguised contempt.
+
+"Isn't this a beastly hole?" he remarked.
+
+John, always interested in people rather than things, examined the room
+carefully. Passing down the passage he had caught glimpses of other
+rooms: some charmingly furnished, gay with chintz, embellished with
+pictures, Japanese fans, silver cups, and other trophies. Comparing
+these with his own apartment, John said shyly--
+
+"It's not very beefy."
+
+"Beefy? You smell of a private school, Verney. Now, is it worth doing
+up? You see, I shall be in a two-room next term. If we all chip in----"
+he paused.
+
+"I've brought back two quid," said John.
+
+Scaife's smile indicated neither approval nor the reverse. John's
+ingenuous confidence provoked none in return.
+
+"We'll talk about it when Kinloch arrives. I wonder why his people sent
+him here."
+
+John had studied some books, but not the Peerage. The great name of
+Kinloch 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 the
+Kinlochs--they're a great cricketing family--go to Eton. The duke must
+have 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 the
+FitzRoys, and the St. Maurs--but the Kinlochs, as I say, have gone to
+Eton. 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 going
+to be sacked!"
+
+To these and other sallies Scaife replied with his slightly ironical
+smile. John perceived that his companion was popular and at the same
+time 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 some
+portraits of famous Old Harrovians. As a room it was disappointing at
+first sight, almost commonplace. But in it, John soon found out,
+everything for weal or woe which concerned the Manor had taken place or
+had been discussed. There were two fireplaces and two large doors. The
+boys passed through one door; upon the threshold of the other stood the
+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 does
+come over on our side of the House, he slimes about in carpet
+slippers--the beast!"
+
+Lawrence entered as Scaife spoke. John saw that his strongly-marked
+eyebrows went up, when he perceived the butler. He approached, and took
+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 traditions of
+the Manor. He had a shrewd, clean-shaven face, and the deportment of an
+archbishop. The Head of the House took the paper, and began to call
+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." Then Dumbleton
+said in his smooth, bland voice, "His lordship is in the drawing-room
+with Mr. Rutford."
+
+The boys exchanged knowing glances. Scaife looked contemptuous. The next
+moment the last name had been called, and the boys scurried into the
+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 boys to
+be funny. I saw you didn't mean it."
+
+Lawrence spoke in a loud voice. John realized that he had so spoken
+purposely, 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 abusing
+their house-master. They took no notice of John, who leaned against the
+wall.
+
+"His lordship is in the drawing-room with Mr. Rutford."
+
+A freckle-faced, red-headed youth, with a big elastic mouth had imitated
+Dumbleton admirably.
+
+"What a snob Dick is!" drawled a very tall, very thin,
+aristocratic-looking boy.
+
+"And a 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 mind
+was answered within a minute. The "brute" was Rutford. Towards the end
+of the previous term gossip had it that the master of the Manor had been
+offered an appointment elsewhere. Whereat the worthier spirits in the
+ancient house rejoiced. Now the joy was turned into wailing and gnashing
+of teeth.
+
+"Is he a beast to _us_?" said John.
+
+The freckle-faced boy answered affably, "That depends. His Imperial
+Highness"--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, like
+myself, a beast of beasts; ay, the very king of beasts, is--Dirty Dick."
+
+And then--oh, horrors!--the door of No. 15 opened, and Rutford appeared,
+followed by a seemingly young and very fashionably dressed lady. The
+boys jumped to their feet. All, except Scaife, looked preternaturally
+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 ripe
+greengage.
+
+The duchess advanced, smiling graciously. "These"--Rutford named the
+other boys--"are Egerton, Lovell, and--er--Duff."
+
+Scaife, alone of those present, appreciated the order in which his
+schoolfellows had been named. Egerton--known as the Caterpillar--was the
+son of a Guardsman; Lovell's father was a judge; Duff's father an
+obscure parson.
+
+The duchess shook hands with each boy. "Your father and I are old
+friends," she said to Egerton; "and I have had the pleasure of meeting
+your uncle," she smiled at John.
+
+Duff looked unhappy and ill at ease, because it was almost certain that
+his last sentence had been overheard by the house-master. The duchess
+asked a few questions and then took her leave. She and her son were
+dining 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 tall,
+thin Egerton.
+
+Duff, an optimist, like all red-headed, freckled boys, appealed to the
+others, each in turn. The verdict was unanimous.
+
+"He hates me like poison," said Duff. "I shall catch it hot. What an
+unlucky beggar I am!"
+
+"Pooh!" said Scaife. "He knows jolly well that the whole school calls
+him Dirty Dick."
+
+But whatever hopes Duff may have entertained of his house-master's
+deafness were speedily laid in the dust. Within five minutes Rutford
+reappeared. He stood in the doorway, glaring.
+
+"Just now, Duff," said he, "I happened to overhear your voice, which is
+singularly, 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 spoke of
+_me_ as 'Dirty Dick,' and I fancy I caught the word 'beast.' You will
+write out, if you please, one hundred Greek lines, accents and stops,
+and bring them to me, or leave them with Dumbleton, _twenty-five_ lines
+at a time, _every_ alternate half hour during the afternoon of the next
+half 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 he
+rushed at John.
+
+"I say," he spluttered, "you're a good sort--ain't he, Demon? Refusing
+to say 'Good night' to the beast because he was ragging me. But he'll
+never forgive you--never!"
+
+"Oh yes, he will," said Scaife. "It won't be difficult for Dirty Dick to
+forgive the future Verney of Verney Boscobel."
+
+John stared. "Verney Boscobel?" he repeated. "Why, that belongs to my
+uncle. Mother and I hope he'll marry and have a lot of jolly kids of his
+own."
+
+"You hope he'll marry? Well, I'm----"
+
+John's jaw stuck out. The emphasis on the "hope" and the upraised
+eyebrow 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." He
+laughed derisively. "_Thinking_ what they please is about the only
+liberty allowed to new boys. Even the Duffer learned to hold his tongue
+during his first term."
+
+The Caterpillar--the tall, thin, aristocratic boy--spoke solemnly. He
+was 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 in
+the 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 bad impression."
+
+"But I didn't mean to be funny. I told Lawrence so directly after
+call-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 your
+uncle'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! The
+Duffer 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 at
+least an hour. He lay awake, thinking over the events of this memorable
+day. Whenever he closed his eyes he beheld two objects: the spire of
+Harrow Church and the vivid, laughing face of Desmond. He told himself
+that he liked Desmond most awfully. And Scaife too, the Demon, had been
+kind. But somehow John did not like Scaife. Then, in a curious
+half-dreamy condition, not yet asleep and assuredly not quite awake, he
+seemed to see the figure of Scaife expanding, assuming terrific
+proportions, impending over Desmond, standing between him and the spire,
+obscuring part of the spire at first, and then, bit by bit,
+overshadowing the whole.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[1] Byron, writing to John Murray, May 26, 1822, and giving directions
+for the burial of poor little Allegra's body, says--
+
+"I wish it to be buried in Harrow Church. There is a spot in the
+churchyard, near the footpath, on the brow of the hill looking towards
+Windsor, and a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie, or
+Peachey), where I used to sit for hours and hours as a boy: this was my
+favourite spot; but, as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body
+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 favourite
+termination of many substantives. "Harder," for hard-ball 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
+
+_Cæsar_
+
+    "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 first
+time what place he had taken in the school. He sat with the other
+new-comers, staring, open-eyed, at nearly six hundred boys, big and
+small, assembled together in the Speech-room. So engrossed was he that
+he scarcely heard the Head Master's opening prayers. John was obsessed,
+inebriated, with the number of Harrovians, each of whom had once felt
+strange and shy like himself. From his place close to the great 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 a
+list in his hand the school-removes, and the names and places taken by
+new boys. He began at the lowest form with the name of a small urchin
+sitting near John. The urchin blinked and blushed as he realized that he
+was "lag of the school." John knew that he had answered fairly well the
+questions set by the examiners; he had no fear of finding himself
+pilloried in the Third Fourth; still, as form after form did not include
+his name, he grew restless and excited. Had he taken a higher place
+than the Middle Shell? Yes; no Verney in the Middle Shell. The Head
+Master began the removes of the top Shell. Now, now it must be coming.
+No; the clear, penetrating tones slowly articulated name after name, but
+not his.
+
+"Verney."
+
+At last. Many eyes were staring at him, some enviously, a few
+superciliously. John had taken the Lower Remove, the highest form but
+one 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 his
+surroundings, seeing his mother's face, hearing her sigh of pleasure
+when she learned that already her son was halfway up the school.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+You may be sure those first forty-eight hours were brim-full of
+excitements. First, John bought his books, stout leather-tipped,
+leather-backed volumes, on which his name will be duly stamped on
+fly-leaf and across the edges of the pages. And he bought also, from
+"Judy" Stephens,[4] a "squash" racquet, "squash" balls, and a yard ball.
+From the school Custos--"Titchy"--a noble supply of stationery was
+procured. Moreover, young Kinloch announced that his mother had given
+him three pounds to spend upon the decoration of No. 15, so Scaife
+declared his intention of spending a similar sum, and in consequence No.
+15 became a gorgeous apartment, the cynosure of every eye that passed.
+The characters of the three boys were revealed plainly enough by their
+simple furnishings. Scaife bought sporting prints, a couple of
+Détaille's lithographs, and an easy-chair, known to dwellers upon the
+Hill as a "frowst"; Kinloch hung upon his side of the wall four pretty
+reproductions of French engravings, and with the help of three yards of
+velveteen and some cheap lace he made a very passable imitation of the
+mantel-cover in his mother's London boudoir; John scorned velveteen,
+lace, "frowsts," and French engravings. He put his money into a pair of
+red curtains, and one excellent photogravure of Landseer's "Children of
+the Mist." Having a few shillings to spare, he bought 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 the
+difference between a scrimmage at a small preparatory school and the
+genuine thing at Harrow. Lawrence insisted that all new boys should
+play, and the Caterpillar informed him that he would have to learn the
+rules of Harrow "footer" by heart, and pass a stiff examination in them
+before the House Eleven, with the penalty of being forced to sing them
+in Hall if he failed to satisfy his examiners. The Duffer lent him a
+House-shirt of green and white stripes, and a pair of white duck shorts,
+and with what pride John put them on, thinking of the far distant day
+when he would wear a "fez"[5] instead of the commonplace house-cap!
+Lawrence said a few words.
+
+"You'll have to play the compulsory games, Verney, which begin after the
+Goose Match,[6] but I want to see you playing as hard as ever you can in
+the house-games. You'll be knocked about a bit; but a Verney won't mind
+that--eh?"
+
+"Rather not," said John, feeling very valiant.
+
+Thirdly, there was the first Sunday, and the first sermon of the Head
+Master, with its plain teaching about the opportunities and perils of
+Public School life. John found himself mightily affected by the singing,
+and the absence of shrill treble voices. The booming basses and
+baritones of the big fellows made him shiver with a curious bitter-sweet
+sensation never experienced before.
+
+Lastly, the pleasant discovery that his Form treated him with courtesy
+and kindness. Desmond, in particular, welcomed him quite warmly. And
+then and there John's heart was filled with a wild and unreasonable
+yearning for this boy's friendship. But Desmond--he was called "Cæsar,"
+because his Christian names were Henry Julius--seemed to be very
+popular, a bright particular star, far beyond John's reach although for
+ever in his sight. Cæsar never offered to walk with him: and he refused
+John's timid invitation to have food at the "Tudor Creameries."[7] Was
+it possible that a boy about to enter Damer's would not be seen walking
+and talking with a fellow out of Dirty Dick's? This possibility
+festered, till one morning John saw his idol walking up and down the
+School Yard with Scaife. That evening he said to Scaife--
+
+"Do you like Desmond?"
+
+"Yes," Scaife replied decisively. "I like him better than any fellow at
+Harrow. You know that his father is Charles Desmond--the Cabinet
+Minister and a Governor of the school?"
+
+"I didn't know it. I suppose Cæsar Desmond likes you--_awfully_."
+
+"Do you? I doubt it."
+
+No more was said. John told himself that Cæsar--he liked to think of
+Desmond as Cæsar--could pick and choose a pal out of at least three
+hundred boys, half the school. How extremely unlikely that he, John,
+would be chosen! But every night he lay awake for half an hour longer
+than he ought to have done, wondering how, by hook or crook, he could do
+a service to Cæsar which must challenge interest and provoke,
+ultimately, friendship.
+
+Meantime, he was slowly initiated by the Caterpillar into Harrow ways
+and customs. Fagging, which began after the first fortnight, he found a
+not unpleasant duty. After first and fourth schools the other fags and
+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 to nip up
+to the Creameries to get a slice of salmon, or cutlets, or sausages.
+Fagging at Harrow--which varies slightly in different houses--is hard or
+easy according to the taste and fancy of the fag's master. Some of the
+Sixth Form at the Manor made their fags unlace their dirty football
+boots. Kinloch, who since he left the nursery had been waited upon by
+powdered footmen six feet high, now found, to his disgust, 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. The Caterpillar 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 to envy the members of the Elevens as
+they rolled arm-in-arm down the High Street! How often he wondered if
+the day would ever dawn when Cæsar and he, outwardly and inwardly linked
+together, would stroll up and down the middle-walk below the Chapel
+Terrace: that sunny walk, whence, on a fair day, you can see the
+insatiable monster, London, filling the horizon and stretching red,
+reeking hands into the sweet country--the middle-walk, from which all
+but Bloods were rigidly excluded.
+
+Much to his annoyance--an annoyance, be it said, which he managed to
+hide--John seemed to attract young Kinloch almost as magnetically as he
+himself was attracted to Cæsar. John had not the heart to shake off the
+frail, delicate child, who was christened "Fluff" after his first
+appearance in public. Fluff had taken the First Fourth and ingenuously
+confessed to any one who cared to listen that he ought to have gone to
+Eton. A beast of a doctor prescribed the Hill. And even the almighty
+duke failed to get him into Damer's, another grievance. He had been
+entered since birth at the crack house at Eton; and now to be
+pitchforked 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'd
+better get it into your silly head that it's the best school in this or
+any other world--isn't it, Demon?"
+
+"I'm sure the Verneys, and the Egertons, and the Duffs have always
+thought so."
+
+"But it isn't really," whimpered poor Fluff. "You fellows know that
+everybody talks of Eton and Harrow. Who ever heard of Harrow and Eton?
+People say--I've heard my eldest brother, Strathpeffer, say it again and
+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't expect
+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 you
+might tumble to pieces, but if I hear you slanging the school or our
+house, 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 king
+here, haven't we, Caterpillar?"
+
+"Yes," said the Caterpillar.
+
+"I never believed it," said Scaife.
+
+"He was a Spaniard,[8] or an Italian, you know," the Duffer explained.
+"The duke of something or t'other; and an ambassador came down and
+offered the beggar the Spanish crown, when he was in the First Fourth,
+and of course he gobbled it--who wouldn't? And then Victor Emmanuel
+interfered. That's all true, you can take your Bible oath, because my
+governor told me so, and he--well, he's a parson."
+
+"Then it _must_ be true," said Scaife. "Now, young Fluff, don't forget
+that Harrow is a school fit for a king and nearer to Heaven than Eton by
+at least six hundred feet."
+
+So saying, the Demon marched out of the room, followed by Fluff,
+slightly limping.
+
+"Sorry I turfed[9] that little ass so hard," said the Duffer to John. "I
+say, Verney, the Demon is rather a rum 'un, ain't he? Sometimes I can't
+quite make him out. He's frightfully clever and all that, but I had a
+sort of beastly feeling just now that he didn't--eh?--quite mean what 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 a
+form-master who maintained that it was no use having a fact stored in
+the head unless it slipped readily out of the mouth. The Duffer, who
+never thought, because speaking was so much easier, grew impatient at
+John's silence.
+
+"Well, you needn't look like an owl, Verney. You know that Scaife's
+grandfather was a navvy."
+
+"I don't know," John replied.
+
+"And I don't care," said the Duffer. "Let's go and have some food at the
+Creameries."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Looking back afterwards, John often wondered whether, unconsciously,
+the Duffer had sown a grain of mustard-seed destined to grow into a
+large tree. Or, had the intuition that Scaife was other than what he
+seemed furnished the fertile soil into which the seed fell? In any case,
+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 he never achieved
+more or less than was necessary--generous with his money, handsome and
+well-mannered, blessed, in fine, with so many gifts of the gods, yet
+lacked a soul.
+
+This, of course, is putting into words the vague speculations and
+reasonings of a boy not yet fourteen. If an Olympian--one of the
+masters, for instance, or the Head of the House--had said, "Verney, has
+the Demon a soul?" John would have answered promptly, "Ra--ther! He's
+been awfully decent to Fluff and me. We'd have had a hot time if it
+hadn't been for him," and so forth.... And, indeed, to doubt Scaife's
+sincerity and goodness seemed at times gross disloyalty, because he
+stood, firm as a rock, between the two urchins in his room and the
+turbulent crowd outside. This defence of the weak, this guarding of
+green fruit from the maw of Lower School boys, afforded Scaife an
+opportunity of exercising power. He had the instincts of the potter,
+inherited, no doubt; and he moulded the clay ready to his hand with the
+delight of a master-workman. Nobody else knew what the man of millions
+had said to his boy when he despatched him to Harrow; but the Demon
+remembered every word. He had reason to respect and fear his sire.
+
+"I'm sending you to Harrow to study, not books nor games, but boys, who
+will be men when you are a man. And, above all, study their weaknesses.
+Look for the flaws. Teach yourself to recognize at a glance the liar,
+the humbug, the fool, the egotist, and the mule. Make friends with as
+many as are likely to help you in after life, and don't forget that one
+enemy may inflict a greater injury than twenty friends can repair.
+Spend money freely; dress well; swim with the tide, not against it."
+
+A year at Harrow confirmed Scaife's confidence in his father's worldly
+wisdom. Big for his age, strong, with his grandsire's muscles, tough as
+hickory, he had become the leader of the Lower School boys at the Manor.
+The Fifth were civil to him, recognizing, perhaps, the expediency of
+leaving him alone ever since the incident of the cricket stump. The
+Sixth found him the quickest of the fags and uncommonly obliging. His
+house-master signed reports which neither praised nor blamed. To Dirty
+Dick the boy was the son of a man who could write a cheque for a
+million.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Two things worthy of record happened within a month; the one of lesser
+importance can be set down first. Charles Desmond, Cæsar's father, came
+down to Harrow and gave a luncheon at the King's Head. From time
+immemorial the Desmonds had been educated on the Hill. The family had
+produced some famous soldiers, a Lord Chancellor, and a Prime Minister.
+In the Fourth Form Room the stranger may read their names carved in oak,
+and they are carved also in the hearts of all ardent Harrovians. Mr.
+Desmond, though a Cabinet Minister, found time to visit Harrow once at
+least in each term. He always chose a whole holiday, and after attending
+eleven-o'clock Bill[10] in the Yard, would carry off his son and his
+son's friends. The School knew him and loved him. To the thoughtful he
+stood for the illustrious past, the epitome of what John Lyon's[11] boys
+had fought for and accomplished. Four sons had he--Harrovians all. Of
+these Cæsar was youngest and last. Each had distinguished himself on the
+Hill either in work or play, or in both.
+
+Charles Desmond stood upon the step just above the master who was
+calling Bill.
+
+"That's Cæsar'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 man like
+this resplendent, stately personage, smiling and nodding to the biggest
+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 screw as a
+Cabinet Minister."
+
+Scaife moved away, and John could hear him say to another boy, in an
+easy, friendly tone, "Mr. Desmond told Cæsar 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. Suddenly
+Cæsar'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 spotted
+you, even if Harry had not told me you were in his form. You must lunch
+with us. Cut along, now."
+
+So John was dismissed, brim-full of happiness, which almost overflowed
+when Cæsar met him with an eager--
+
+"I'm so glad, Verney. I say, the governor's a nailer at picking out the
+old names, isn't he?"
+
+So John ate his luncheon in distinguished company, and felt himself for
+the first time to be somebody. As the youngest guest present, to him was
+accorded the place of honour, next the most charming host in
+Christendom, who put him at ease in a jiffy. How good the cutlets and
+the pheasant tasted! And how the talk warmed the cockles of his heart!
+The brand of the Crossed Arrows shone upon all topics. Who could expect,
+or desire, aught else! Cæsar's governor seemed to know what every
+Harrovian had done worth the doing. Easily, fluently, he discoursed of
+triumphs won at home, abroad, in the camp, on the hustings, at the bar,
+in the pulpit. And his anecdotes, which illustrated every phase of life,
+how pat to the moment they were! One boy complained ruefully of having
+spent three terms under a form-master who had "ragged" him. Charles
+Desmond sympathized--
+
+"Bless my soul," said he, "don't I remember being three terms in the
+Third Fifth when that tartar old Heriot had it? I dare swear I got no
+more than my deserts. I was an idle vagabond, but Heriot made my life
+such a burden to me that I entreated my people to take me away from
+Harrow. And then my governor urged me to put my back into the work and
+get a remove. And I did. And would you believe it, upon the first day of
+the next term I wired to my people, 'You must take me away. I've got my
+remove all right--and so has Heriot.'"
+
+How gaily the speaker led the laugh which followed this recital! And the
+chaff! Was it possible that Cæsar dared to chaff a man who was supposed
+to have the peace of Europe in his keeping? And, by Jove! Cæsar could
+hold his own.
+
+So the minutes flew. But John noticed, with surprise, that the Demon
+didn't score. In fact, John and he were the only guests that contributed
+nothing to the feast save hearty appetites. It was strange that the
+Demon, the wit of his house and form, never opened his mouth except to
+fill it with food. He answered, it is true, and very modestly, the
+questions addressed to him by his host; but then, as John reflected, any
+silly fool in the Fourth Form could do that.
+
+After luncheon, the boys were dismissed, each with a hearty word of
+encouragement and half a sovereign. John was passing the plate-glass
+splendours of the Creameries, when the Demon overtook him, and they
+walked down the winding High Street together. Scaife had never walked
+with John before.
+
+"That was worth while," Scaife said quietly. John could not interpret
+this 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 that head of yours?
+You can be cheeky, if you like."
+
+John wondered how Scaife had divined that he wished to be cheeky. His
+mentor had said so much to Fluff and him about the propriety of not
+putting on "lift" or "side" in the presence of an older boy, that he had
+choked back a retort which occurred to him.
+
+"You're thinking," continued the Demon, in his clear voice, "that I
+didn't use my brains just now, but, my blooming innocent, I can assure
+you I did. Very much so. I played 'possum. Put that into your little
+pipe and smoke it."
+
+At four-o'clock Bill, John noticed Cæsar's absence: a fact accounted for
+by the presence of a mail-phaeton, which, he knew, belonged to Mr.
+Desmond, drawn up--oddly enough--opposite the Manor. What a joke to
+think that Cæsar was drinking tea with Dirty Dick!
+
+After Bill, having nothing better to do, John and Fluff went for a walk
+on the Sudbury road. They had played football before Bill, and each had
+realized his own awkwardness and insignificance. Poor Fluff, almost
+reduced to tears, with a big black bruise upon his white forehead,
+confessed that he preferred peaceful games--like croquet, and intended
+to apply for a doctor's certificate of exemption. Demanding sympathy, he
+received a slating.
+
+"I play nearly as rotten a game as you do, Fluff," John said; "but
+Scaife expects us to be Torpids,[12] 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 to write
+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, the only
+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 it
+out. 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 that
+this was an appeal from weakness to strength, and that he, no older and
+but a little bigger than Fluff, had strength to spare, strength to
+shoulder 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, you
+know."
+
+"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. I must
+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 really wanted
+for a friend." He displayed a radiant face, turned suddenly, and ran
+off. John watched him, frowning, because Fluff was a good little 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. How proud
+Cæsar was of his father! And the father, obviously, was just as proud of
+his son. What a pair! And if only Cæsar were his friend! By Jove! It was
+rather a rum go, but John was as mad keen to call Cæsar friend as poor
+Fluff to call John friend. Serious food for thought, 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 Cæsar out of his thought and on to the narrow
+path in front of him.
+
+"I'm not a ghost," said Cæsar.
+
+John hesitated.
+
+"I was thinking of you," he confessed; "and then I heard your voice and
+saw you. It gave me a start. I say, it _was_ good of your governor to
+ask me."
+
+"Hang my governor! He's the----"
+
+Cæsar closed his lips firmly, as if he feared that terrible adjectives
+might burst from them. John missed the sparkling smile, the gay glance
+of the eyes.
+
+"What's up?" he demanded.
+
+Cæsar hesitated; looked at John, read, perhaps, the sympathy, the honest
+interest, possibly the affection, in the grey orbs which met his own so
+steadily.
+
+"What's up?" he repeated. "Why, I'm not going into Damer's, after all."
+
+"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 Cæsar, after a slight pause. "Damer told the
+governor that two fellows he had expected to leave at the end of this
+term were staying on. The governor hinted that Damer added something
+about straining a point, and letting me in ahead of three other 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 my
+brothers have been at Damer's. And he knew I'd set my heart on going
+there. Look how civil the fellows are to me. I've been in and out of the
+house like a tame cat. Confound it! if Damer did want to strain a point,
+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 argued with him; but
+he can put his foot down. Let's cut all that. Of course, I don't want to
+stop in a beastly Small House for ever, and, if Damer's is closed to me,
+I should like Brown's, but Brown's is full too. And there are other good
+houses. But where--where do you think I _am_ going?"
+
+"Reeds?"
+
+"I don't call Reed's so bad. No; I'm going to Dirty Dick's. I'm coming
+to you."
+
+"Oh, I say."
+
+"Why, dash it all, you're grinning. I don't want to be a cad--Dirty
+Dick's is _your_ house--but--after Damer's! O Lord!"
+
+The grin faded out of John's face. Cæsar's loss outweighed his own gain.
+
+"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 sends me
+there. Why?"
+
+"Ask another," said John.
+
+"I asked him another, and what do you think he said, in that peculiar
+voice of his which always dries me up? 'Harry,' said he, 'when you're a
+little older and a good deal wiser, you'll be able to answer that
+question yourself.'"
+
+John's face brightened. A glimmering of the truth shone out of the
+darkness. 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 had
+said about the Verneys. Desmond glanced at him keenly. He detested
+flattery laid on too thick. But this was a genuine tribute. For the
+first time he smiled.
+
+"Thank you, Verney," he said, more genially. "What you say is utter rot;
+but it was decent of you to say it, and I'm glad that you and I are
+going to be in the same house."
+
+For his life John could not help adding, "And Scaife, you forget
+Scaife?" 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 in me.
+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 one forgets,
+is he? No, I wonder if I could get into the Demon's room next term?"
+
+"I'm in his room. It's a three-room."
+
+"A two-room is much jollier."
+
+"Our room is not bad."
+
+Cæsar was hardly listening. John caught a murmur: "The old Demon and I
+would get along capitally."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[4] The racquet Professional.
+
+[5] The cap of honour worn by the House Football Eleven.
+
+[6] The Goose Match, the last cricket-match of the year, played between
+the Eleven and Old Boys, on the nearest half-holiday to Michaelmas Day.
+
+[7] A fashionable "tuck"-shop.
+
+[8] H.R.H. Prince Thomas of Savoy, Duke of Genoa, was elected King by
+the Cortes of Spain, October 3, 1869, while he was a boy at Harrow. The
+crown was finally declined January 1, 1870. The Prince was nick-named
+"King Tom."
+
+[9] To "turf," _i.e._ to kick.
+
+[10] Calling over.
+
+[11] John Lyon founded Harrow School, 1571.
+
+[12] Boys who have not been more than two years in the school are
+eligible as "Torpids;" out of each house a Torpid football Eleven is
+chosen.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER III
+
+_Kraipale_[13]
+
+    "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 between
+Cabinet Minister and Head Master upon that eventful day which sent Cæsar
+to curse and swear upon the Sudbury road. The Head Master was not an
+Harrovian, and on that account was the better able to perceive
+time-honoured abuses. At Harrow the dominant chord among masters and
+boys is a harmony of strenuousness and sentiment. Inevitably, the
+sentiment becomes, at times, sentimental; and then strenuousness pushes
+it into a corner. When honoured veterans are wearing out, loyalty,
+gratitude for past service, reluctance to inflict pain, keep them in
+positions of responsibility which mentally and physically they are unfit
+to administer. It is almost as difficult to turn an Eton or Harrow
+master out of his house, as to turn a parson of the Church of England
+out of his pulpit. More, in selecting a house-master as in selecting a
+parson, a man's claims to preferment are too often determined by
+scholarship, by length of former service, by interest with authority,
+rather than by ability to govern a body of boys made up of widely
+different parts. A capable form-master may prove an incapable
+house-master. Richard Rutford, to give a concrete example, came to
+Harrow knowing nothing about Public Schools, and caring as little for
+the traditions of the Hill, but with the prestige of being a Senior
+Classic. Nobody questioned his ability to teach Greek. In his own line,
+and not an inch beyond, the Governors were assured that Rutford was a
+success. In due time he accepted a Small House, so small that its
+autocrat's incapacity as an administrator escaped notice. Rutford waited
+patiently for a big morsel. He wrote a couple of text-books; he married
+a wife with money and influence; he entertained handsomely. It is true
+he became popular neither with masters nor boys, but his wine was as
+sound as his scholarship, and his wife had a peer for a second cousin.
+Eventually he accepted the Manor. Within a month, those in authority
+suspected that a blunder had been made; within a year they knew it. The
+house began to go down. Leaven lay in the lump, but not enough to make
+it rise, because the baker refused to stir the dough. First and last,
+Rutford disliked boys, misunderstood them, insulted them, ignored those
+who lacked influential connections, toadied and pampered the "swells."
+
+Just before John Verney came to Harrow, the Manor was showing
+unmistakable signs of decay. A new Head Master, recognizing "dry-rot,"
+realizing the necessity of cutting it out, was confronted with that
+bristling obstacle--Tradition. He possessed enough moral courage to have
+told Rutford to resign, because in a thousand indescribable ways the man
+had neglected his duty; but, so said the Tories, such a step might
+provoke a public scandal, and if Rutford refused to go--what then?
+Nothing definite could be proved against the man. His sins had been of
+omission. Dismayed, not defeated, the Head Master considered other
+methods of regenerating the Manor. Very quietly he made his appeal to
+the Old Harrovians, many of whom were sending their sons and nephews to
+other houses. He invited co-operation. John Verney, the Rev. Septimus
+Duff, Colonel Egerton--half a dozen enthusiastic Manorites--stepped
+forward. Lastly, for Charles Desmond the Head Master baited his hook.
+
+"The reform which we have at heart," said he, "must come from within
+and from below. The house wants a Desmond in it. I was not allowed to
+wield the axe; but, after all, there are more modern methods of
+decapitation. And, believe me, I am not asking any man more than I am
+prepared to do myself. My own nephew goes to the Manor after next
+holidays."
+
+"Um!" said Mr. Desmond, stroking his chin.
+
+"Lawrence, the Head of the House, is a tower of strength, like all the
+Lawrences."
+
+"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 of
+luck! The duke wanted to send his son, a delicate lad, to Harrow, and I
+did mention to him that Rutford had a vacancy."
+
+"O Ulysses! And Scaife? How did you handle that large bale of
+bank-notes?"
+
+"Rutford captured Scaife."
+
+"Handsome boy--his son. Lunched with us this morning. Well, well, you
+have persuaded me. But what an unpleasant quarter of an hour I shall
+have with Harry!"
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As a new boy, John slaved at "footer," and displayed a curious
+inaptitude for squash racquets. At all games Cæsar and Scaife were
+precociously proficient. John's clumsiness annoyed them. Often the
+Caterpillar joined him and Fluff, giving them to understand that this
+must be regarded as an act of grace and condescension which might be
+suitably acknowledged at the Tudor Creameries.
+
+The Caterpillar mightily impressed the two small boys. He had acquired
+his nick-name from the very leisurely pace at which he advanced up the
+school. He wore "Charity tails," as they were called, the swallow-tail
+coat of the Upper School mercifully given to boys of the Lower School
+who are too tall to wear with decency the short Eton jacket; he
+possessed a trouser-press; and his "bags" were perfectly creased and
+quite spotless. From tip to toe, at all seasons and in all weathers, he
+looked conspicuously spick and span. Chaff provoked the solemn retort:
+"One should be well groomed." He spoke impersonally, considering it bad
+form to use for first person singular. Amongst the small boys he ranked
+as the Petronius of the Lower School.
+
+One day the Caterpillar said grandiloquently, "You kids will oblige me
+by not shouting and yelling when you speak to me. I've a bit of a head."
+
+"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 the
+Caterpillar. "I was talking with one of the Fifth, when a fellow came in
+with a flask. A gentleman ought to be able to carry a few glasses of
+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 the
+grocer's," replied the Caterpillar. "There's some drinking going on in
+our house, and--and other things. One mentions it to you kids as a
+warning."
+
+"Thanks," said John.
+
+"Not at all; you're rather decent little beggars. They" (the Fifth Form
+was indicated), "they've let you alone so far, but you may have trouble
+next term, so look out! And if you want advice, come to me."
+
+Beneath his absurd pompous manner beat a kindly heart, and the small
+boys divined this and were grateful. None the less the word "spirits"
+frightened them. Next day John happened to find himself alone with
+Cæsar. Very nervously he asked the question--
+
+"I say, do any of the big fellows at Damer's drink?"
+
+"Drink? Drink--what?"
+
+"Well, spirits."
+
+Cæsar snorted an indignant denial. The fellows at Damer's were above
+that sort of thing. The house prided itself upon its tone. Tone
+constituted Damer's glory, and was the secret of its success. John
+nodded, but two days afterwards the Demon took him by the arm, twisted
+it sharply, and said--
+
+"What the deuce did you mean by telling Cæsar that the Manorites drink?"
+
+"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 answered
+roughly; "and because you took the Lower Remove don't think for an
+instant that you are on a par with Cæsar and me, or even the old
+Caterpillar--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 of hanging
+about Cæsar, 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 twist
+of the arm. And he had brains enough to know that Scaife was not the boy
+to dislike any one without reason. John crawled to the conclusion that
+Scaife had become jealous of his increasing intimacy with Desmond.
+
+However, when the three boys were preparing their Greek for First
+School, Scaife seemed his old self, friendly, amusing, and cool as a
+cucumber. 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. It doesn't pay
+to be skewed. We must mug up our 'cons' well enough to scrape along
+without 'puns' and extra school."
+
+The three co-operated. Out of forty lines of Vergil, Scaife would be
+fifteen, John fifteen, and the Caterpillar ten; _ten_, because, as he
+pointed out, he had been nearly three years in the school. Then each
+fellow in turn construed his lines for the benefit of the others. A
+difficult passage was taken by Scaife to a clever friend in the Fifth.
+Sometimes Scaife would be absent twenty minutes, returning flushed of
+face, and slightly excited. John wondered if he had been drinking, and
+wondered also what Cæsar would say if he knew. About this time fear
+possessed his soul that Cæsar would come into the Manor and be taught by
+Scaife to drink. An occasional nightmare took the form of a desperate
+struggle between himself and Scaife, in which Scaife, by virtue of
+superior strength and skill, had the mastery, dragging off the beloved
+Cæsar, to plunge with him into fathomless pools of Scotch whisky.
+Somehow in these horrid dreams, Cæsar played an impressive part. Scaife
+and John fought for his body, while he looked on, an absurd state of
+affairs, never--as John reflected in his waking hours--likely to happen
+in real life. Of all boys Cæsar seemed to be the best equipped to fight
+his own battles, and to take, as he would have 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 of the
+School Eleven in Dirty Dick's. Some of the big fellows in the Fifth
+seized this opportunity to "celebrate," as they called it. Scaife was
+popular with the Fifth because--as John discovered later--he cheerfully
+lent money to some of them and never pressed for repayment. And
+Scaife's getting his "fez" before he was fifteen might be reckoned an
+achievement. Cæsar, in particular, could talk of nothing else. He
+predicted that the Demon would be Captain of both Elevens, school
+racquet-player, and bloom into a second C. B. Fry.
+
+John, upon this eventful evening, soon became aware of a shindy. It
+happened that Rutford was giving a dinner-party, and extremely unlikely
+to leave the private side of the house. John heard snatches of song,
+howls, and cheers. Ordinarily Lawrence (in whose passage the shindy was
+taking place) would have stopped this hullabaloo; but Lawrence was
+dining with his house-master, and Trieve, an undersized, weakly
+stripling, lacked the moral courage to interfere. John was getting a
+"con" from Trieve when an unusually piercing howl penetrated the august
+seclusion.
+
+"What _are_ they doing?" asked Trieve, irritably.
+
+John hesitated. "It's the Fifth," he blurted out. "They've got Scaife in
+there, you know."
+
+"Oh, indeed! Scaife is an excuse, is he, for this fiendish row? Go and
+tell Scaife I want to see him."
+
+John looked rather frightened. He felt like a spaniel about to retrieve
+a lion. And scurrying along the passage he ran headlong into the 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 and
+laughter 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 "Come in!"
+
+John entered.
+
+Most of the boys--there were about six of them--gazed at him in
+stupefaction. Scaife, very red in the face, burst into shrill shouts of
+laughter. Somehow the laughter disconcerted John. He forgot to deliver
+his message, but stood staring at Scaife, quaking with a young boy'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, you
+tell Trieve, with my compliments, that Scaife can't come. See? Now--hook
+it!"
+
+But John still stared at Scaife. The boy's dishevelled appearance, his
+wild 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's fag.
+I'm nobody's fag now, am I?"
+
+He appealed to the crowd. It was an unwritten rule at the Manor that
+members of the House cricket or football Elevens were exempt from
+fagging. But the common law of fagging at Harrow holds that any lower
+boy is bound to obey the Monitors, provided such obedience is not
+contrary to the rules of the school. In practice, however, no boy is
+fagged outside his own house, except for cricket-fagging in the summer
+term.
+
+"Fag? Not you? Tell Miss Trieve to mind her own business."
+
+John departed, feeling that an older and wiser boy might have tact to
+cope with this situation. For him, no course of action presented itself
+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 told
+the truth, just as some boys quibble and prevaricate, simply and
+naturally. But now, he hesitated. If he hinted--a hint would
+suffice--that Scaife had hurt himself--and what more likely after the
+furious bit of playing which had secured his "fez"?--Trieve, probably,
+would do nothing. John felt in his bones that Trieve would be glad of an
+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, who has
+inspired mordant jealousy and envy in the heart of his second in
+command?
+
+"Tell Scaife to come here at once," said Trieve, eyeing a couple of
+canes in the corner. "And if he should happen to ask what I want him
+for, say that I mean to whop him."
+
+John fled.
+
+"Whop him?"
+
+The Fifth howled rage and remonstrance. Scaife fiercely announced his
+intention of not taking a whopping from Trieve. None the less, the
+announcement had a sobering effect upon the elder boys. The consequence
+of a refusal must prove serious. Sooner or later Scaife would be
+whopped, probably by Lawrence, no ha'penny matter that!
+
+"You'd better go, Demon," said Lovell. "Trieve can't hurt you. I'd speak
+to the idiot, only he hates me so poisonously, just as I hate him."
+
+"I'll go," said the Caterpillar.
+
+John had not noticed the Caterpillar before. He stood up, spick and
+span, carefully adjusting his coat, pulling down his immaculate cuffs.
+
+"Good old Caterpillar," said somebody. "By Jove, he really thinks that
+Trieve will listen to--him!"
+
+"Any one who has been nearly three years in this house," said the
+Caterpillar, "has the right to tell Miss Trieve that she is--er--not
+behaving like a lady."
+
+"And he'll tell you you're screwed, you old fool."
+
+"I am not screwed," replied the Caterpillar, solemnly. "Whisky and
+potass does not agree with everybody; but I am not screwed, not at all."
+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 and
+frowning.
+
+"I knew it would be useless. Look here, Demon, you must grin and bear
+it."
+
+"No," said Scaife, "not from Miss Trieve."
+
+He laughed as before. The Fifth exchanged glances. Then Scaife said
+thickly, "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 trying
+to find a way out of a wood which of a sudden had turned into a tangled
+thicket. And so what each would have strenuously prevented came to pass.
+Scaife pulled a bottle from under a sofa-cushion, and put it to his
+lips--John, standing at the door, could not see what was taking place.
+
+When the bottle was torn from Scaife's hands, the mischief had been
+done. The boy had swallowed a quantity of raw spirit. Till now the
+whisky had been much diluted with mineral water.
+
+"I'm going to him," yelled Scaife, struggling with his friends. "And I'm
+going to take a cricket stump with me. Le'me go--le'me go!"
+
+The Caterpillar surveyed him with disgust. After a brief struggle Scaife
+succumbed, helpless and senseless.
+
+"One is reminded sometimes," said the Caterpillar, solemnly, "that the
+poor Demon is the son of a Liverpool merchant, bred in or about the
+Docks."
+
+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 de
+Cologne 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. "You
+know 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 worthy
+woman panted upstairs, Scaife had been carried to his own room, hastily
+undressed and put into bed, where he lay breathing stertorously. The
+matron, good, easy soul, accepted the boys' story unhesitatingly. A fit,
+of course, poor dear child! Mr. Rutford must be summoned.
+
+With the optimism of youth, those present began to hope that dust might
+be thrown into the eyes of Dirty Dick. And, with a little discreet
+delay, the Demon might recover, when he could be relied upon to play his
+part with adroitness and ability. Accordingly, the matron was urged to
+try her ministering hand first, amid the chaff, which, even in
+emergencies, 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 was
+telling me that one of his aunts died in a fit"--"Shut up, you silly
+fool," this in a whisper, emphasized by a kick; "do you want to send her
+out of this with a hornets' nest tied to her back hair?--That's a lie,
+Mrs. Puttick. He's humbugging you. Scaife told me that his fits were
+nothing. Yes; he had a slight sun-stroke when he was a kid, you know,
+and the least bit of excitement affects him."
+
+"Perhaps I'd better fetch a drop of brandy," said Mrs. Puttick, staring
+anxiously 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 body
+with a wet towel; but the body lay motionless, his face horribly red
+against the white pillow, his heavy breathing growing more laboured and
+louder. And despite the perfume of the eau de Cologne which had drenched
+pillow and pyjamas, the smell of whisky spread terror to the crowd. If
+Rutford came in, he would swoop on the truth.
+
+"We'll souse the brandy all over him," said the Caterpillar; "and then
+no one can guess."
+
+"How about burnt feathers?" suggested Lovell. He had seen a fainting
+housemaid treated with this family restorative.
+
+Mrs. Puttick appeared with the brandy, which Lovell administered
+externally. Still, Scaife remained unconscious. Then a pillow was ripped
+open, and enough feathers burned to restore--as the Caterpillar put it
+afterwards--a ruined cathedral. The stench filled the passage and
+brought to No. 15 a chattering crowd of Lower Boys. And then the
+conviction seized everybody that Scaife was going to die.
+
+"Make way, make way, please!"
+
+It was Rutford, who, followed by Lawrence, strode down the passage into
+No. 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 for the
+doctor. You've tried," he sniffed the air, "all the wrong remedies, of
+course. Feathers--phaugh!--perfume--brandy! The boy must be propped up
+and the blood drawn from his head by applying hot water to his feet."
+
+The Fifth exchanged glances. Why had this not occurred to them? What a
+fool Mrs. Puttick was!
+
+"A rush of blood to the head!" Rutford liked to hold forth, and he had
+been told that he was a capital after-dinner speaker. He had just risen
+from an excellent dinner; he was not much alarmed; and his audience
+listened with flattering attention. Scaife was lifted into a chair; 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 be
+perceived; the breathing became easier, the face less red. Rutford
+continued in his best manner: "Mark the _vis medicatrix naturæ_. Nature,
+assisted by hot water, gently accomplishes her task. Very simple, and
+not one of you had the wit to think of a remedy close at hand, and so
+easy to administer. The breathing is becoming normal. In a few minutes I
+predict that we shall have the satisfaction of seeing the poor dear
+fellow open his eyes, and he will tell us that he is but little the
+worse. Yes, yes, a rush of blood to the head producing cerebral
+disturbance."
+
+He smiled blandly, receiving the homage of the Fifth.
+
+"And now, Lovell, what do you know about this? Did this fit take place
+here?"
+
+"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--awfully
+excited, 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--for the
+siphons were still on the table and the syrups, and the _débris_ of
+cakes and meringues. Rutford would be sure to examine the scene of the
+catastrophe; and the whisky bottle was carefully hidden. "We were having
+a spread, sir, and we asked Scaife to join us. His play to-day made 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; and Trieve,
+it seems, heard us. Instead of sending for me, sir, he sent Verney 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 him
+from house-fagging. We thought Trieve had forgotten that, sir; and that
+it would be rather fun--I'm not excusing myself, sir--we thought it
+would be a harmless joke if we persuaded Scaife not to go."
+
+"Um!"
+
+"We were very foolish, sir. And then Trieve sent another message saying
+that Scaife was to go to his room at once to be--whopped."
+
+"To be whopped. Um! Rather drastic that, very drastic under the
+circumstances."
+
+"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 listen to
+me. He insisted upon whopping Scaife for what he called disobedience and
+impudence. Upon my honour, sir, I tried, we all tried, to persuade
+Scaife to take his whopping quietly, but he seemed to 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 noticed
+that."
+
+"Really, really----"
+
+"Yes," said Lovell, nodding his head reflectively. "He frothed at the
+mouth, and then----"
+
+"Grew quite black in the face," interpolated a third boy, who was
+determined 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 he didn'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 first
+signs of returning consciousness, a flicker of the eyelids, a convulsive
+tremor of the limbs. Rutford bent down.
+
+"Well, my dear Scaife, how are you? We've been a little anxious, all of
+us, but, I ventured to predict, without cause. Tell us, my poor boy, how
+do you feel?"
+
+Scaife opened his eyes. Then he groaned dismally. Rutford was standing
+to the right of the chair and foot-bath. The Fifth were facing Scaife.
+He met their anxious, admonishing glances, unable to interpret them.
+
+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, obscuring
+Rutford's massive figure. Scaife groaned again, putting his hand to his
+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 I am.
+Ugh!"
+
+The groans fell on a terrifying silence. Rutford glanced keenly from
+face to face. Then he said slowly--
+
+"The wretched boy is--_drunk_!"
+
+At the sound of his house-master's voice, Scaife relapsed into an
+insensibility which no one at the moment cared to pronounce counterfeit
+or 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 Dick was
+the last man to waive an advantage. Now, the Caterpillar had quietly
+left No. 15, as soon as Rutford entered it. Not from any cowardly
+motive, but--as he put it afterwards--"because one makes a point of
+retiring whenever a rank outsider appears. One ought to be particular
+about the company one keeps." It says something for the boy's character,
+that this statement was accepted by the house as unvarnished truth.
+Lovell glanced at the other Fifth Form boys, as Rutford 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 a
+gentleman. Rutford and he stared at each other, the boy pale, but
+self-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. Large, fat
+tears were trickling down Fluff's cheeks. Somehow he felt convinced
+that John was involved in a frightful row.
+
+"Run away, Kinloch," said his house-master. "I wish to speak with
+Lawrence and Verney."
+
+He turned to Lawrence as he spoke. John glanced at Scaife. His eyes were
+open. Silently, Scaife placed a trembling finger upon his lips. The
+action, the expression in the eyes, were unmistakable. John understood,
+as plainly as if Scaife had spoken, that silence, where expulsion
+impended, was not only expedient but imperative. Kinloch crept out of
+the room. Rutford examined Scaife, who feigned insensibility. Then he
+addressed Lawrence.
+
+"Go to Lovell's room, Lawrence, and institute a thorough search. If you
+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 his
+rasping, truculent tone. "And don't you dare to tell me lies, sir!"
+
+John was about to repudiate warmly his house-master's brutal injunction,
+when the habit of thinking before he spoke closed his half-opened lips.
+Immediately, his face assumed the obstinate, expressionless look which
+made those who searched no deeper than the surface pronounce him a dull
+boy. Rutford, for instance, interpreted this stolidity as unintelligence
+and lack of perception. John, meantime, was struggling with a thought
+which shaped itself slowly into a plan of action. He had just heard
+Lovell lie to save the Caterpillar. John knew well enough that he might
+be called upon to lie also, to save not himself, but Scaife. If he held
+his tongue and refused 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 could
+only 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 he
+isn'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 a
+sort of diabolical sobriety. At that moment, one thing alone seemed
+certain, Scaife had regained full possession of his faculties. Rutford
+stared 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 on
+Whit-Monday----" He was aware that he had made an impression upon this
+big, truculent man.
+
+"Don't try to be funny with me, Verney."
+
+"On no, sir, as if I should dare!"
+
+"Well, well, we are wasting time. Trieve sent you to Lovell's room to
+fetch Scaife?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"And what was Scaife doing when you went into the room? Be very
+careful!"
+
+John considered. "He was laughing, sir."
+
+"Laughing, was he?"
+
+"But he stopped laughing when I gave him Trieve's message, and then he
+said 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, now
+that he had got his 'fez.' If he had been drunk, sir, he wouldn't have
+thought of that, would he?"
+
+"Um," said Rutford, slightly shaken. John described his return to
+Trieve's room, and Trieve's threat.
+
+"Lovell and you tell the same story."
+
+"Why, yes, sir." John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; but his
+face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless.
+
+Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recited what
+he knew and what he suspected. He had hardly finished speaking, when
+Scaife opened his eyes for the second time. By a curious coincidence,
+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 kid
+and got hold of some curaçoa at one of my father's parties."
+
+"Just so," said the doctor.
+
+"Same buzzing in the head, same beastly feeling, same--same old--same
+old--giddiness." He closed his eyes, and his head fell heavily upon his
+chest.
+
+"It looks like concussion," said the doctor, doubtfully. "You say he
+fell?" 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 two
+he'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 spirits are
+found, I shall be glad to believe that I have made a very pardonable
+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 rules of
+the school had been made to-night by certain boys in this house. It
+appears I was mistaken. No more will be said on the subject by me; and I
+think that the less said by you, big and small, the better. Good night."
+
+He strode away into the private side.
+
+Two days later, Scaife came back to No. 15. John wondered why he stared
+at him so hard upon the first occasion when they happened to be alone.
+Then Scaife said--
+
+"Well, young Verney, I shan't forget that, if it hadn't been for you, I
+should have been sacked. And I shan't forget either that you're not half
+such a fool as you look."
+
+John exhibited surprise.
+
+"The way you handled the beast," continued Scaife, "was masterly. I
+heard every word, though my head was bursting. I shall tell Lovell that
+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 went
+away laughing. He came back with the Caterpillar half an hour later, and
+the three boys sat down as usual to prepare some Livy. John was sensible
+that his companions treated him not only as an equal--a new and
+agreeable experience--but as a friend. In the course of the first ten
+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 the
+Creameries. Of all the strange things that had happened during the past
+fortnight, this to our simple John seemed the strangest. He was not
+conscious of having done or said anything to justify the esteem and
+consideration in which Scaife, the Caterpillar, and Lovell seemed to
+hold him.
+
+"You've forgotten Desmond," he said to Scaife, when the latter mentioned
+the names of his guests.
+
+"Cæsar isn't coming. By the way, Verney, you've not been talking to
+Cæsar about the row in our house?"
+
+"No," said John. "Lawrence came round and said that I must keep my mouth
+shut."
+
+"And naturally you did what you were told to do?"
+
+The half-mocking tone disappeared in a burst of laughter as John
+answered--
+
+"Yes, of course."
+
+"And I suppose it never entered your head that Lawrence would not have
+been 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 should be exaggerated."
+
+"Exactly. Lots of fellows would go about saying that I was dead
+drunk--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 Dick like 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 good enough.
+We've chucked the stuff away."
+
+"If they'd found it----"
+
+"Ah--if! The old Caterpillar attended to that. He's a downy bird, I can
+tell you. When Dick came into our room, he slipped back to Lovell's
+room, carried off the whisky, hid it, washed the glasses, and then
+dirtied them with siphon and syrup. The Caterpillar and you showed great
+head. We shall drink your healths to-morrow--in tea and chocolate."
+
+John wondered what Scaife had said to the Fifth. At any rate, they asked
+John no questions, and treated him with distinguished courtesy and
+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 the
+Creameries. Now, look here, Verney, I've met your uncle, and he asked me
+to keep an eye on you. Because of that I made you my fag--you, a green
+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 every
+blessed--and _cursed_"--he spoke with great emphasis--"thing that goes
+on in this house. I know, for instance, that dust was thrown, and very
+cleverly 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's lucky for
+Lovell and Co. that one innocent kid was mixed up in that affair. But
+it's been rather unlucky for you. I'd sooner see you kicked about a bit
+by those fellows than petted. I'm sorry--sorry, do you 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 to
+fagging. Lawrence became aware of faithful service: that his toast was
+always done to a turn, that his daily paper was warmed, as John had seen
+the butler at home warm the _Times_, that his pens were changed, his
+blotting-paper renewed, and so forth. In John's eyes, Lawrence occupied
+a position near the apex of the world's pyramid of great men.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[13] κραιπάλη is translated by Liddell and Scott as "the result of a
+debauch."
+
+
+
+
+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 farther accident or
+incident. Apart from the preparation of work, John saw little of Scaife
+or Egerton. The Fifth nodded to him in a friendly fashion when he passed
+them in the street, and, greater kindness on their part, left him alone.
+Possibly, Lawrence had said a word to Lovell. Such leisure as John
+enjoyed (a new boy at Harrow has not much) he spent with the devoted
+Fluff. Desmond and Scaife walked together on Sunday afternoons. But the
+fact that Desmond seemed to be vanishing out of his horizon made no
+difference to John's ever-increasing affection for him. Very humbly, he
+worshipped at a distance. On clear, dry days Fluff and he would climb to
+the top of the wall of the squash racquet-courts to see Scaife and
+Desmond play a single. They were extraordinarily well-matched in
+strength, activity, and skill. John noticed, however, that the Demon
+lost his temper when he lost a game, whereas Cæsar only laughed. Somehow
+John divined that the Demon was making the effort of his life to secure
+Desmond's friendship. And Cæsar had ideals, standards to which the Demon
+pretended to attain. Good, simple John made sure that Cæsar would
+elevate the Demon to his plane, that evil would be exorcised by good.
+Only in his dreams did the Demon have the advantage.
+
+Just before the end of the term, Cæsar said to him--
+
+"After all, I'm jolly glad I'm coming into your House, because the old
+Demon 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 have not
+played in a cock-house match at cricket or footer for years, still there
+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. Then there 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 man
+of millions had arranged this. To John was given a two-room, also, with
+the Duffer as stable companion. Fluff remained in No. 15. The Duffer had
+got his remove from the Top Shell into John's form. Scaife and Desmond
+were elevated into the Upper Remove. It followed, therefore, that Scaife
+and Desmond prepared work in their own room, the Caterpillar 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 governed
+himself accordingly. He put on a "barmaid"[14] collar and spent much
+time on the top step of the boys' entrance to the Manor. No mere
+two-year-old presumed to occupy this sacred spot. Had he dared to do so,
+the Caterpillar would have made things very sultry for him. Also, he
+informed the Duffer and John that, by virtue of his position, he
+proposed to prepare no work at all. Each "con" was divided into two
+equal parts: the Duffer "mugged" up one; John the other. Then the
+Caterpillar would be summoned, and glean the harvest. The Duffer had a
+crib or two, but the Caterpillar forbade their use.
+
+"You kids," said he, "ought not to use 'Bohns.' Besides, it's
+dangerous."
+
+The Caterpillar's deportment and coolness filled John and the Duffer
+with respect and admiration. The master in charge of the Lower Remove
+happened to be short-sighted. The Caterpillar took shameful advantage of
+this. At repetitions, for instance, he would read Horace's odes off a
+torn-out page concealed in the palm of his hand, or--if practicable--pin
+the page on to the master's desk.
+
+He had genius for extricating himself (and others) out of what boys call
+tight places. One anecdote, well known to the Lower School and repeated
+as proof of the Caterpillar's masterly methods, may serve to illustrate
+the sort of influence Egerton wielded. When he was in the Fourth, his
+form met in the Old Schools in a room not far from that august chamber
+used by the Head Master and Upper Sixth. One day, the master in charge
+of the form happened to be late. The small boys in the passage
+celebrated his absence with dance and song. When the belated man
+arrived, a monitor awaited him. The Head Master presented his
+compliments to Mr. A---- and wished to learn the names of the boys who
+had created such a scandalous disturbance. Mr. A---- invited the
+roysterers to give up their names under penalties of extra school.
+Hateful necessity! Silence succeeded. A---- grew irate. The monitor
+tried 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 that
+I find, on careful inquiry, that Egerton was--whispering."
+
+A shout of laughter from Olympus proclaimed that the message had been
+delivered. The Caterpillar had saved the situation.
+
+John became a disciple of this accomplished young gentleman and tried
+to imitate him. For Egerton represented, faithfully enough, traditions
+to which John bowed the knee. Upon any point of schoolboy honour his
+authority ruled supreme. He told the truth among his peers; he loathed
+obscenity; 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, but nowadays
+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'm not
+a marrying sort of man, but if I do have sons I shall send 'em here,
+even if I have to pinch a bit."
+
+This was the side of Egerton which appealed so strongly to John. The
+Caterpillar was an Harrovian to the core, like the Duffer and Cæsar
+Desmond. He deplored the increasing predominance of sons of very rich
+men. And he anathematized Harrovian fathers who were persuaded by
+Etonian 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 the School,
+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 presented itself.
+The Duffer and he bribed a "Chaw"[15] to throw gravel against the
+windows of the room where the boys were supposed to be mastering the
+problems of Euclid and algebra. The "tique"[16] master had been Third
+Wrangler, but he couldn't tackle his Division properly. Upon this
+occasion the "chaw" created such a disturbance that (on audacious
+demand) leave was granted to the Duffer and John to capture the
+offender. The young rascals pursued the "chaw" as far as the
+Metropolitan Station, and presented that conscientious youth with
+another sixpence. Then it occurred to John that it might be expedient to
+capture some bogus prisoner; so by means of talk, sugared with
+chocolates, they persuaded a little girl to impersonate the thrower of
+gravel. The little girl, carefully coached in her part, was led to the
+Wrangler, but stage-fright made her burst into tears at the critical
+moment. Somehow or other the truth leaked out; the Duffer and John were
+sent up to the Head Master and "swished." Each collected a few twigs of
+the birch, carefully preserved to this day.
+
+Meantime, the Torpid house-matches were coming on, and the School
+agreed, wonderingly, that Dirty Dick's had a chance of being cock-house.
+The fact that the Manor has lost caste brought about this possibility.
+Boys just under fifteen found room at the Manor when other houses were
+full. All the Manorites in the Shell and Removes were fellows who had
+come to Harrow rather over than under fourteen years of age.
+
+And when the list of the Torpid Eleven was posted, didn't John's heart
+boil 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 the
+semi-final, with Damer's. When the teams met in the playing-fields the
+difference in the size of the players was remarked. Damer's Torpids were
+small boys, not much bigger than John or the Duffer. But they had behind
+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 fight till 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 in Scaife's
+strength lay the weakness of the Manorites. They relied upon one player;
+Damer's pinned faith to eleven.
+
+As it happened to be a fine day, the School turned out in force to
+witness the match. Most of the masters were present, and some ladies.
+Rutford, however, had business elsewhere. The School commented upon his
+absence with sly smiles and shrugs of the shoulder. Some of the
+Manorites were indifferent; the better sort raged. The Caterpillar
+appeared upon the ground in a faultless overcoat, carrying a large bag
+of lemons. His straw hat was cocked at a slight angle.
+
+"One is really uncommonly obliged to Dirty Dick for staying away," he
+told everybody. "Speaking personally, the mere sight of him is very
+upsetting to me. Keen as one feels about this match, one can't deny that
+there is not room in a footer field for Dirty Dick and a self-respecting
+person."
+
+None the less, the absence of their house-master had a bad effect upon
+the Torpids. Damer, you may be sure, had come down, prepared to cheer
+louder than any boy in his house; Damer, it was whispered, had been
+known 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's played
+collectively; the Manorites rather waited upon the individual. When
+Scaife's chance came, so it was predicted, he would go through the
+Damer's centre as irresistibly as a Russian battleship cuts through a
+fleet 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 his
+wooden countenance, how the game was going; for he accepted either
+defeat or victory with a dignified self-restraint. A smart bit of work
+provoked a bland, "Well played, sir, _very well_ played, sir!" uttered
+in 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 the
+glorious days of old, had given notice to leave when he learned that
+Dirty Dick was about to assume command; but had been prevailed upon to
+stay by the promise of an enormous salary. Nothing disturbed his
+equanimity. On the previous Saturday evening, John had heated the wrong
+end of the poker in No. 15, knowing that Dumber's duty constrained him
+to march round the House after "lights out," to rake out any fires that
+might be still burning. Snug under his counterpane, the practical joker
+awaited, chuckling, a choleric word from the impassive and impeccable
+butler. How did Dumber divine that the poker was unduly hot and black
+with soot underneath? Who can answer that question? The fact remains
+that he seized John's best Sunday trousers which were laid out on a
+chair, and holding the poker with these, accomplished his task without
+remark or smile. The trousers had to be sent to the tailor's to be
+cleaned.
+
+Not far from Dumber stood a group of small boys, including the unhappy
+Fluff--unhappy because he was not playing, despite arduous training
+(entirely to please John) and systematic coaching. His failure meant
+further separation from John, whom, it will be remembered, he would have
+been allowed to call by his Christian name, had he been included amongst
+the Torpids. Of late, Fluff had not seen much of John, and in his dark
+hours he allowed his thoughts to linger, not unpleasantly sometimes,
+upon premature death and John's subsequent remorse.
+
+Meantime, Scaife and Desmond were playing a furious game which must have
+proved successful had it not been for the admirable steadiness of the
+enemy. Lawrence watched their efforts with compressed lips and frowning
+brows. He knew--who better?--that his cracks were tearing themselves to
+tatters; but his protests were drowned by the shrill cheers of the
+fags.
+
+"Rutfords--Rutfor-r-r-r-r-ds! Go it, old Demon!--Jolly well played,
+Cæsar!--Sky him![17]--Well skied, sir!--Ah-h-h-h! Well given--well
+taken!"
+
+The last, long-drawn-out exclamation proclaimed that "Yards"[18] had
+been given to Scaife right in front of Damer's base. Damer's retreated;
+Scaife, with heaving chest, balanced the big ball between the tips of
+his fingers.
+
+"Oh-h-h-h-h!"
+
+Scaife had missed an easy shot. Lawrence could see that the boy was
+trembling with disappointment and mortification. Barbed arrows from
+Damer'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. The
+Caterpillar turned to Lovell.
+
+"Showing temper, ain't he?"
+
+"Yes," said Lovell.
+
+"Clever chap," said the Caterpillar, reflectively; "but one is reminded
+that a stream can't rise higher than its source. Not mine that--the
+governor's! Cæsar 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 so
+little judgment that the odds amongst the sporting fellows went to six
+to four against the Manor. At the beginning of the game they were six to
+four the other way. And, inevitably, Scaife's wild and furious efforts
+unbalanced Desmond's play. Both boys were out of their proper places to
+the confusion of the rest of the team. Within half an hour Damer's had
+scored two bases to nothing.
+
+The Caterpillar distributed halves of lemons. Lawrence went up to
+Scaife. The captain of the Torpids was standing apart, not far from
+Desmond, who was sucking a lemon with a puzzled expression. Gallant,
+sweet-tempered, and always hopeful, Cæsar could not understand his
+friend's passion of rage and resentment. With the tact of his race,
+however, he held aloof, smiling feebly, because he had sworn to himself
+not to frown. Had he looked to his right, he would have seen John, also
+sucking a lemon, but understudying his idol's nonchalant attitude and
+smile. John was sensible of an overpowering desire to fling himself upon
+the ground and howl. Instead he sucked his lemon, stared at 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 missed an
+easy base which has happened to me and every other player scores of
+times. Come here, Desmond."
+
+Desmond joined them. Lawrence's face brightened when he saw hopeful eyes
+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 a
+little common sense. You've overdone it, both of you. Take my tip:
+they'll play up like blazes. Defend your own base; and then, when
+they're spent, trample on 'em."
+
+"Thank you," said Desmond.
+
+Scaife nodded sulkily.
+
+None the less he had too great respect for Lawrence's ability and
+experience as a captain to disregard his advice. After the kick-off,
+Damer's _did_ play up, and the Manor had to defend its base against
+sustained and fierce attack. Again and again a third base was almost
+kicked, again and again superior weight prevailed in the scrimmages.
+Within ten minutes Damer's were gasping and weary. And then, the ball
+was forced out of the scrimmage and kicked to the top side, Desmond's
+place in the field. Comparatively fresh, seeing the glorious
+opportunity, grasping it, hugging it, Cæsar swooped on the ball. He had
+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 to his
+ears like the deep booming of breakers upon a lee shore. To many of
+those watching him, the sight of that graceful figure, that shining,
+ardent face, revealing the promise which youth and beauty always offer
+to a delighted world, became an ineffaceable memory. Damer turned to the
+Head of his house.
+
+"And Desmond ought to be one of _us_," he groaned.
+
+And now Cæsar had passed all forwards. If he keeps his wits a base is
+certain. The full back alone lies between him and triumph. But this is
+the moment, the psychological moment, when one tiny mistake will prove
+irrevocable. The Head of Damer's whispers as much to Damer, who smiles
+sadly.
+
+"His father's son will not blunder now," he replies.
+
+Nor does he. The mistake--for mistake there must be on one side or
+t'other--is made by Damer's back. As the ball rolls halfway between
+them, 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-house
+match, not a semi-final. It was the wealth of Dives against the widow's
+mite that the winner of this match would defeat easily either of the two
+remaining houses. And not a man or boy on the ground could name with any
+conviction the better eleven. The betting languished at evens.
+
+Moreover, both sides were playing "canny," risking nothing, nursing
+their energies for the last furious five minutes. Damer began to fidget;
+than he dropped out of the front rank of spectators. He couldn't stand
+still to see his boys win--or lose. He paced up and down 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 below
+Stairs.
+
+"What do you think, Dumber?" asked Fluff.
+
+"I think, my lord," replied Dumber, solemnly, "that every minute
+improves our chance, but if it goes on _much_ longer," he added
+phlegmatically, "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 long
+ago," or, in scathing accents, "It's not your heart that's out of whack,
+Dumber, but your blithering old headpiece. What a pity you can't buy a
+new one!" and so on and so forth.
+
+Very soon, however, this chaff ceased. Excitement began to shake the
+spectators. They felt it up and down their spinal columns; it formed
+itself into lumps in their throats; it gave one or two cramp in the
+calves of their legs; it reddened many cheeks and whitened as many more.
+The Caterpillar pulled out his watch.
+
+"Three and a half minutes," he announced in a voice which fell like the
+crack of doom upon the silent crowd. If they could have cheered or
+chaffed! But the absolute equality of the last desperate struggle
+prevented any demonstration. The ball was worried through a scrimmage,
+escaped to the right, slid out to the left, only to be returned whence
+it came. It seemed as if both sides were unable to kick it, and when
+kicked it seemed to refuse to move as if weighted by the ever-increasing
+burden of suspense....
+
+"Now--now's your chance!" yelled the Manorites. To their flaming senses
+the ball appeared to be lying, a huge blurred sphere, upon the muddy
+grass; and the Elevens were stupidly staring at it. The Saints be
+praised! Some fellow can move. Who is it? The players, big and little,
+are so daubed with mud from head to foot as to be 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 charged valiantly
+into the captain of Damer's at the moment when that illustrious chief is
+about to kick the ball to a trusted lieutenant on the left. He succeeds
+in kicking the ball into John's face. John goes over 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 are between him
+and the Damer base.
+
+Alas! The Manor is about to receive a second object-lesson upon the
+fatuity of trusting to individuals. Confident in Cæsar's ability to take
+the ball at least within kicking distance of the base, they have rushed
+forward, leaving unguarded their own citadel. Cæsar, going too fast,
+misjudges the distance between himself and the back. A second later the
+ball is well on its way to the Manor's base. The back awaits it, coolly
+enough; knowing that Damer's forwards are offside. Then he kicks the
+sodden, slippery ball--hard. An exclamation of horror bursts from the
+Manorites. Their back has kicked the ball straight into the hands of the
+Damerite captain, the steadiest player on the ground.
+
+"_Yards!_"
+
+The chief collects himself for a decisive effort, and then despatches
+the ball straight and true for the target.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It passed between the posts within forty-five seconds of time.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[14] The "barmaid" collar is the double collar, at that time just coming
+into fashion.
+
+[15] "Chaw," short for Chawbacon.
+
+[16] "Tique," ab. for arithmetic. "Tique-beaks" are mathematical
+masters.
+
+[17] To "sky," _i.e._ to charge and overthrow.
+
+[18] In the Harrow game a boy may turn and kick the ball into the hands
+of one of his own side. The boy who catches it calls "Yards!" and, the
+opposite side withdrawing three yards, the catcher is allowed a free
+kick.
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER V
+
+_Fellowship_
+
+    "Fellowship is Heaven, and the lack of it is Hell."
+
+
+John was squelching through the mud, wondering whether his nose was
+broken or not, when Lawrence touched his shoulder.
+
+"Never mind, Verney," he said cheerily; "the Manor will be cock-house at
+Torpids next year, and I venture to prophesy that you'll be Captain."
+
+"Oh, thanks, Lawrence," said John.
+
+But, much as he appreciated this tribute from the great man, and much as
+it served to mitigate the pangs of defeat, a yet happier stroke of
+fortune was about to befall him. Desmond, who always walked up from the
+football field with Scaife, conferred upon John the honour of his
+company.
+
+"Where's Scaife?" said John.
+
+"The Demon is demoniac," said Desmond. "He's lost his hair, and he
+blames me. Well, I did my best, and so did he, and there's no more to be
+said. It's a bore that we shall be too old to play next year. I told the
+Demon that if we had to be beaten, I would sooner take a licking from
+Damer's than any other house; and he told me that he believed I wanted
+'em to win. When a fellow's in that sort of blind rage, 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't behaved
+like a rank outsider."
+
+"Scaife is my pal," said Desmond, hotly.
+
+The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders, and held high his well-cut,
+aquiline nose, as he murmured--
+
+"One doesn't pretend to be a Christian, but as a gentleman one accepts a
+bit of bad luck without gnashing one's teeth. What? That Spartan boy
+with the fox was a well bred 'un, you can take my word for it. Scaife
+isn't."
+
+The Caterpillar joined another pair of boys before Desmond could reply.
+John looked uncomfortable. Then Desmond burst out with Irish vehemence--
+
+"Egerton is always jawing about breeding. It's rather snobbish. I don't
+think the worse of Scaife because his grandfather carried a hod. The
+Egertons have been living at Mount Egerton ever since they left Mount
+Ararat, but what have they done? And he ought to make allowances for the
+old Demon. He was simply mad keen to win this match, and he has a
+temper. You like him, Verney, don't you?"
+
+John hesitated, realizing that to speak the truth would offend the one
+fellow in the school whom he wished to please and conciliate. Then he
+blurted out--
+
+"No--I don't."
+
+"You don't?" Desmond's frank, blue eyes, Irish eyes, deeply blue, with
+black lashes encircling them, betrayed amazement and curiosity--so John
+thought--rather than anger. "You don't?" he continued. "Why not? The old
+Demon likes you; he says you got him out of a tight place. Why don't you
+like him, Verney?"
+
+John's mind had to speculate vaguely whether or not Desmond knew the
+nature of the tight place--_tight_ was such a very descriptive
+adjective--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 conviction
+that he had burnt his ships, and must advance without fear, "because
+he'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, and
+charmed aside the impending disaster of a snatch-division. And it is on
+_one's own side_ in the House of Commons that good temper tells
+pre-eminently.
+
+"Not good enough for me!" he repeated. "Thanks awfully. Evidently you
+have a high opinion of--_me_."
+
+"Yes," said John.
+
+The quiet monosyllable, so soberly, so seriously uttered, challenged
+Desmond's attention. He stared for a moment at John's face--not an
+attractive object. Blood and mud disfigured it. But the grey eyes met
+the blue unwaveringly. Desmond flushed.
+
+"You've stuck me on a sort of pedestal." His tone was as serious as
+John'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 by flesh.
+Afterwards, not then, John knew that this was so. He met the real
+Desmond for the first time, and Desmond met the real John in a
+thoroughfare other than that which leads to the Manor, other than that
+which leads to any house built by human hands, upon the shining highway
+of 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 been
+rigorously excluded. Happy the boy who has such a home as was allotted
+to Harry Desmond! And from it, ever since he could remember, he had
+received tender love, absolute trust, the traditions of a great family
+whose name was part of English history, an exquisite refinement, and
+with these, the gratification of all reasonable desires. And this
+magnificent upbringing shone out of his radiant face, the inexpressible
+charm of youth unspotted--white. Scaife's upbringing, of which you shall
+know more presently, had been far different, and yet he, the cynic and
+the unclean, recognized the God in Harry Desmond. He had not, for
+instance, told Desmond of the nature of that "tight" place; he had kept
+a guard over his tongue; he had interposed his own strong will between
+his friend and such attention as a boy of Desmond's attractiveness might
+provoke from Lovell senior and the like. It is true that Scaife was well
+aware that without these precautions he would have lost his friend; none
+the less, above and beyond this consciousness hovered the higher, more
+subtle intuition that the good in Desmond was something not lightly to
+be tampered with, something awe-inspiring; the more so because, poor
+fellow! he had never encountered it before.
+
+Desmond stood still, with his eyes upon John's discoloured face. Not the
+least of Cæsar's charms was his lack of self-consciousness. Now, for the
+first time, he tried to see himself as John saw him--on a pedestal. And
+so strong was John's ideal that in a sense Desmond did catch a glimpse
+of himself as John saw him. And then followed a rapid comparison, first
+between the real and the ideal, and secondly between himself and Scaife.
+His face broke into a smile.
+
+"Why, Verney," he exclaimed, "you mustn't turn me into a sort of Golden
+Calf. And as for Scaife not being good enough for me, why, he's miles
+ahead of me in everything. He's cleverer, better at games, ten thousand
+times better looking, and one day he'll be a big power, and I shall
+always be a poor man. Why, I--I don't mind telling you that I used to
+keep out of Scaife's way, although he was always awfully civil to me,
+because he has so much and I so little."
+
+"He's not half good enough for you," repeated John, with the Verney
+obstinacy. 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 boys
+again, within measurable distance of the Yard, although still in the
+shadow of the Spire. The Demon described as "pi" tickled their ribs.
+
+"You must learn to like the Demon," Desmond continued, as they moved on.
+Then, as John said nothing, he added quickly, "He and I have made up our
+minds not to try for remove this term. You see, next term is the
+jolliest term of the year--cricket and 'Ducker'[19] and Lord's. And we
+shall know the form's swat thoroughly, and have time to enjoy ourselves.
+You'll be with us. Your remove is a 'cert'--eh?"
+
+John beamed. He had made certain that Cæsar would be in the Third Fifth
+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 one
+of his unexpected touches of humour. Again Desmond bent his head in the
+gesture John knew so well, and laughed.
+
+"I say, Verney, you _are_ a joker. Well, the old Caterpillar's a good
+sort, but he's not fair to Scaife. Here we are!"
+
+They ran upstairs to "tosh" and change. John found the Duffer just
+slipping 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 if
+your nose was squashed. I believe the silly little ass thinks you the
+greatest thing on earth."
+
+"I don't chuck anybody," said John, indignantly. And he made a point of
+asking Fluff to walk with him on Sunday.
+
+After the Torpid matches the school settled down to train (more or less)
+for the athletic sports. John came to grief several times at Kenton
+brook, essaying to jump it at places obviously--as the Duffer pointed
+out--beyond his stride. The Duffer and he put their names down for the
+house-handicaps, and curtailed their visits to the Creameries. After
+this self-denial it is humiliating to record that neither boy succeeded
+in winning anything. Cæsar won the house mile handicap; Scaife won the
+under sixteen high jump--a triumph for the Manor; and Fluff, the
+despised Fluff, actually secured an immense tankard, which one of the
+Sixth offered as a prize because he was quite convinced that his own
+particular pal would win it. The distance happened to be half a 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 a
+week of the holidays at White Ladies, the Duke of Trent's Shropshire
+place. Here, for the first time, he saw that august and solemn
+personage, a Groom of the Chambers, with carefully-trimmed whiskers, a
+white tie, a silky voice, and the appearance of an archdeacon. This
+visit is recorded because it made a profound impression upon a plastic
+mind. John had never sat in the seats of the mighty. Verney Boscobel was
+a delightful old house, but it might have been put, stables and all,
+into White Ladies, and never found again. Fluff showed John the famous
+Reynolds and Gainsborough portraits, the Van Dycks and Lelys, the
+Romneys and Richmonds. Fair women and brave men smiled or frowned at our
+hero wherever he turned his wondering eyes. After the first tour of the
+great galleries, he turned to his companion.
+
+"I say," he whispered solemnly, "some of 'em look as if they didn't like
+my calling you--Fluff."
+
+"I wish you'd call me Esmé."
+
+"All right," said John, "I will; and--er--although you didn't get into
+the Torpids, you can call me--John."
+
+"Oh, John, thanks awfully."
+
+Ponies were provided for the boys to ride, and they shot rabbits in the
+Chase. Also, they appeared at dinner, a tremendous function, and were
+encouraged by some of the younger guests to spar (verbally, of course)
+with the duke's Etonian sons. Fluff looked so much stronger and happier
+that his parents, delighted with their experiment, were inclined to cry
+up the Hill, much to the exasperation of the dwellers in the Plain.
+
+When he left White Ladies John had learned one valuable lesson. His
+sense of that hackneyed phrase, _noblesse oblige_, the sense which
+remains 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, the
+true significance of rank and wealth. The Duke of Trent had married a
+pleasure-loving dame; White Ladies was essentially a pleasure-house, to
+which came gladly enough the wit and beauty of the kingdom. And yet the
+duke, not clever as compared to his guests, not even good-looking as
+compared to the splendid gentlemen whom Van Dyck and Lely had painted,
+_undistinguished_, in fine, in everything save rank and wealth, worked,
+early and late, harder than any labourer upon his vast domain. And when
+John said to Fluff, "I say, Esmé, why does the duke work so beastly
+hard?" Fluff replied with emphasis, "Why, because he has to, you know.
+It's no joke to be born a duke, and I'm jolly glad that I'm a younger
+son. Father says that he has no amusements, but plenty of occupation.
+Mother says he's the unpaid land-agent of the Trent property."
+
+John went back to Verney Boscobel, and repeated what Fluff had said, as
+his own.
+
+"It was simply splendid, mum, like a sort of castle in fairyland and all
+that, but I _am_ glad I'm not a duke. And I expect that even an earl 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 the
+invitation 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 he
+owned an umbrella. The Caterpillar and he had achieved their remove, but
+the unhappy Duffer was left behind alone with the hideous necessity of
+doing his form's work by himself. The boys occupied the same rooms, but
+John prepared his Greek and Latin with Scaife, Cæsar, and the
+Caterpillar; whom he was now privileged to call by their nick-names.
+They began to call him John, hearing young Kinloch do so; and then one
+day, 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 Duffer or
+Fluff--David, can we?"
+
+"I was not thinking of Kinloch or Duff," said Scaife, staring hard at
+John. And John alone knew that Scaife read him like a book, in which he
+was contemptuously amused--nothing more. After that, as if Scaife's will
+were law, the others called John--Jonathan.
+
+Very soon, the sun was obscured by ever-thickening clouds. John happened
+to provoke the antipathy of a lout in his form known as Lubber Sprott.
+Sprott began to persecute him with a series of petty insults and
+injuries. He accused him of "sucking up" to a lord, of putting on "lift"
+because he was the youngest boy in the Upper Remove, of kow-towing to
+the masters--and so forth. Then, finding these repeated gibes growing
+stale, he resorted to meaner methods. He upset ink on John's books, or
+kicked them from under his arm as he was going up to the New Schools.
+He put a "dringer"[20] into the pocket of John's "bluer."[21] He pinched
+him unmercifully if he found himself next to John in form, knowing that
+John would not betray him. When occasion offered he kicked John. In
+short, he was successful in taking all the fun and sparkle out of the
+merrie month of May.
+
+Finally, Cæsar 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, where he kicks
+you--eh? And do it to-morrow in the Yard, at nine Bill, when everybody
+is looking on. You can dodge into the crowd; but if I were you I'd kick
+him at the very moment he gets into line, and then he can't pursue. And
+if he does pursue--which I'll bet you a bob he don't, he'll have to
+tackle you and me."
+
+"I'll do it," said John.
+
+Next day, a whole holiday, at nine Bill, both Cæsar and John were
+standing close to the window of Custos' den, waiting for Lubber Sprott
+to appear. While waiting, an incident occurred which must be duly
+chronicled inasmuch as it has direct bearing upon this story. Only the
+week before Rutford had come up to the Yard late for Bill, he being the
+master whose turn it was to call over. Such tardiness, which happens
+seldom, is reckoned as an unpardonable sin by Harrow boys. Briefly it
+means that six hundred suffer from the unpunctuality of one. Therefore,
+when Rutford appeared, slightly flushed of countenance and visibly
+annoyed, the School emphasized their displeasure by derisive cheers.
+Rutford, ever tactless where boys were concerned, was unwise enough to
+make a speech from the steps condemning, in his usual bombastic style, a
+demonstration which he ought to have known he was quite powerless to
+punish or to prevent. When he had finished, the School cheered more
+derisively than before. After Bill, he left the Yard, 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 an
+Old Harrovian in charge of a Small House, and that his form reported
+him--_queer_. He had instituted a queer system of punishments, he made
+queer remarks, he looked queer: in fine, he was generally regarded as a
+radical, and therefore a person to be watched with suspicion by boys
+who, as a body, are intensely conservative. He was of a clear red
+complexion with lapis-lazuli blue eyes, that peculiar blue which is the
+colour 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 dozen
+hitherto unconquerable peaks.
+
+Into the Yard and into this book Warde comes late. As he hurried to his
+place, the School greeted him as they had greeted Rutford only the week
+before. If anything, the demonstration was slightly more hostile. That
+Bill should be delayed twice within ten days was unheard-of and
+outrageous. When the hoots and cheers subsided, Warde held up his hand.
+He smiled, and his chin stuck out, and his nose stuck up at an angle
+familiar to those who had scaled peaks in his company. In silence, the
+School awaited what he had to say, hoping that he might slate them,
+which would afford an excuse for more ragging. Warde, guessing, perhaps,
+the wish of the crowd, smiled more genially than before. Then, in a
+loud, clear voice, he said--
+
+"I beg pardon for being late. And I thank you for cheering me. I haven't
+been cheered in the Yard since the afternoon when I got my Flannels."
+
+A deafening roar of applause broke from the boys. Warde might be queer,
+but he was a good sort, a gentleman, and, henceforward, popular with
+Harrovians.
+
+He began to call over as Lubber Sprott neared the place where Desmond
+and 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 stupid as himself. The Lubber, it may
+be added, ought to have worn "Charity" tails, but he had not applied for
+permission to do so. He was fat and gross rather than tall, and
+certainly too large for his clothes.
+
+"Now," said Cæsar.
+
+John measured the distance with his eye, as Cæsar thoughtfully nudged
+other 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 accurately
+that the Lubber fell on his face. The boys looking on screamed with
+laughter. The Lubber, picking himself up (John dodged into the crowd,
+who received him joyfully) and glaring round, encountered the
+contemptuous face of Desmond.
+
+"Let me have a shot," said Cæsar.
+
+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 the
+scene. Desmond stood square in the Lubber's path.
+
+"You like to kick small boys," said Cæsar, in a very loud voice. "I'm
+small, half your size, why don't you kick me?"
+
+The Lubber could have crushed the speaker by mere weight; but he
+hesitated, and the harder he stared at Desmond the less he fancied the
+job of kicking him. Quality confronted quantity.
+
+"Kick me," said Desmond, "if--if you dare, you big, hulking coward and
+cad!"
+
+"Come on, Lubber, get into line!" shouted some boy.
+
+Sprott turned slowly, glancing over his vast, fat shoulder to guard
+against further assault. Then he took his place in the line, and passed
+slowly out of the Yard and out of these pages. He never persecuted John
+again.[22]
+
+Not yet, however, was the sun to shine in John's firmament. As the days
+lengthened, as June touched all hearts with her magic fingers,
+insensibly relaxing the tissues and warming the senses, John became more
+and more miserably aware that, in the fight between Scaife and himself
+for the possession of Desmond, the odds were stupendously against him.
+Truly the Demon had the subtlety of the serpent, for he used the
+failings which he was unable to hide as cords wherewith to bind his
+friend more closely to him. When the facts, for instance, of what had
+taken place in Lovell's room came to Desmond's ears, he denied fiercely
+the possibility of Scaife, his pal, making a "beast" of himself. The
+laughter which greeted his passionate protest sent him hot-foot to
+Scaife himself.
+
+"They say," panted Cæsar, "that last winter you were dead drunk in
+Lovell's room. I told the beasts they lied."
+
+Scaife's handsome face softened. Was he touched by Cæsar's loyalty? Who
+can tell? Always he subordinated emotion to intelligence: head commanded
+heart.
+
+"Perhaps they did," he answered steadily; "and perhaps they didn't. I
+deny nothing; I admit nothing. But"--his fine eyes, so dark and
+piercing, flamed--"Cæsar, if I was dead drunk at your feet now, would
+you 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 winced
+again--"the saint who is too pure, too holy, to associate with a
+sinner, 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 always known that
+this moment was coming. Yes, I am a sinner. And my governor is a sinner,
+a hardened sinner. His father made our pile by what you would call
+robbery. The whole world knows it, and condones it, 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 only
+fair that you should know what sort of a fellow you've chosen for a pal.
+And it's not too late to chuck me. Rutford will put Verney in here, 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 of
+the boy facing him as if it were a clarion-call to battle.
+
+Desmond sprang forward, ardent, eager, afire with generous
+self-surrender.
+
+"Forgive me," he cried. "Oh, forgive me, because I can't forgive
+myself!"
+
+After this breaking of barriers, Scaife took less pains to disguise a
+nature 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 that
+the gulf, if a gulf did yawn between them, should be bridged by
+friendship and hope. But, insensibly, Cæsar's ideals became tainted by
+Scaife's materialism. Scaife, for instance, spent money lavishly upon
+"food" and clothes. So far as a Public Schoolboy is able, he never
+denied his splendid young body anything it coveted. Desmond, too proud
+to receive favours without returning them, tried to vie with this
+reckless spendthrift, and found himself in debt. In other ways a keen
+eye and ear would have marked deterioration. John noticed that Cæsar
+laughed, although he never sneered, at things he used to hold sacred;
+that he condemned, as Scaife did, whatever that clever young reprobate
+was pleased to stigmatize as narrow-minded or intolerant.
+
+Cricket, however, kept them fairly straight. Each was certain to get his
+"cap,"[23] if, as Lawrence told them, they stuck to the rigour of the
+game. This was Lawrence's last term. He had stayed on to play at Lord's,
+and when he left Trieve would become the Head of the House--a prospect
+very pleasing to the turbulent Fifth.
+
+About the middle of June John suffered a parlous blow. He was never so
+happy as when he was sitting in Scaife's room, cheek by jowl with
+Desmond, sharing, perhaps, a "dringer," poring over the same dictionary.
+This delightful intimacy came to a sudden end in this wise. The
+form-master of the Upper Remove happened to be a precisian in English. A
+sure road to his favour was the right use of a word. The Demon,
+appreciating this, bought a dictionary of synonyms, and made a point of
+discarding the commonplace and obvious, substituting a phrase likely to
+elicit praise and marks. Desmond and John joined in this hunt of the
+right word with enthusiasm.
+
+One evening the four boys encountered the simple sentence--"_majoris
+pretii quam quod æstimari possit_."
+
+"'Priceless''ll cover that," said Cæsar.
+
+"Or 'inest_ee_mable,'" said the Demon.
+
+The three other boys stared at the Demon, and then at each other. The
+Caterpillar, 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 pronounce it,
+Cæsar?"
+
+Desmond said hurriedly, "Oh, 'inestimable'; but what does it matter?"
+
+The Demon sprang up, furious. "It matters this," he cried. "I'm d----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 the passage."
+
+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 does
+Scaife."
+
+Desmond stood up, flushed and distressed, but emphatic.
+
+"Scaife is right about one thing," he said. "He won't sit here like a
+cad and listen to Egerton sneering at his father. I'm very sorry, but
+after this we'd better split up. Verney and you, Egerton; and Scaife and
+I."
+
+"Certainly," said the Caterpillar, rising in his turn.
+
+Poor John cast a distracted and imploring glance at Desmond, which
+flashed by unheeded. Then he got up, and followed the Caterpillar out of
+the room. The passage was empty.
+
+The Caterpillar sniffed as if the atmosphere in Scaife's room had been
+polluted.
+
+"One has nothing to regret," he remarked. "Scaife has good points,
+and--er--bad. You've noticed his hands--eh! _Very_ unfinished! And his
+foot--short, but broad." The Caterpillar surveyed his long, slender feet
+with infinite satisfaction; then he added, with an accent of finality,
+"Scaife talks about going into the Grenadiers; but they'll give him a
+hot time there, a very hot time. One is really sorry for the poor
+fellow, because, of course, he can't help being a bounder. What does
+puzzle me is, why did Cæsar want such a fellow for his pal?"
+
+"But he didn't," said John.
+
+"Eh?--what?"
+
+"Scaife wanted Cæsar," 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 to
+him. Accordingly, much of our hero's time was spent in the company of
+the Duffer and Fluff. The three passed many delightful hours together at
+"Ducker." Armed with buns and chocolate, they would rush down the hill,
+bathe, lie about on the grass, eat the buns, and chaff the kids who 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 Form
+ground, carefully criticizing every stroke. The theory of the game lay
+pat to the tongue, but in practice John was a shocking bungler. At his
+small preparatory school in the New Forest, he had not been taught the
+elementary principles of either racquets or cricket; but he had a good
+eye, played a capital game of golf, rode and shot well for a small boy.
+Fluff, although still delicate, gave promise of being a cricketer as
+good, possibly, as his brothers, when he became stronger.
+
+Upon Speech Day John's mother and uncle came down to Harrow, and you may
+be sure that John escorted them in triumph to the Manor. Mrs. Verney has
+since confessed that John's expression as she greeted him surprised and
+distressed her. He looked quite unhappy. And the dear woman, thinking
+that he must be in debt, seriously considered the propriety of tipping
+him handsomely _in advance_. A moment later, as she slipped out of an
+old and shabby dust-cloak, revealing the splendours of a dress fresh
+from Paris, she divined from John's now radiant face what had troubled
+him.
+
+"John," she said, "you didn't really think that I was going to shame you
+by wearing this dreadful cloak--did you?"
+
+"I wasn't quite sure," John answered; then he burst out, "Mum, you look
+simply lovely. All the fellows will take you for my sister."
+
+And after the great function in Speech-room came the cheering. How
+John's heart throbbed when the Head of the School, standing just outside
+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 descended
+the steps, hat in hand, bowing and blushing! Everybody knew that he was
+on the eve of departure for further explorations in Manchuria. He would
+be absent, so the papers said, three years at least. The School cheered
+the louder, because each boy knew that they might never see that gallant
+face again.
+
+Later in the afternoon a selection of Harrow songs was given in the
+Speech-room. "Five Hundred Faces," as usual, was sung by a new boy, who
+is answered, in chorus, by the whole School. How John recalled his own
+feelings, less than a year ago, as he stood shivering upon the bank of
+the river, funking the first plunge! And his uncle, now sitting beside
+him, had said that he would soon enjoy himself amazingly--and so he had!
+The new boy began the second verse. His voice, not a strong one,
+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 Sunday and
+whole-holiday "frowsts."[24] John, you see, had the makings of a
+philosopher. And now the Eleven were grunting "Willow the King." And
+when the last echo of the chorus died away in the great room, Uncle John
+whispered to his nephew that he had heard Harrow songs in every corner
+of the earth, and that convincing proof of merit shone out of the fact
+that their charm waxed rather than waned with the years; they improved,
+like wine, with age.
+
+Cæsar's father came down with the Duke of Trent. The duke tipped John
+magnificently and asked him to spend his exeat at Trent House, and to
+witness the Eton and Harrow match at Lord's from the Trent coach. John
+accepted gratefully enough; but his heart was sore because, just before
+the row over that infernal word "inestimable," Cæsar had asked John if
+he would like to occupy an attic in Eaton Square. After the row nothing
+more was said about the attic; but John would have preferred bare boards
+in Eaton Square to a tapestried chamber in Park Lane.
+
+Now, during the whole of this summer term there was much animated
+discussion in regard to the rival claims of lines or spots upon the
+white waistcoat worn by all self-respecting Harrovians at Lord's. Upon
+this important subject John had betrayed scandalous indifference.
+Accordingly, just before the match, the Caterpillar took him aside and
+spoke a solemn word.
+
+"Look here," he said; "one doesn't as a rule make personal remarks, but
+it's rather too obvious that you buy your clothes in Lyndhurst. I was
+sorry to see that the Duke of Trent was the worst-dressed man at
+Speecher; 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 looked
+critically at John's boots. "Your boots, for instance--most excellent
+boots for wading through the swamps in the New Forest, but quite
+impossible in town. And the 'topper' you wear on Sunday! Southampton,
+you say? Ah, I thought it was a Verney heirloom. Now, it wouldn't
+surprise me to hear that your mother, who dresses herself quite
+charmingly, 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 School
+tailors, where John was measured for an Eton jacket of the best, white
+waistcoat with blue spots, light bags; while the Caterpillar selected a
+new "topper," an umbrella, a pair of gloves, and a tie.
+
+"Be _very_ careful about the bags," said the Caterpillar. "They are
+cutting 'em in town a trifle tighter about the lower leg, but loose
+above. You understand?"
+
+"Perfectly, Mr. Egerton," replied the obsequious snip. "What we call the
+'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 signed by
+Mr. Rutford. And then John was led to the bootmaker's, and there
+measured for his first pair of patent-leathers. The Caterpillar was so
+exhausted by these labours that a protracted visit to the Creameries
+became imperative.
+
+"You've always looked like a gentleman," said the Caterpillar, after his
+"dringer," "and it's a comfort to me to think that now you'll be dressed
+like one."
+
+So John went up to town looking very smart indeed; and Fluff (who had
+ordered a similar kit) whispered to John at luncheon that his brothers,
+the Etonians, had expressed surprise at the change for the better in
+their general appearance.
+
+This luncheon was eaten on the top of the duke's coach, and it happened
+that the next coach but one belonged to Scaife's father. John could just
+see Scaife's handsome head, and Cæsar sitting beside him. The boys
+nodded to each other, and the Etonians asked questions. At the name of
+Scaife, however, the young Kinlochs curled contemptuous lips.
+
+"Unspeakable bounder, old Scaife, isn't he?" they asked; and the duchess
+replied--
+
+"My dears, his cheques are honoured to any amount, even if _he_ isn't."
+
+Her laughter tinkled delightfully; but John reflected that Desmond was
+eating the Scaife food and drinking the Scaife wine--all bought with
+ill-gotten gold.
+
+Later in the afternoon it became evident that the Scaife champagne was
+flowing freely. To John's dismay, the Harrovians (including Cæsar) on
+the top of the Scaife coach became noisy. The Caterpillar and his
+father, Colonel Egerton, sauntered up, and were invited by the duke to
+rest and refresh themselves. John was amused to note that the colonel
+was even a greater buck than his son. He quite cut out the poor old
+Caterpillar, challenging and monopolizing the attention of all who
+beheld him.
+
+"Those boys are makin' the devil of a row," said the colonel, fixing his
+eyeglass. "Ah, the Scaifes! A man I know dined with them last week. He
+reported everything _over_done, except the food. Their _chef_ is
+Marcobruno, you know."
+
+Presently, to John's relief, Desmond left the Scaifes and joined the
+Trent party, upon whom his gay, radiant face and charming manners made a
+most favourable impression. He laughed at the duchess's stories, and
+made 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 in
+his seat in the pavilion, with his eyes glued to the pitch.
+
+"He's awfully keen," said Cæsar.
+
+"You boys are not so keen as we were," said the duke, nodding
+reflectively.
+
+"Oh, but we are, sir--indeed we are," said Cæsar. "Aren't we,
+Caterpillar?"
+
+The Caterpillar replied, thoughtfully, "One bottles up that sort of
+thing, I suppose."
+
+"Ah," said the duke, kindly, "if it's the right sort of thing, it's none
+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 the top of
+the coach, very disconsolate, when he saw Desmond beckoning to him from
+below. The expression on Cæsar's face puzzled him.
+
+"How can you pal up with those Etonians?" whispered Cæsar, after John
+had descended. "Every Eton face I see now I want to hit." Then he added,
+with a smile and a chuckle, "I say, there's going to be a ruction in
+front of the Pavvy. Come on."
+
+A minute later John was in the thick of a very pretty scrimmage between
+the Hill and the Plain. Hats were bashed in; cornflowers torn from
+buttonholes; pale-blue tassels were captured; umbrellas broken. Finally,
+the police interfered.
+
+"Short, but very, very sweet," said Cæsar, panting.
+
+John and he were lamentable objects for fond parents to behold, but the
+sense of depression had vanished. And then Cæsar said suddenly--
+
+"By Jove! I _have_ got a bit of news. It quite takes the sting out of
+this 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 that
+Warde will make it _the_ house, again. He's got his work cut out for
+him--eh?"
+
+"You bet your life," said John.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[19] "Duck-Puddle," the school bathing-place.
+
+[20] A "Dringer" is composed of the following ingredients: a layer of
+strawberries is secreted in sugar and cream at the bottom of a clean
+jam-pot; and this receives a decent covering of strawberry ice, which
+brings the surface of the dringer and the top edge of the jam-pot into
+the same plane. The whole may be bought for sixpence. (P. C. T., 1905.)
+
+[21] 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 in
+the school.
+
+[22] Small boys are not advised to copy John's tactics. The victory is
+not always to the weak.
+
+[23] The house-cap, only worn by members of the House Cricket Eleven.
+
+[24] 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 received
+their "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 buttering
+fellows up, but I see plainly that the rebuilding of this house depends
+a lot upon you two. It's not likely that you're able to measure your
+influence; if you could, there wouldn't be much to measure. But take it
+from me, not a word, not an action of yours is without weight with the
+lower boys. Everything helps or hinders. Next term there will be war--to
+the knife--between Warde and some fellows I needn't name, and Warde will
+win. Remember I said so. I hope you," he looked hard at Desmond, "will
+fight on the right side."
+
+The boys returned to their room, jubilant because the house-cap was
+theirs, but uneasy because of the words given with it. As soon as they
+were alone, Scaife said sullenly--
+
+"Does Lawrence expect us to stand in with Warde against Lovell and his
+pals? 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 only two
+at the Manor. Of what had been done or left undone by certain fellows in
+the Fifth he was still in twilight ignorance. He discerned shadows,
+nothing more, and, boylike, he ran from shadows into the sunlight.
+Desmond knew that there were beasts at the Manor. Had you forced from
+him an expression approaching, let us say, definiteness, he would have
+admitted that beasts lurked in every house, in every school in the
+kingdom. You must keep out of their way (and ways)--that was all. And he
+knew also that too many beasts wreck a house, as they wreck a regiment
+or a nation.
+
+But once or twice within the past few months he had suspected that his
+cut-and-dried views on good and evil were not shared by Scaife. Scaife
+confessed to Desmond that the Old Adam was strong in him. He liked,
+craved for, the excitement of breaking the law. Hitherto, this breaking
+of the law had been confined to such offences as smoking or drinking a
+glass of beer at a "pub,"[25] or using cribs, or, generally speaking,
+setting at naught authority. That Scaife had escaped severe punishment
+was due to his keen wits.
+
+Now, when Scaife gave Desmond the unexpurgated history of the row which
+so nearly resulted in the expulsion of six boys, Desmond had asked a
+question--
+
+"Do you _like_ whisky? I loathe it."
+
+Scaife laughed before he answered. Doubtless one reason why he exacted
+interest 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 precious
+little, 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 us
+up. Just a taste made the Caterpillar awfully funny."
+
+"I see."
+
+"Do you see? I doubt it, Cæsar. Perhaps I shall horrify you when I tell
+you that vice interests me. I used to buy the _Police News_ when I 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 I suffered
+from what the French call _la nostalgie de la boue_; that means, you
+know, the homesickness for the gutter. Rather personal, but dev'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 place
+herself; that's why she understood. You don't want to know what goes on
+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'm up
+to some of _his_ little games. I could tell you----"
+
+"Oh--shut up!" said Cæsar, the colour flooding his cheeks.
+
+Upon the last Saturday of the term the School Concert took place. Few of
+the boys in the Manor, and none out of it, knew that John Verney had
+been chosen to sing the treble solo; always an attractive number of the
+programme. John, indeed, was painfully shy in regard to his singing, so
+shy that he never told Desmond that he had a voice. And the
+music-master, enchanted by its quality, impressed upon his pupil the
+expediency of silence. He wished to surprise the School.
+
+The concerts at Harrow take place in the great Speech-room. Their
+characteristic note is the singing of Harrow songs. To any boy with an
+ear for music and a heart susceptible of emotion these songs must appeal
+profoundly, because both words and music seem to enshrine all that is
+noble and uplifting in life. And, sung by the whole School (as are 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 certain verses should be sung by the
+School "Twelve," who have struggled through form after form and know
+(and have not yet had time to forget) the difficulties and temptations
+which beset all boys? They, to whom their fellows unanimously accord
+respect at least, and often--as in the case of a Captain of the Cricket
+Eleven--enthusiastic admiration and fealty; these, the gods, in a word,
+deliver their injunction, transmit, in turn, what has been transmitted
+to them, and invite their successors to receive it. To many how poignant
+must be the reflection that the trust they are about to resign might
+have been better administered! But to many there must come upon the
+wings of those mighty, rushing choruses the assurance that the Power
+which has upheld them in the past will continue to uphold them in the
+future. In many--would one could say in all--is quickened, for the first
+time, perhaps, a sense of what they owe to the Hill, the overwhelming
+debt which never can be discharged.
+
+Desmond sat beside Scaife. Scaife boasted that he could not tell "God
+save the Queen" from "The Dead March in Saul." He confessed that the
+concert bored him. Desmond, on the other hand, was always touched by
+music, or, indeed, by anything appealing to an imagination which gilded
+all things and persons. He was Scaife's friend, not only (as John
+discovered) because Scaife had a will strong enough to desire and secure
+that friendship, but because--a subtler reason--he had never yet seen
+Scaife as he was, but always as he might have been.
+
+Desmond told Scaife that he could not understand why John had bottled up
+the fact that he was chosen to sing upon such an occasion. Scaife smiled
+contemptuously.
+
+"You never bottle up anything, Cæsar," 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 boy
+of less quick perceptions than Scaife would have divined that the
+speaker liked John, liked him, perhaps, better than he knew. Scaife
+frowned.
+
+"There are several Old Harrovians," he said, indicating the seats
+reserved for them. "It's queer to me that they come down for this
+caterwauling."
+
+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 were trying
+to define an image somewhat blurred, conscious that the image itself was
+clear enough, that the fault lay in the obscurity of his own vision.
+
+"They come down because they're keen," he replied. "My governor can't
+leave 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 always
+captivated his friend, "you see, my dear old chap, I'm the first of my
+family at Harrow, and the sight of all your brothers and uncles and
+fathers 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, and
+School racquet-player, and a monitor; and after you leave you'll come
+down here, and you'll see that Harrow hasn't forgotten you, and then
+you'll know why these fellows cut engagements. My governor says that an
+hour at a School Concert is the finest tonic in the world for an Old
+Harrovian."
+
+"Oh, shut up!" said Scaife; "you make me feel more of an outsider than
+good 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, Cæsar, 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 were
+fixed hundreds of eyes. The School had not been told that a famous Field
+Marshal, the hero of a hundred fights, was coming to the concert. And,
+indeed, he had accepted an invitation given at the last moment--accepted
+it, moreover, on the understanding that his visit was to be informal.
+None the less, his face was familiar to all readers of illustrated
+papers. And, suddenly, conviction seized the boys that a conqueror was
+among them, an Old Etonian, making, possibly, his first visit 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 pierce
+the bronzed skin, to read the record. From his seat upon the stage John,
+also, stared at the illustrious guest. John was frightfully nervous, 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 so much.
+And--they compared notes afterwards--each boy deplored the fact that the
+great man was not an Old Harrovian. There he sat, cool, calm, slightly
+impassive. John thought he must be rather tired, as a man ought to be
+tired after a life of strenuous endeavour and achievement. He had
+done--so John reflected--an awful lot. Even now, he remained the active,
+untiring servant of Queen and country. And he had taken time 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 the
+surprise on Desmond's face, he added, "If Jonathan can sing--and I
+suppose he can, or he wouldn't be chosen--this is a chance----"
+
+"Of what?"
+
+"Cæsar, sometimes I think you've no brains. Why, a chance of attracting
+the notice of a tremendous swell--a man, they say, who never
+forgets--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 indelibly cut
+upon the memories of all who fought in the Mutiny. And Lawrence, you may
+be sure, met his glance steadily, being fortified by it. The good fellow
+felt terribly distressed, because he was leaving the Hill; and, being a
+humble gentleman, the old songs served to remind him, not of what he had
+done, but of what he had left undone--the words unspoken, the actions
+never now to be performed. The chief caught his eye, smiled, and nodded,
+as if to say, "I claim your father's son as a friend."
+
+When the song came to an end, John was seized with an almost
+irresistible impulse to bolt. His turn had come. He must stand up to
+sing before nearly six hundred boys, who would stare down with gravely
+critical and courteously amused eyes. And already his legs trembled as
+if he were seized of a palsy. John knew that he could sing. His mother,
+who sang gloriously, had trained him. From her he had inherited his
+vocal chords, and from her he drew the knowledge how to use them.
+
+When he stood up, pale and trembling, the silence fell upon his
+sensibilities as if it were a dense, yellow fog. This silence, as John
+knew, was an unwritten law. The small boy selected to sing to the
+School, as the representative of the School, must have every chance. Let
+his voice be heard! The master playing the accompaniment paused and
+glanced at his pupil. John, however, was not looking at him; he was
+looking within at a John he despised--a poltroon, a deserter about to
+run from his first engagement. He knew that the introduction to the song
+was being played a second time, and he saw the Head Master whispering to
+his guest. Paralysed with terror, John's intuition told him that the
+Head Master was murmuring, "That's the nephew of John Verney. Of course
+you know him?" And the Field Marshal nodded. And then he looked at John,
+as John had seen him look at Lawrence, with the same flare of
+recognition in the steel-grey eyes. Out of the confused welter of faces
+shone that pair of eyes--twin beacons flashing their message of
+encouragement and salvation to a fellow-creature in peril--at least, so
+John interpreted that piercing glance. It seemed to say, far plainer
+than words, "I have stood alone as you stand; I have 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 went
+haltingly.
+
+Scaife growled to Desmond, "He _is_ going to make an ass of himself."
+
+And Desmond, meeting Scaife's eyes, half thought that the speaker wished
+that John would fail--that he grudged him a triumph. None the less, the
+first verse, sung feebly, with wrong phrasing and imperfect
+articulation, revealed the quality of the boy's voice; and this quality
+Desmond recognized, as he would have recognized a fine painting or a bit
+of perfect porcelain. All his short life his father had trained him to
+look for and acclaim quality, whether in things animate or inanimate. He
+caught hold of Scaife's arm.
+
+"Make an ass of himself!" he whispered back. "Not he. But he may make an
+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 his
+heart, even as the prophet smote the rock.
+
+"Rot!" said Scaife, angrily.
+
+He was angry, furiously angry, because he saw that Cæsar was beyond his
+reach, whirled innumerable leagues away by the sound of another's voice.
+John had begun the second verse. He stared, as if hypnotized, straight
+into the face of the great soldier, who in turn stared as steadily at
+John; and John was singing like a lark, with a lark's spontaneous
+delight in singing, with an ease and self-abandonment which charmed 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, troubled cadences of the first
+verse; the vindication of the spirit soaring upwards unfettered by the
+flesh--the pure spirit, not released from the pitiful human clay without
+a fierce struggle. At that moment Desmond loved the singer--the singer
+who called to him out of heaven, who summoned his friend to join him, to
+see what he saw--"the vision splendid."
+
+John began the third and last verse. The famous soldier covered his face
+with his hand, releasing John's eyes, which ascended, like his voice,
+till they met joyfully the eyes of Desmond. At last he was singing to
+his friend--_and his friend knew it_. John saw Desmond's radiant 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 line to be repeated three
+times, loudly at first, then more softly, diminishing to the merest
+whisper of sound, the voice celestial melting away in the ear of
+earth-bound mortals. The master knew well the supreme difficulty of
+producing properly this last attenuated note; but he knew also that
+John's lungs were strong, that the vocal chords had never been strained.
+Still, if the boy's breath failed; if anything--a smile, a frown, a
+cough--distracted his attention, the end would be--weakness, failure. He
+wondered why John was staring so fixedly in one 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 for the
+second time. He was still able to sustain, if it were necessary, a
+quavering, imperfect phrase. But John delivered the second repetition
+without a mistake, singing easily from the chest. The master put his
+foot upon the soft pedal. Nobody was watching him. Had any one done so,
+he would have seen the perspiration break upon the musician's forehead.
+The piano purred its accompaniment. Then, in the middle of the phrase,
+the master lifted his hands and held them poised above the instrument.
+John had to sing three notes unsupported. He was smiling and staring at
+Desmond. The first note came like a question from the heart of a child;
+the second, higher up, might have been interpreted as an echo to the
+innocent interrogation of the first, the head no wiser than the heart;
+but the third and last note had nothing in it of interrogation: it was
+an answer, all-satisfying--sublime. Nor did it seem to come from John at
+all, but from above, falling like a snowflake out of the sky.
+
+And then, for one immeasurable moment--_silence_.
+
+John slipped back to his seat, crimson with bashfulness, while the
+School thundered applause. The Field Marshal shouted "Encore," as loudly
+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 all
+Old Harrovians, to sing the famous National Anthem of Harrow, "Forty
+Years 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 linked
+together, imposed the mandate, "_Follow up!_" the Head Master glanced at
+his guest, but left unsaid the words about to be uttered. Tears were
+trickling down the cheeks of the man who, forty years before, had won
+his Sovereign's Cross--For Valour.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+After the concert, but before he left the Speech-room, the Field Marshal
+asked the Head Master to introduce Lawrence and John, and, of course,
+the Head of the School. When John came up, there was a twinkle in 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 at
+John, "you climbed up higher than I've ever been in my life. What was
+it--hey? 'F' in 'alt'?"
+
+"'G,' sir."
+
+"You sang delightfully. Tell your uncle to bring you to see me next time
+you are in town. You must consider me a friend," he chuckled again--"an
+old friend. And look ye here," his pleasant voice sank to a whisper, "I
+daren't tip these tremendous swells, but I feel that I can take such a
+liberty with you. Shush-h-h! Good-bye."
+
+John scurried away, bursting with pride, feeling to the core the strong
+grip of the strong man, hearing the thrill of his voice, the thrill
+which had vibrated in thousands of soldier-hearts. Outside, Fluff was
+awaiting 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 of
+gold.
+
+"What ho! The Creameries! Come on, Esmé."
+
+At the Creameries several boys congratulated John, and the Caterpillar
+said--
+
+"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 clipped
+close. These singing fellows with manes may be lions in their own
+estimation, 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 take from
+him all the good things I can get hold of."
+
+John polished off his "dringer," listening to the chaff, but his
+thoughts were with Desmond. He had an intuition that Desmond would have
+something to say to him. As soon as possible he returned to the Manor.
+
+There he found his room empty. John shut the door and sat down, looking
+about him half-absently. The Duffer had not contributed much to the
+mural decoration, saying, loftily, that he preferred bare walls to
+rubbishy engravings and Japanese fans. But, with curious inconsistency
+(for he was the least vain of mortals), he had bought at a "leaving
+auction" a three-sided mirror--once the property of a great buck 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 in it, because what
+he would see must not only break his heart but shatter the glass.
+Generally, it hung, folded up, close to the window, and the Duffer said
+that it would come in handy when he took to shaving.
+
+John's eye rested on this mirror, vacantly at first, then with gathering
+intensity. Presently he got up, crossed the room, opened the two
+folding panels, and examined himself attentively, pursing up his lips
+and frowning. He could see John Verney full face, three-quarter face,
+and half-face. And he could see the back of his head, where an obstinate
+lock of hair stuck out like a drake's tail. John was so occupied in
+taking stock of his personal disadvantages that a ringing laugh quite
+startled him.
+
+"Why, Jonathan! Giving yourself a treat--eh?"
+
+John turned a solemn face to Desmond. "I think my head is hideous," he
+said ruefully.
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"It's too long," John explained. "I like a nice round head like yours,
+Cæsar. I wish I wasn't so ugly."
+
+Desmond laughed. John always amused him. Cæsar was easily amused, saw
+the funny side of things, and contrasts tickled his fancy agreeably. But
+he stopped laughing when he realized that John was hurt. Then, quickly,
+impulsively, he said--
+
+"Your head is all right, old Jonathan. And your voice is simply
+beautiful." He spoke seriously, staring at John as he had stared in the
+Speech-room when John began to sing. "I came here to tell you that. I
+felt odd when you were singing--quite weepsy, you know. You like me, old
+Jonathan, don't you?"
+
+"Awfully," said John.
+
+"Why did you look at me when you sang that last verse? Did you know that
+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 I
+saw 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, deliberate fashion,
+never taking his eyes from Desmond's face. Ever since he had sung, he
+had known that this moment was coming. "I shall never forget it," he
+repeated--"never. You were standing near the Chapel. I was poking 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't know a
+soul."
+
+"Yes," said Desmond, gravely; "you told me that. I remember now; I
+mistook you for young Hardacre."
+
+"You smiled at me, Cæsar. It warmed me through and through. I suppose
+that when a fellow is starving he never forgets the first meal after
+it."
+
+"I say. Go on; this is awfully interesting."
+
+"I can remember what you wore. One of your bootlaces 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 come
+and 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 was
+cheek asking you."
+
+"Jonathan, you funny old buster, I'll never say 'No' again. 'Pon my
+word, I won't. So I said 'No.' That's odd, because it's not easy for me
+to say 'No.' The governor pointed that out last hols. Somehow, I can'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 a
+pause before Desmond continued awkwardly--
+
+"You know, Jonathan, that the Demon is my pal. You like him better than
+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 I
+don't," he repeated, with an air of satisfying himself rather than John.
+And John divined that Scaife's hold upon Desmond's affections was not so
+strong as he had deemed it to be. Desmond continued, "But I want you,
+too, old Jonathan, and if--if----"
+
+"All right," said John, nobly. He perceived that Desmond's loyalty to
+Scaife made him hesitate and flush. "I understand, Cæsar, and if I can'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 you
+lose'?"
+
+John considered; then he smiled cheerfully, "You know you are a winner,
+Cæsar. You're cut out for a winner; you can win whatever you want to
+win."
+
+"Oh, that's all rot," said Desmond. He looked very grave, and in his
+eyes lay shadows which John had never seen before.
+
+And so ended John's first year at Harrow.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[25] 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 the
+great change had taken place. Rutford had assumed the duties of
+Professor of Greek at a Scotch University; Warde was in possession of
+the Manor; Scaife and Desmond and John--but not the Caterpillar--had got
+their remove. They were Fifth Form boys--and in tails! John, it is true,
+although tougher and broader, was still short for his years and juvenile
+of appearance, but Scaife and Desmond were quite big fellows, and their
+new coats became them mightily. Trieve was Head of the House; Lovell,
+Captain of the House football Eleven and in the Lower Sixth.
+
+"Lovell will have to behave himself now," the Duffer remarked to Scaife,
+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 his wife
+and daughter. Mrs. Warde had a plain, pleasant face. Miss Warde,
+however, was a beauty, and she knew it, the coquette, and had known it
+from the hour she could peep into a mirror. The Caterpillar pronounced
+her "fetching." Being only fifteen, she wore her hair in a plait tied by
+a huge bow, and the hem of her skirt barely touched the neatest ankle on
+Harrow Hill. Give her a saucy, pink-and-white face, pop a pert,
+tip-tilted nose into the middle of it just above a pouting red mouth,
+and just below her father's lapis-lazuli eyes, and you will see Iris
+Warde. Her hair was reddish, not red--call it warm chestnut; and she had
+a dimple.
+
+After the introductions, mother and daughter left the hall. Warde stood
+up, inviting the House to sit down. Warde was about half the width of
+the late Rutford, but somehow he seemed to take up more room. He had
+spent the summer holidays in Switzerland, climbing terrific peaks. Snow
+and sun had coloured his clear complexion. John, who saw beneath tanned
+skins, reflected that Warde seemed to be saturated with fresh air and
+all the sweet, clean things which one associates with mountains. "He
+loves hills," thought John, "and he loves our Hill." Warde began to
+speak in his jerky, confidential tones. Dirty Dick had always been
+insufferably dull, pompous, and didactic.
+
+"I don't like speechmaking," said Warde, "but I want to put one thing to
+you as strongly as a man may. I have always wished to be master of the
+Manor. Some men may think mine a small ambition. Master of a house at
+Harrow? Nothing big about that. Perhaps not. But I think it big. And it
+is big--for me. Understand that I'm in love with my job--head over
+heels. I'd sooner be master of the Manor than Prime Minister. I couldn't
+tackle his work. Enough of that. Now, forget for a moment that I'm a
+master. Let me talk as an Old Harrovian, an old 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 certain peak--by Jove! how I longed to
+reach that peak!--but the other eye was on a _crevasse_ at my feet. Had
+I kept both eyes on the peak, I should be 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 between ourselves, a confidence. I came to the
+Manor from a beastly school, such schools are hardly to be found
+nowadays--a hardened young sinner at thirteen. The Manor licked me into
+shape. Speaking generally, I suppose 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 saying that their early school-days were the happiest
+of their lives. They're fond of telling this big lie just as they're
+settling down to their claret. I really believe that they believe what
+they say, but it _is_ a lie. 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 of really hard fagging--much harder than any of
+you boys know--I was sent up and swished, I had whoppings innumerable,
+and it wasn't pleasant. My mother had pinched herself to send me here,
+because my father had been here before me; and I wondered why she did
+it. At that time I couldn't see why cheaper schools shouldn't be not
+only as good as Harrow, but perhaps better. Not till I was in the Fifth
+did I get a glimmering of what my mother and the Manor were doing for
+me. When I got into the Sixth and into the Eleven, I knew. And my last
+year here made up, and more, too, for the previous four. I enjoyed that
+year thoroughly; 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 much longer. I
+have come to the marrow of the matter. I owe the Manor a debt which I
+hope to pay to--you. Just as you, in turn, will pay back to boys not yet
+born the money your people have gladly spent on you, and other greater
+things besides. I want to see this house at the top of the tree again:
+cock-house at cricket, cock-house at footer, with a Balliol Scholar in
+it, and a school racquet-player. And now Dumbleton is going to bring in
+a little champagne. We'll drink high health and fellowship to the Manor
+and the Hill!"
+
+His face broke into the smile his form knew so well; he sat down, as the
+house roared its welcome to a friend.
+
+As soon as the champagne was drunk ("Dumber" was careful to put more
+froth than wine into the glasses of the kids), the boys filed out of the
+Hall. The Duffer, Desmond, John, and the Caterpillar assembled in John's
+room. Desmond, you may be sure, was afire with resolution. Warde was the
+right sort, a clinker, a first flighter. And he meant to stick by him
+through thick and thin. John said nothing. The Caterpillar drawled out--
+
+"Warde didn't surprise me--much. I've found out that he's one of the
+Wardes of Warde-Pomeroy, the real old stuff. Our families intermarried
+in Elizabeth's reign."
+
+"Chance to do it again, Caterpillar," said the Duffer. "Warde's daughter
+is an uncommonly pretty girl."
+
+Then the Caterpillar used the epithet "fetching."
+
+"She's fetching, very fetching," he said. "It's a pleasure to remember
+that 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 that family
+is not everything, but, other things being equal, it means refinement.
+The first of the Howards was a swineherd, I dare say, but generations of
+education, of association with the best, have turned them from
+swine-herds 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 in his
+room, talking to Lovell senior, who spent a fortnight with Scaife's
+people in Scotland, fishing and grousing. Desmond had been asked also,
+but his father, rather to Cæsar's disgust (for the Scaife moor was
+famous), had refused to let him go. Lovell and Scaife were arguing
+about something which Desmond could not understand.
+
+"I left it to my partner," said Scaife, "and the fool went no trumps
+holding two missing suits. The enemy doubled, my partner redoubled, and
+the others redoubled again: that made it ninety-six a trick. The fellow
+on the left held my partner's missing suits; he made the Little Slam,
+and scored nearly six hundred below the line. It gave 'em the rubber,
+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 play
+bridge, Cæsar?"
+
+"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 the
+Caterpillar. He plays, I know. The Colonel is one of the cracks at the
+Turf. It would be an awful lark. A mild gamble: small points--eh? A bob
+a hundred. What do you say, Cæsar?"
+
+Desmond hesitated. Bridge had not yet reached its delirious stage. But
+Desmond had seen it played, had heard his father praise it as the most
+fascinating of card-games, and had determined to learn it at the first
+convenient opportunity. None the less Warde's words still echoed in 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 to Scaife,
+but ignoring Desmond.
+
+"You must go canny with Lovell," said Scaife. "He's the fellow who ought
+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, Cæsar, but you're so
+easily humbugged. Warde caught you with his 'pi jaw' and a glass of
+gooseberry."
+
+"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 like Lovell.
+There's no nonsense about him. He don't put on frills because he's in
+the Sixth, and he don't mean to take to their sneaking, spying ways.
+He's just as anxious as Warde to see the Manor cock-house at footer and
+cricket, and I'm as keen as he is; but we stop there. The Balliol
+Scholarship may go hang. And as for sympathy and fellowship and pulling
+together between masters and boys, I never did believe in it, and never
+shall. My hand is against the masters, so long as they interfere with
+anything I want to do. I like bridge, and I mean to play it. And I'll
+take jolly good care that I'm not nailed. That's part of the fun, as the
+drinking used to be. I chucked that because it wasn'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 eye
+he marked the expression of Desmond's face, the colour ebbing and
+flowing in the round, boyish cheeks, the perplexity on the brow. Then he
+spoke in a different voice.
+
+"Don't worry, old chap. You've stuck to me through thick and thin, and
+I'm grateful, really and truly. You're right, and I'm wrong; I always am
+wrong. I was looking forward to larks. If you count 'em purple sins, 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 his eyes,
+you'll have to rename things. Babies play Beggar my Neighbour for
+chocolates; why shouldn't we play bridge for a bob a hundred? The game
+is splendid for the brain; ten thousand times better than translating
+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 ten
+runs in a house-match; it's gambling if I raffle a picture and you take
+a 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're not
+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 old pals, or
+don't play, just as you please."
+
+No more was said. Scaife's manner rather than his matter confounded the
+younger and less experienced boy. Scaife, too, tackled problems which
+many men prefer to leave alone. Here heredity cropped up. Scaife's sire
+and grandsire were earning their bread before they were sixteen. Of
+necessity they faced and overcame obstacles which the ordinary 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, and
+gave him his "fez" after the first house-game. Both boys now were
+members of the Manor cricket and football Elevens, and, as such, persons
+of distinction in their small world. Scaife, moreover, began to play
+football with such extraordinary dash and brilliancy, that it seemed to
+be quite on the cards that he might get his School Flannels. This
+possibility, and the Greek in the Fifth, absorbed his energies for the
+first six weeks of the winter quarter. John had come back to Scaife's
+room to prepare work. Desmond felt that Scaife had been generous in
+proposing that John should join them, because in many small ways it had
+become evident that the Demon disliked John, although he still spoke of
+the tight place out of which John had hauled him. Through Scaife John
+received his "fez"; and when John wore it for the first 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 eye
+maliciously.
+
+John flushed, because in his heart he did know. But when he told Egerton
+what Scaife had said, that experienced man of the world turned up his
+nose.
+
+"Just like him," he said. "He wants you to feel that he has wiped out
+his 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 fact
+that the Demon turned the scale. He pointed out to Lovell that if he
+gave a 'fez' to his young brother, the house might accuse him of
+favouritism. That did the trick."
+
+This made John uneasy and unhappy for a week or two; but the
+consciousness that another might be better entitled to the coveted "fez"
+made him play up with such energy that he succeeded in proving to all
+critics that he had honestly earned what luck had bestowed on him.
+
+During the last week of October, John began those long walks with
+Desmond which, afterwards, he came to regard as perhaps the most
+delightful hours spent at Harrow. Scaife detested walking. He had his
+father'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 and
+impatience of restraint. Desmond, on the other hand, was also like his
+father, inasmuch as his tastes were catholic. He was a bit of a
+naturalist, learned in the lore of woods and fields, and he liked to
+talk about books, and he liked to talk about his home. Simple John would
+sooner hear Cæsar talk than listen to the heavenly choir. So it came to
+pass that once a week at least the boys would stroll down the avenue 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, or Headstone with its
+moated grange, or Horsington Hill with its long-stretching view across
+the Uxbridge plain.
+
+Very soon it became the natural thing for Cæsar to give John a glimpse,
+at least, of whatever floated in and out of his mind. John, being
+himself a creature of reserves, could not quite understand this unlocking
+of doors, but he appreciated his privileges. Cæsar's ingenuousness,
+sympathy, and impulsiveness, seemed the more enchanting because John
+himself was of the look-before-you-leap, think-before-you-speak, sort.
+One Sunday evening they were hurrying back to Chapel, when they passed a
+woman carrying a heavy child. The poor creature appeared to be almost
+fainting with fatigue and possibly hunger. Her pinched face, her bent
+figure, her thin garments, bespoke a passionate protest against
+conditions which obviously she was powerless to avert or control. The
+boys glanced at her with pitying eyes 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 the
+tattered 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 let the
+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 young
+gen'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 moaned
+feebly.
+
+"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 a
+policeman accepted a shilling, and gave in return a positive assurance
+that he would see woman and child to their destination. When the boys
+were alone, John said--
+
+"Cæsar----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"What a fellow you are! I wouldn't have thought of that. It was
+splendid."
+
+"Oh, shut up." There was a slight pause; then Cæsar said defiantly, "I
+thought of carrying that kid; but I wouldn't have done it, unless I'd
+known that every boy was safe in Chapel. I couldn't have faced the
+chaff. And--you could."
+
+They were punished for cutting Chapel, because Cæsar refused to give the
+reason which would have saved them.
+
+"I'd have told the truth," he admitted to John, "if I could have
+shouldered that kid with the Manorites looking on."
+
+John agreed that this was an excellent and a Cæsarean (he coined the
+adjective on this occasion) reason.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Among the Fifth Form boys of the Manor was a big, coarse-looking youth
+of the name of Beaumont-Greene. Everybody called him Beaumont-Greene in
+full, because upon his first appearance at Bill he had stopped the line
+of boys by refusing to answer to the name of Greene.
+
+"My name," said he, in a shrill pipe, "is Beaumont-Greene, and we spell
+the Greene with a final 'e'."
+
+Beaumont-Greene was a type of boy, unhappily, too common at all Public
+Schools. He had no feeling whatever for Harrow, save that it was a place
+where it behoved a boy to escape punishment if he could, and to run, hot
+foot, towards anything which would yield pleasure to his body. He was
+known to the Manorites as a funk at footer, and a prodigious consumer of
+"food" at the Creameries. His father, having accumulated a large fortune
+in manufacturing what was advertised in most of the public prints as the
+"Imperishable, Seamless, Whale-skin Boot," gave his son plenty of money.
+As a Lower Boy, Beaumont-Greene had but a sorry time of it. Somebody
+discovered that he was what Gilbert once described as an "imperfect
+ablutioner." The Caterpillar made a point of telling new boys the nature
+of the punishment meted out to the unclean. He had assisted at the
+"toshing" of Beaumont-Greene.
+
+"A nasty job," the Caterpillar would remark, looking at his own
+speckless finger-nails: "but it had to be done. We took the Greene
+person" (the Caterpillar alone refused to defame the fine name of
+Beaumont by linking it to Greene) "and placed him naked in a large
+tosh. Into that tosh the house was invited to pour any fluid that could
+be spared. One forgets things; but, unless I'm mistaken, the particular
+sheep-wash used was made up of lemonade, syrups, ink--plenty of
+that--milk (I bought a quart myself), tooth-powder, paraffin, and a cake
+of Sapolio--Monkey Brand! We scrubbed the Yahoo thoroughly, washed its
+teeth, ears, hair, and then we dried it. I don't know who smeared
+marmalade on to the towel, but the drying part was not very successful.
+Rather tough--eh? Yes, very tough--on _us_, but effective. The Greene
+person has toshed regularly ever since. At least, so I'm told; I never
+go near him myself, and he's considerate enough to keep out of my way."
+
+Beaumont-Greene had not, it is true, the appetite for reckless breaking
+of the law which distinguished Lovell and his particular pals; but
+Lovell's good qualities cancelled to a certain extent what was vicious.
+A fine cricketer, a plucky football-player, he might have proved a
+credit to his house had a master other than Dirty Dick been originally
+in command of it. Before he was out of the Shell, he had declared war
+against Authority. Beaumont-Greene, on the other hand, detested games,
+and sneered at those who played them. Pulpy, pimply, gross in mind and
+body, he stood for that heavy, amorphous resistance to good, which is so
+difficult to overcome.
+
+During the first half of the winter quarter, John saw but little of Esmé
+Kinloch. It is one of the characteristics of a Public School that the
+boys--as in the greater world for which it is a preparation--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 often give Fluff a "con," and
+occasionally they would walk together. Fluff was no longer the delicate,
+girlish child of a year ago. He had bloomed into a very handsome boy,
+attractive, like all the members of his mother's family, with engaging
+manners, and he had also shown signs of 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 losing
+colour and spirits, the latter never very exuberant. It was not in
+John's nature to ask questions which he might answer for himself by
+taking pains to do so. He watched Fluff closely. Then he demanded
+bluntly--
+
+"What's up?"
+
+"Nothing."
+
+"That's a cram," said John, severely. "I didn't believe you'd tell me a
+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, on
+my head, in the dark, half-smothered, and couldn't think what had
+happened; 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 promised
+anything to get out of that horrible, choking prison, and now he
+threatens 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 what
+this low cad is up to."
+
+"He said he'd be my friend; as if I'd have a beast like that for a
+friend."
+
+"Did you tell him that?"
+
+"Yes, I did."
+
+"You're a good-plucked 'un, Esmé. And he's made it warm for you ever
+since?"
+
+"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 with it.
+I can't sleep."
+
+"Now, don't be a silly fool," John commanded. "I'm going to think this
+out, 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 less
+clearly he saw his way to do it. Evidently Beaumont-Greene was too
+prudent to bully Fluff; he had resorted to the crueller alternative of
+terrorizing him. Lawrence would have settled this fellow's hash--so John
+reflected--in a jiffy, but Trieve, "Miss Trieve," was hopelessly
+incapable. Presently inspiration came. He seized an opportunity when
+Beaumont-Greene happened to be by himself; then he marched boldly into
+his room, leaving the door ajar.
+
+"Hullo! what do you want?"
+
+Beaumont-Greene was sitting opposite the fire, reading a novel and
+leisurely 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 at
+John, 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. He
+thought with relief of the door ajar, but it was part of his policy--a
+carefully devised policy--to provoke, if possible, a scene. Then others
+would interfere, explanations would be in order, and public opinion
+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 was throbbing.
+"It's horribly fuggy in here, and I've Jambi[26] to do; but I'm not
+going till you give me your word that you'll leave young Kinloch 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, scant of
+breath, full of macaroons, began to pursue John round and round the
+table. John skilfully interposed chairs, sofa-cushions, anything he
+could lay hands on. Passing the washstand, he secured an enormous
+sponge, 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 a shocking bad
+shot; he missed, or John dodged every time. John did not miss. Finally,
+as John had foreseen, a couple of Sixth Form fellows rushed 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 the
+Duffer 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're
+gone."
+
+"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 promising Verney
+or any one else that you will leave young Kinloch alone?"
+
+"I've never laid a finger on the kid," growled the big fellow; but he
+looked 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 been
+made to "sit up and howl."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[26] "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 was
+to strengthen the bond between John and Desmond. Desmond had the epic
+from Fluff, from the Caterpillar, and finally from John himself.
+
+"You bearded that poisonous beast in his den," exclaimed he; "you
+plotted 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 too
+many, singing John's praises behind his back and to his face, in and out
+of season. This, of course, was indiscreet, and led to hard words and
+harder feelings. Beaumont-Greene realized that John had tarred and
+feathered him. The fags, you may be sure, rubbed the tar in. If
+Beaumont-Greene threatened to kick an impudent Fourth Form boy, that
+youngster would bid him be careful.
+
+"If you don't behave yourself," he would say, "I shall have to send
+Verney to your room."
+
+Lovell senior remarked that Beaumont-Greene was a "swine," but that
+Verney had put on "lift" and must be snubbed. What? A boy who had not
+been two years in the school _dared_ to take the law into his own hands!
+The matter ought to have been laid before the Head of the House.
+
+Accordingly, John found himself, much to his dismay, unpopular with the
+Olympians. The last month of this term was, in some ways, the most
+disagreeable he had yet spent at Harrow.
+
+But the gain of Desmond's friendship far outweighed the loss of
+popularity. John tingled with pleasure when he reflected that he had
+achieved his ambition to stand between Scaife and Desmond. At the same
+time, he was uncomfortably aware that Scaife seemed to have climbed high
+above Desmond, who had stood still. In moments of depression John told
+himself that he was a makeshift, that Desmond would leave him and join
+the Demon whenever that splendid young person chose to whistle him up.
+Scaife had failed to get his Football Flannels, but he came so near to
+beating all previous records that the School began to regard him as a
+"Blood." He was seen arm-in-arm with Lovell, strolling up and down the
+High Street, and the fags breathlessly repeated what Desmond had
+predicted a year ago: the Demon was the coming man. And always, when
+John and Desmond passed him, John thought he could read a derisive
+triumph upon the Demon's handsome face, an expression which said
+plainly: "You young fool, don't you know that I'm playing cat and mouse
+with _you_?"
+
+The three still met twice daily to prepare work. But the moment that was
+done, Scaife disappeared, leaving John and Desmond together.
+
+"He's playing bridge in Lovell's room," said Desmond.
+
+More facts were gleaned from the Caterpillar, who had joined the
+bridge-players, but played seldom.
+
+"One draws the line," said he, "at playing for stakes one can't afford
+to 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 to his
+brains, detection is impossible. He suggested that Lovell's room should
+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 young brother on
+guard. I'm hanged if the Demon didn't invent a sort of drill, which they
+go through with a stop-watch. It's a star performance, I tell you. Young
+Lovell bolts in. In thirty-five seconds--they have got it down to
+that--the cards and markers are hidden; 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 when the
+School broke up for the Christmas holidays it was generally conceded
+that the fortunes of the ancient house were mending. In the Manor itself
+Warde's influence was hardly yet perceptible: only a very few knew that
+it was diffusing itself, percolating into nooks and crevices undreamed
+of: the hearts of the Fourth Form, for instance. In Dirty Dick's time
+there had been almost universal slackness. In pupil-room Rutford read a
+book; boys could work or not as they pleased, provided their tutor was
+not disturbed. Warde, on the other hand, made it a point of honour to
+work with his pupils. His indefatigable energies, his good humour, his
+patience, were never so conspicuous as when he was coaching duffers. In
+other ways he made the boys realize that he was at the Manor for their
+advantage, not his own. The gardens and park were kept strictly private
+by Dirty Dick. Warde threw them open: a favour hardly appreciated in the
+whiter quarter, but the House admitted that it would be awfully jolly in
+the summer to lie under the trees far from the "crowd." In a word--a
+"privilege."
+
+Upon the last Saturday, to John's delight, Desmond asked him to spend a
+week in Eaton Square. John had paid two visits to White Ladies; he was
+now about to experience something entirely new. White Ladies and Verney
+Boscobel were typical of the past; they illustrated the history of the
+families who had inhabited them. The great world went to White Ladies to
+see the pictures and the gardens, the Gobelin tapestries, the Duchess
+and her guests; but the same world dined in Eaton Square to see Charles
+Desmond.
+
+During this visit, our John first learned what miracles one individual
+may accomplish. At White Ladies, he had dimly perceived, as has been
+said, the duties and responsibilities imposed upon rank and wealth. In
+Eaton Square he saw more plainly the duties and responsibilities imposed
+upon a man of great talents. Both Charles Desmond and the Duke of Trent
+were hard workers, but the labours of the duke seemed to John (and to
+other wise persons) drab-coloured. Charles Desmond's work, in contrast,
+presented all the colours of the spectrum. John left White Ladies,
+thanking his stars that he was not a duke; he came away from Eaton
+Square filled with the ambition to be Private Secretary to the great
+Minister. And when Mr. Desmond said to him with his genial smile, "Well,
+young John, Harry, I hope, will be my secretary, and the crutch of my
+declining years. But what would you like to be?" John replied 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 be taken--seriously. He
+examined John as if he were already a candidate for office. The piercing
+eyes probed deep. Then he said slowly, "I should like to have you under
+me, John. We shall talk of this again, my boy. My own sons----" He
+paused, sighed, and then laughed, tapping John's cheek with his slender,
+finely-formed fingers. But he passed on without finishing his sentence.
+John knew that, of Cæsar's brothers, Hugo, the eldest, was Secretary of
+Legation at Teheran; Bill "devilled" for a famous barrister; Lionel wore
+her Majesty's livery. Strange that none had elected to serve his own
+father! Cæsar explained later.
+
+"You see," he said, "the dear old governor outshines everybody. Hugo
+and the others felt that under him they would be in eclipse, for ever
+and ever--eh?"
+
+"I see," said John, gravely. "Yes, there's something in that. He wants
+you, Cæsar."
+
+"Dear old governor!" the other replied. "Yes--he's keen on that. But I
+hope to make my own little mark. I'd like to have my name on a brass
+tablet in Harrow Chapel; that would be something." His eyes began to
+glow and sparkle.
+
+Next day, at dinner, Rodney's name cropped up.
+
+"Rodney paved the way for Nelson," Mr. Desmond observed. "I look upon
+him as one of our greatest Harrovians. We ought to have a building to
+Rodney's memory. I put him before Peel or Byron."
+
+"Oh, I say, father----" Hot protest from Cæsar.
+
+"Act before word, Harry; practice before precept. Rodney was a man of
+action. I should like to have been Rodney."
+
+"I should like to have been Sheridan," said Cæsar. "I often look at his
+name on the third panel of the Fourth Form Room."
+
+He glanced at his father, who smiled, knowing that a delicate compliment
+was intended, for enthusiastic admirers had spoken of Charles Desmond as
+the Richard Brinsley Sheridan of the modern House of Commons. The father
+said curtly--
+
+"A sky-rocket, my dear Harry." Then he turned to John. "And of all our
+famous Harrovians whom would you like to take as a pattern, young John?"
+
+John hesitated. Two or three of the guests present were celebrities.
+Amongst them was England's greatest critic sitting beside an ambassador.
+There happened to be a lull in the talk. All looked curiously at John.
+
+"I'd like to be another Lord Shaftesbury," he said slowly.
+
+"Good! Capital!" Mr. Desmond nodded his head. "I knew him well." He
+poured out anecdote after anecdote illustrating the character and
+temperament of the statesman-philanthropist: his self-sacrifice, his
+devotion to an ideal, his curious exclusiveness, his refinement, his
+faith in an aristocracy never diminished by the indefatigable zeal
+wherein he laboured to better the condition of the poor. "If every rich
+man were animated by Shaftesbury's spirit," said Mr. Desmond, in
+conclusion, "extreme poverty would be wiped out of England, and yet we
+should retain all that makes life charming and profitable. He was no
+leveller, save of foul rookeries. First and last he believed in order,
+particularly his own--a true nobleman. And the inspiration of his great
+career came to him on the Hill."
+
+"Indeed?" said the Critic.
+
+"John Verney will tell you all about it," said Mr. Desmond, glancing
+cheerily at our hero. His was ever the habit to draw out the humblest of
+his guests.
+
+So John recited how young Anthony Ashley, standing on the Hill, just
+below the churchyard, chanced to see a pauper's coffin fall to the
+ground and burst open, revealing the pitiful corpse within, and how he
+had exclaimed in horror, "Good heavens! Can this be permitted simply
+because the man was poor and friendless?" And how, then and there, the
+boy had sworn to devote his powers to the amelioration of
+poverty-stricken lives.
+
+"Yes," said Mr. Desmond. "He told me that the next fifteen minutes
+decided his career. Ah, he succeeded greatly. Why, when I was at Harrow
+we used to cross from Waterloo to Euston through some of the worst slums
+in the world. You boys can't realize what they looked like. And
+Shaftesbury's work and example wiped them out of our civilization."[27]
+
+When John returned to his uncle's house of Verney Boscobel (his home
+since his father's death), Cæsar Desmond accompanied him. Then it seemed
+to John that his cup brimmed, that everything he desired had been
+granted unto him. Verney Boscobel stood in the heart of the great
+forest, one of the few large manors within that splendid demesne. The
+boys arrived at Lyndhurst Road Station late in the evening, long after
+dusk, and were driven in darkness through Bartley and Minstead up to the
+high-lying moors of Stoneycross. Next morning, early, John woke his
+friend, and opened the shutters.
+
+"Jolly morning," he said. "Have a look at the Forest, old chap."
+
+Cæsar 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 blue
+heavens, as if still frozen by the icy fingers of a December night, were
+some aerial transparencies of aqueous vapour, amethystine in colour,
+with edges of white foam. In the east, obscured, but not concealed, by
+grey mist, hung the crimson orb of the sun. From it faint rays shot
+forth, touching the clouds beneath, which, roused, so to 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 the lawns
+encompassing the house his eyes strayed into a glade of bracken, gold
+gleaming through silver--a glade shadowed by noble oaks and beeches,
+with one birch tree in the middle of it surpassingly graceful. Upon this
+each delicate bough and spray were outlined sharply against the sky.
+Beyond the glade stretched the moor, rugged, bleak, and treeless,
+sloping sharply upward. Beyond the moor lay the Forest--belts of firs
+darkly purple; and flanking these the irregular masses of oaks and
+beeches, varying in tint from palest lavender to rose and brown, some
+still in shadow, some in ever-increasing glow of sunlight; not one the
+same and each in itself containing a thousand differing forms, yet all
+harmonious parts of the resplendent whole.
+
+"I'm so glad you like my home," said John. "Shall we have a gallop
+before breakfast? It's only a white frost."
+
+So they galloped away into fairyland, returning with mortal appetites to
+the oak-panelled dining-hall, whence a Verney had ridden forth to join
+his kinsman, Sir Edmund, in arms for the King upon the distant field of
+Edge Hill. After breakfast the boys explored the quaint old house; and
+John showed Cæsar the twenty-bore gun, and promised his guest much
+rabbit-shooting, and two days' hunting, at least, with the New Forest
+Hounds, and some pike-fishing, and possibly an encounter with a big
+grayling--which, later, the boys saw walloping about in the Test above
+Broadlands--a splendid fish, once hooked by John, and lost--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 first days
+alone with your friend will remain green when the colour has been sucked
+by Time out of everything else. Fifty years hence, maybe, you will see
+Cæsar's curly head and his blue eyes full of fun and life, and you will
+hear his joyous laughter--peal upon peal--echoing through the corridors
+of Verney Boscobel. Your mother took him to her heart--didn't she? And
+all the servants, from butler to scullery maid, voted him the jolliest,
+cheeriest boy that ever came to Hampshire. Why, Mrs. Osman, the cook,
+with a temper like tinder from too much heat, refused flatly to let
+Cæsar make toffee in her kitchen. But just then a barrel-organ turned
+up, and before she could open her mouth, Cæsar was dancing a polka with
+her; and after that he could make toffee, or hay, or anything else,
+wherever and whenever he pleased.
+
+When they returned to the Manor, John hoped and prayed that this blessed
+intimacy would continue. It did--for a time. The three boys got their
+remove, and found themselves in the Second Fifth, where they proposed to
+linger till after the summer term. Lovell and Scaife seemed inseparable,
+and bridge began again, apparently an inexhaustible source of amusement
+and excitement. Then came the Torpid matches; and John, as Lawrence
+predicted, was captain of the cock-house Eleven--the first great victory
+of the Manorites. During the term, Scaife and Desmond won no races,
+being in age betwixt and between winners of Upper and Lower School
+races. Scaife refused to train. Desmond took a few runs, but abandoned
+them for racquets, the chief game in the Easter term, but only played
+regularly by boys whose purses are well lined. John confined his
+attention to "Squash." Cæsar played "Harder" with the Demon. The three
+worked together as of yore. John now perceived that Scaife had joined a
+clique pledged to fight Reform. It was in the air that something might
+happen. Warde eyed the big fellows shrewdly, as if measuring weapons. He
+confounded some by asking them to dine with him. At dessert he would
+talk of sport, or games, or politics--everything, in fine, except
+"shop." The more worthy came away from these pleasant evenings with
+rather a hangdog expression, as if they had been receiving goods under
+false pretences. John and Desmond were made especially welcome. And,
+after dinner, John, whose voice had not yet cracked, would sing, to Mrs.
+Warde's accompaniment, such songs as "O Bay of Dublin, my heart yu're
+throublin'," or "Think of me sometimes," or Handel's "Where'er you
+walk." The Caterpillar made no secret of a passion for Iris Warde, and
+became a dangerous rival of one of the younger masters. He talked to
+Warde about genealogies and hunting, topics of conversation in which
+they had a common interest outside Harrow. John guessed that Warde was
+making an effort to secure Egerton, who, for his part, took the world
+as he found it, consorting alike with John and his friends, and also
+with Lovell and Co. From the Caterpillar John learned that
+Beaumont-Greene had begun 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, Warde
+knows what he's about. He's playing up to the younger members of the
+house--you, Cæsar, and you, Jonathan--and he's letting the others
+slide."
+
+"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 that
+gang."
+
+"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 the
+fast set. Upon the other hand, the Duffer, Fluff, and many Lower School
+boys reckoned him their leader and adviser. And--such is the irony of
+Fate--John's popularity with friends caused him more anxiety than
+unpopularity with enemies. Towards the end of the term, Desmond spoke of
+applying to Warde for a certain room to be shared by himself and John.
+John had to decline an arrangement desired passionately, because he had
+indiscreetly promised not to chuck the Duffer. Cæsar dropped the
+subject. After this, John noticed a slight coldness. He wondered whether
+Cæsar were jealous, jealousy being John's own besetting sin. Finally, he
+came to the conclusion that his friend might be not jealous but
+unreasonable. In any case, during the last three weeks of the term, John
+saw less of Cæsar, and more--more, indeed, than he wanted--of the Duffer
+and Fluff.
+
+And then came the paralysing news that Desmond had promised to spend ten
+days with Scaife's people, that a Professional had been hired, and that
+both boys were going to give their undivided energies to cricket.
+
+Afterwards, John often wondered whether Scaife, with truly demoniac
+insight into Desmond's character, had let him go, so as to seize him
+with more tenacious grasp when an opportunity presented itself.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+As soon as John saw Cæsar after the Easter holidays, he knew that,
+temporarily, at any rate, he had lost his friend. Cæsar, indeed, was
+demonstratively glad to see him, and dragged him off next day to walk to
+a certain bridge where a few short weeks before the boys had carved
+their names upon the wooden railing, surrounding them with a circle and
+the Crossed Arrows. But Cæsar could talk of nothing else but Scaife and
+cricket. They had both "come on" tremendously. Scaife's people had a
+splendid cricket-ground.
+
+Poor John! If he could have submerged the Scaife cricket-ground and the
+Scaife family by nodding his head, I fear that he would have nodded it,
+although he told himself that he was an ungenerous beast and cad not to
+sympathize with his pal.
+
+And before the boys got back to the Manor, Cæsar said, not without a
+blush, 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 look here,
+Jonathan, I've made the Demon promise to make the peace between Lovell
+and you. You'll play for the House, of course, and we must all pull
+together, as Warde says."
+
+John might have smiled at this opportune mention of Warde, but sense of
+humour was swamped in apprehension. Desmond went on to talk about
+Scaife.
+
+"He'll make 'em sit up, you see! The 'pro.' we had is the finest
+cover-point in England. I never saw such a chap. He dashes at the ball.
+Hit it as hard as you please, he runs in, picks it up, and snaps it back
+to the wicket-keeper as easy as if he was playing pitch and toss. And,
+by Jove! the Demon can do it. You wait. I never saw any fellow 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 like blazes to get ours
+next summer."
+
+John discounted much of this talk, but he soon found out that Cæsar had
+not overestimated the Demon's activity. The draw at Lord's in the
+previous summer had been attributed, by such experts as Webbe and
+Hornby, 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 overpowering ability to achieve his
+own ends. Who, but Scaife, would have made fielding the principal object
+of his holiday practice?
+
+Within a fortnight, Scaife was put into the Sixth Form game. Desmond
+found himself--thanks to Scaife--playing in the First Fifth game; but
+John was placed in Second Fifth Beta. Fortunately, he found an ally in
+Warde, who had a private pitch in the small park surrounding the Manor,
+where he coached the weaker players of his House. John told himself that
+he ought to get his "cap"; but, as the weeks slipped by, despite several
+creditable performances, he became aware that the "cap" was withheld,
+although it had been given to Fluff. There were five vacancies in the
+House Eleven, but, according to precedent, these need not be filled up
+till after the last House-match, and possibly not even then. In a word,
+John might play for the House, and even distinguish himself, without
+receiving the coveted distinction. How sore John felt!
+
+About the end of May he noticed that something was amiss with Cæsar.
+Generally they walked together on Sunday, but not always. During these
+walks, as has been said, Cæsar did most of the talking. Now, of a
+sudden, he became a half-hearted listener, and to John's repeated
+question, "What's up?" he would reply irritably, "Oh, don't
+bother--nothing."
+
+Finally, John heard from the Caterpillar that Cæsar was playing bridge,
+and losing.
+
+"They don't play often," the Caterpillar added; "but on wet afternoons
+they make up for lost time. Cæsar is outclassed. I've told him, but he's
+mad keen about the game."
+
+Later, John learned from the same source that Sunday afternoon was a
+bridge-fixture with Lovell and Co. At any rate, Cæsar did not play on
+Sunday. That was something.
+
+Upon the following Saturday, after making an honest fifteen runs and
+taking three wickets in a closely-contested game, John was running into
+the Yard just before six Bill, when Lovell stopped him.
+
+"You can get your 'cap,'" he said coldly.
+
+"Oh, thanks; thanks awfully!"
+
+Cæsar 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," Cæsar replied.
+
+"Oh, Cæsar, 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 on Sunday;
+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 with
+some one else. The Duffer had letters to write, and stigmatized walking
+as a beastly grind. John determined to walk by himself; but as he was
+leaving the Manor he met the Caterpillar, a tremendous buck, arrayed in
+his best--patent-leather boots, white waistcoat, a flower in his
+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 taking
+Egerton into his confidence. Sincerely attached to Egerton, and valuing
+his advice, he knew, none the less, that the Caterpillar looked at
+everybody and everything with the eyes of a colonel in the Guards. To
+tell Colonel Egerton's son that one's heart was lacerated because Cæsar
+Desmond was playing bridge on Sunday seemed to invite jeers. And,
+besides, that wasn't the real reason. John felt wretched because the
+Sunday walk had been sacrificed to Moloch. Presently Egerton came
+downstairs, spick and span, but not quite so smart. The boys walked
+quickly, talking of cricket.
+
+"The Demon'll get his Flannels," said Egerton. "I'm glad Lovell gave you
+your cap, Jonathan; you deserved it a month ago. It wasn't my fault 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, my
+dear fellow."
+
+At this John burst into explosive speech. Those beasts had got hold of
+Cæsar. The Caterpillar stared; he had never heard John let himself go.
+John's vocabulary surprised him.
+
+"Whew-w-w!" he whistled. "Gad! Jonathan, you do pile on the agony.
+Cæsar's all right. Don't worry."
+
+"He's not all right. I thought Cæsar had backbone, I----"
+
+"Hold on," said the Caterpillar, gravely.
+
+John thought he was about to be rebuked for disloyalty to a pal, an
+abominable sin in the Caterpillar's eyes.
+
+"Well?" said John.
+
+"I'm going to tell you something," said Egerton. "But you must swear not
+to give me away."
+
+"I'll swear."
+
+"You're a good little cove, Jonathan, but sometimes you smell just a
+little bit of--er--bread and butter. Keep cool. Personally, I would
+sooner that you, at your age, did smell of bread and butter than whisky.
+Well, you think that Cæsar is going straight to the bow-wows because he
+plays bridge. You accuse him in your own little mind of feebleness, and
+so forth. Yes, just so. And it's doosid unfair to Cæsar, 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; Cæsar would be furious if he knew that I was peaching, but he
+won't know, and instead of this--er--trifling affair weakening your good
+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 House
+match. Scaife and Cæsar were there. I took it upon myself to say you
+ought to be given your 'cap'; and then Cæsar burst out, 'Oh yes, Lovell,
+do give him his "cap." If you knew how he'd slaved to earn it.' But
+Lovell only laughed. And then Scaife chipped in, 'Look here, Cæsar,' he
+said, 'do I understand that you put this thing, which after all is none
+of your business or mine, as a favour which Lovell might do _you_?' And
+Cæsar 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 at
+Cæsar. It came to me that Lovell was primed to say something. At any
+rate, he turned to Cæsar, and said slowly, 'Tit for tat. If I do this
+for you, will you do something for me?' And Cæsar spoke up as usual,
+without a second's hesitation, 'Of course I will.' And then Scaife
+laughed again, just as Lovell said, 'All right, I'll give Verney his
+"cap" before tea, and you will make a fourth at bridge with us to-morrow
+afternoon.'"
+
+"Oh, oh!" groaned John.
+
+"Dash it all, don't look so wretched. There's not much more. Cæsar
+hesitated a moment. Then he said quietly enough, 'Done!' Personally, I
+don't think Lovell was playing--well--cricket, but I do know that he
+wanted a fourth at bridge, because I'd just refused to make that fourth
+myself. 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 like to
+cut off his infernal head."
+
+The Caterpillar laughed indulgently. "Jonathan, you're a rum 'un. You
+think it wicked to play cards on Sunday; but you would like"--he
+imitated John's trembling, passionate voice--"you would like to cut off
+Scaife's infernal head."
+
+"Yes--I would," said John.
+
+That same week he had a memorable talk with Warde; recorded because it
+illustrates Warde's methods, and because, ultimately, it came to be
+regarded by John as the turning-point of his intellectual life. Since he
+had taken the Lower Remove, John's energies of mind and body had been
+concentrated upon improving himself at games. Vaguely aware that some of
+the School-prizes were within his grasp, he had not deemed them worth
+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. I
+never see you without saying to myself, 'Is Verney going to bury his
+talents in the cricket-ground?'"
+
+"Oh!"
+
+"Some parents, too many of them, send their boys here to make a few nice
+friends, to play games, to scrape up the School with a remove once a
+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, you
+have deliberately taken things easy, because you wanted a soft time of
+it during the summer term, and because you wished to remain in the same
+form with Desmond, who, intellectually, is your--inferior. Is that
+square dealing with your people?"
+
+John was silent, but red of countenance. Warde went on, more
+vehemently--
+
+"I know all about your co-operative system of work. I have a harder name
+for it. And I know just what you can do, and I want to see you do it,
+for your own sake, for the sake of Mrs. Verney, and for the Hill's sake.
+I've pushed you on at cricket a bit, haven't I? Yes. You owe me
+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 next
+October. 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.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[27] There is a tablet on the wall of the Old Schools which bears the
+following inscription:--Near this spot ANTHONY ASHLEY COOPER Afterwards
+the 7th Earl of Shaftesbury, K.G. While yet a boy in Harrow School Saw
+with shame and indignation The pauper's funeral Which helped to awaken
+his 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[28] nurses too."
+
+
+That evening John told Cæsar what Warde had said to him, and then added,
+"I mean to have a shot at 'the Swan of Avon.'" Cæsar looked glum.
+
+"But how about the remove? We'd agreed to stay in the Second Fifth till
+Christmas. It's the jolliest form in the school."
+
+"If we put our backs--and heads--into Trials,[29] we can easily get a
+remove."
+
+"Blow Trials."
+
+John turned aside.
+
+"Look here, Jonathan," said Cæsar, eagerly. "To please me, give up your
+swatting scheme. We can't spoil the end of this jolly term."
+
+He caught hold of John's arm, squeezing it affectionately. Never had our
+hero been so sorely tempted.
+
+"We must stick together, you and I," entreated Desmond.
+
+"No," said John.
+
+"As you please," Cæsar replied coldly.
+
+A detestable week followed. John tackled his Shakespeare alone, working
+doggedly. Then, quite suddenly, the giant gripped him. He had always
+possessed a remarkable memory, and as a child he had learnt by heart
+many passages out of the plays (a fact well known to the crafty Warde);
+but these he had swallowed without digesting them. Now he became keen,
+the keener because he met with violent opposition from the Caterpillar
+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's
+face radiant with pride and happiness, as he received the Medal from the
+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 about
+Shakespeare, and he's a friend that will stand by you when cricketing
+days are over."
+
+"If you're pleased, so am I," said John.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Scaife got his Flannels; and at Lord's his fielding was mentioned as the
+finest ever seen in a Public School match. John witnessed the game from
+the top of the Trent coach, and he stopped at Trent House. But he didn't
+enjoy his exeat, because he knew that Cæsar was in trouble. Cæsar owed
+Scaife thirteen pounds, and the fact that this debt could not be paid
+without confession to his father was driving him distracted. Scaife, it
+is true, laughed genially at Cæsar's distress. "Settle when you please,"
+he said, "but for Heaven's sake, don't peach to your governor! Mine
+would laugh and pay up; yours will pay up and make you swear not to
+touch another card while you're at Harrow."
+
+"Just what he _will_ do," Cæsar told John.
+
+"And the best thing that could happen," John said bluntly. "If you don't
+cut loose now, it will be much worse next term."
+
+"Rot," Desmond had replied. "I'm paying the usual bill for learning a
+difficult game. That's how the Demon puts it. But I've a turn for
+bridge, 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 another class."
+
+"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's
+fielding saved Harrow from defeat. The fact of a draw had significance.
+A draw spelled compromise. John had indulged in a superstitious fancy
+common enough to persons older than he. "If Harrow wins," he put it to
+himself, "Cæsar will triumph; if Eton wins, Cæsar will lose." When the
+match proved a draw, John drew the conclusion that his pal would "funk"
+telling the truth; an apprehension presently confirmed.
+
+"I didn't tell the governor," said Cæsar, when John and he met. "My
+eldest 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 Cæsar and he were drifting apart. Now he
+worked by himself. And his voice had broken. A small thing this, but
+John was sensible that his singing voice touched corners in Cæsar's soul
+to which his speaking voice never penetrated. More, Cæsar and he had
+agreed to differ upon points of conscience other than card-playing. And
+every point of conscientious difference increases the distance between
+true friends in geometrical progression. Poor Jonathan!
+
+But we have his grateful testimony that Warde stood by him. And Warde
+made him see life at Harrow (and beyond) in a new light. Warde, indeed,
+decomposed the light into primary colours, a sort of experiment in
+moral chemistry, and not without fascination for an intelligent boy.
+Sometimes, it became difficult to follow Warde--members of the Alpine
+Club said that often it was impossible--because he jumped where others
+crawled. 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 dancing before
+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 are others----"
+
+"I'm awfully grateful to you, sir."
+
+"Never mind me."
+
+"What do you mean, sir?"
+
+"New Testament; Matthew; twenty-fifth chapter--I forget verse.[30] Look
+it up. Christ answers your question. Make life easier and happier for
+some 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--half a
+dozen sentences, a smile, a nod of the head, a keen look, and a striding
+off elsewhere. But when John repeated what Warde had said to Cæsar, 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."
+
+"Cæsar," said John, in desperation, "perhaps we _are_ sliding apart, but
+it isn't my fault, indeed it isn't. And think what it means to--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." Cæsar held out his hand, smiling.
+
+"I'm a jealous ass, Cæsar. And, as for calling me a parson," he laughed
+scornfully, "why, I'd sooner walk with you, even if you were the worst
+sinner in the world, than with any saint that ever lived."
+
+The feeling in John's voice drove Cæsar's gay smile from his face. Did
+he realize, possibly, for the first time, that if John and he remained
+friends, he might drag John down? Suddenly his face brightened.
+
+"Jonathan," he said gravely, "to please you, I'll not touch a card again
+this term, and we'll have such good times these last three weeks that
+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 barely
+beaten by Damer's. Everybody admitted that this glorious state of
+affairs was due to Warde's coaching of the weaker members of the Eleven.
+Scaife fielded brilliantly, and John, watching him, said to himself that
+at such times the Demon was irresistible. Warde invited the Eleven to
+dinner, and spoke of nothing but football, much to every one's
+amusement.
+
+"He's right," said the Caterpillar; "we're not cock-house at cricket
+this year, but we may be at footer."
+
+John spent his holidays abroad with his mother, and when the School
+reassembled, he found himself in the First Fifth _alone_. With
+satisfaction he reflected that this was Lovell's last term, and
+Beaumont-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 next
+term Scaife will show the School what he can do at racquets; but I want
+more. 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's well
+spent, if, _if_ you tackle everything in school life as you tackled 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 every night
+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 who wants
+it."
+
+"He's paid for it," sneered Scaife.
+
+The other boys nodded; enthusiasm was chilled. Yes, of course Warde was
+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. "Do you
+think he'd take a better paid billet?"
+
+Scaife laughed derisively. "Of course he would, like a shot. But he's
+not likely to get the chance."
+
+"He has just been offered the Head Mastership of Wellborough. It's worth
+about four thousand a year."
+
+"Pooh! who told you that?"
+
+"Cæsar's father."
+
+"It's true," said Cæsar.
+
+"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 heard of
+Warde's refusal to accept promotion, was profoundly impressed. Thus the
+term began with good resolutions upon the part of the better sort.
+
+Very soon, however, with the shortening days, bridge began again. John
+made no protest, afraid of losing his pal. He called himself coward, and
+considered the expediency of learning bridge, so as to be in the same
+boat with Cæsar. Cæsar told him that he had not asked his brother Hugo
+for the thirteen pounds. Hugo, it seemed, had come back from Teheran
+with a decoration and the air of an ambassador. He spoke of his
+"services."
+
+"I knew that Hugo would make me swear not to play again," said Cæsar to
+John, "and naturally I want to get some of the plunder back. I am
+getting it back. I raked thirty bob out of Beaumont-Greene last night."
+
+John said nothing.
+
+Presently it came to his ears that Cæsar was getting more plunder back.
+The Caterpillar, an agreeable gossip, because he condemned nothing
+except dirt and low breeding, told John that Beaumont-Greene was losing
+many shekels. And about the middle of October Cæsar said to John--
+
+"What do you think, old Jonathan? I've jolly nearly paid off the Demon.
+And you wanted me to chuck the thing. Nice sort of counsellor."
+
+"Beaumont-Greene must have lost a pot?"
+
+"You bet," said Cæsar; "but that doesn't keep me awake at night. He has
+got the _Imperishable Seamless Whaleskin Boot_ behind him."
+
+Next time John met Beaumont-Greene he eyed him sharply. The big fellow
+was pulpier than ever; his complexion the colour of skilly. Yes; he
+looked 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 was left.
+More, he owed Scaife twenty pounds, and Lovell another ten. Both these
+young gentlemen had hinted plainly that they wanted to see their money.
+
+"I must have the stuff now," said Lovell, when Beaumont-Greene asked for
+time. "I'm going to shoot a lot this Christmas, and the governor makes
+me pay for my cartridges."
+
+"So does mine," said Scaife, grinning. He was quite indifferent to the
+money, but he liked to see Beaumont-Greene squirm. He continued suavely,
+"You ought to settle before you leave. Ain't your people in Rome? Yes.
+And you're going to join 'em. Why, hang it, some Dago may stick a knife
+into you, and where should we be then--hey? Your governor wouldn't
+settle a gambling debt, would he?"
+
+This was too true. Scaife grinned diabolically. He knew that
+Beaumont-Greene's father was endeavouring to establish a credit-account
+with the Recording Angel. Originally a Nonconformist, he had joined the
+Church of England after he had made his fortune (cf. _Shavings from the
+Workshops of our Merchant Princes_, which appeared in the pages of
+"Prattle"). Then, the famous inventor of the Imperishable Boot had taken
+to endowing churches; and he published pamphlets denouncing drink and
+gambling, pamphlets sent to his son at Harrow, who (with an eye to
+backsheesh) 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" (slight
+emphasis on the "us"), "we knew that we could rely on you to settle
+promptly."
+
+The Demon grinned for the third time, knowing that he had touched a weak
+spot; not a difficult thing to do, if you touched the big fellow at all.
+A young man of spirit would have told his creditors to go to Jericho.
+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 wait till I have
+the money. I'm stoney now." Scaife and Lovell must have accepted this as
+an ultimatum. But Beaumont-Greene's wretched pride interfered. He had
+posed as a sort of Golden Youth. To confess himself pinchbeck seemed an
+unspeakable humiliation.
+
+Men have been known to take to drink under the impending sword of
+dishonour. Beaumont-Greene swallowed instead large quantities of food at
+the Creameries; and then wrote to his father, saying that he would like
+to have a cheque for thirty pounds by return of post. He was leaving
+Harrow, he pointed out, and he wished to give his friends some handsome
+presents. Young Desmond, for instance, the great Minister's son, had
+been kind to him (Beaumont-Greene prided himself upon this touch), and
+Scaife, too, he was under obligations to Scaife, who would be a power
+by-and-by, and so forth.... To confess frankly that he owed thirty
+pounds gambled away at cards required more cheek than our stout 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. He
+pointed out to his dear Thomas that giving handsome presents with
+another's money was an objectionable habit. Thomas received a large,
+possibly too large an allowance. He must exercise self-denial, if he
+wished to make presents. His quarterly allowance would be paid as usual
+next Christmas, and not a minute before. There would be time then to
+reconsider the propriety of giving young Desmond a suitable gift....
+
+Common sense told Beaumont-Greene to show this letter to Scaife and
+Lovell. But he saw the Demon's derisive grin, and recoiled from it.
+
+At this moment temptation seized him relentlessly. Beaumont-Greene never
+resisted temptation. For fun, so he put it, he would write the sort of
+letter which his father ought to have written, and which would have put
+him at his ease. It ran thus--
+
+ "MY DEAR THOMAS,
+
+"No doubt you will want to give some leaving presents, and a spread or
+two. I should like my son to do the thing handsomely. You know better
+than I how much this will cost, but I am prepared to send you, say,
+twenty-five or thirty pounds for such a purpose. Or, you can have the
+bills sent to me.
+
+                              "With love,
+                                "Your affectionate father,
+                                  "GEORGE BEAUMONT-GREENE."
+
+Beaumont-Greene, like the immortal Mr. Toots, rather fancied himself as
+a letter-writer. The longer he looked at his effusion, the more he liked
+it. His handwriting was not unlike his father's--modelled, indeed, upon
+it. With a little careful manipulation of a few letters----!
+
+The day was cold, but Beaumont-Greene suddenly found himself in a
+perspiration. None the less, it seemed easier to forge a letter than to
+avow himself penniless. Detection? Impossible! Two or three tradesmen in
+Harrow would advance the money if he showed them this letter. Next
+Christmas they would be paid. Within a quarter of an hour he made up his
+mind to cross the Rubicon, and crossed it with undue haste. He forged
+the letter, placed it in an envelope which had come 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, hesitating
+manner.
+
+"With pleasure," said the tradesman, smiling. Then, seeing an
+opportunity, he added, "You are leaving Harrow, Mr. Beaumont-Greene, but
+I trust, sir, you will not take your custom with you. We have always
+tried to please you."
+
+Beaumont-Greene, in his turn, saw opportunity.
+
+"Yes, yes," he answered. Then he produced the letter, envelope and all.
+"I have here a letter from my father, who is in Rome. I'll read it to
+you. No; you can read it yourself."
+
+The tailor read the letter.
+
+"Very handsome," he replied; "_very_ handsome indeed, sir. Your father
+is a true gentleman."
+
+"It happens," said Beaumont-Greene, more easily, for the thing seemed to
+be simpler than he had anticipated--"it happens that I _do_ want to make
+some presents, but I'm not going to buy them here. I shall send to 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 one must
+pay cash. I've not got the cash, and my father is in Rome. I should like
+to have the money to-day, if possible. Will you oblige me?"
+
+The tradesman hesitated. In the past there have been grave scandals
+connected with lending money to boys. And Harrow tradesmen are at the
+mercy of the Head Master. If a school-tailor be put out of bounds, he
+can put up his shutters at once. Still----
+
+"I'll let you have the money," said the man, eyeing Beaumont-Greene
+keenly.
+
+"Thanks."
+
+The tailor observed a slight flush and a sudden intake of breath--signs
+which stirred suspicion.
+
+"Will you take it in notes, sir?"
+
+Here Beaumont-Greene made his first blunder. He had an ill-defined idea
+that paper was dangerous stuff.
+
+"In gold, please."
+
+He forgot that gold is not easily sent in a letter. The tailor
+hesitated, 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 of receipt,
+sir. When you settle I'll return it. If--if anything should happen
+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's
+step-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 his
+third egg."
+
+Beaumont-Greene said loftily, "Blow your wife's step-father and his
+third egg. Here's the letter."
+
+He flung down the letter and marched out of the shop. The tradesman
+looked at him, shaking his head. "He'll never come back," he muttered.
+"I know his sort too well." Then, business happening to be slack, he
+re-read the letter before putting it away. Then he whistled softly and
+read it for the third time, frowning and biting his lips. The
+"Beaumont-Greene" in the signature and on the envelope did not look to
+be written by the same hand.
+
+"There's something fishy here," muttered the tradesman. "I must show
+this to Amelia."
+
+It was his habit to consult his wife in emergencies. The chief cutter
+and two assistants said that Amelia was the power behind the throne.
+Amelia read the letter, listened to what her husband had to say, stared
+hard at the envelope, and delivered herself--
+
+"The hand that wrote the envelope never wrote the letter, that's
+plain--to me. Now, William, you've got me and the children to think of.
+This may mean the loss of our business, and worse, too. You put on your
+hat and go straight to the Manor. Mr. Warde's a gentleman, and I don'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 his
+study. Beaumont-Greene obeyed, smiling blandly. Within three weeks he
+was leaving; doubtless Warde wanted to say something civil. The big
+fellow was feeling quite himself. He had paid Scaife and Lovell, not
+without a little pardonable braggadocio.
+
+"You fellows have put me to some inconvenience," he said. "I make it a
+rule 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 of
+the term you'll have most of it back."
+
+Warde asked Beaumont-Greene to sit down in a particular chair, which
+faced the light from a large lamp. Then he took up an envelope. Suddenly
+cold chills trickled down Beaumont-Greene's spine. He recognized the
+envelope. That scoundrel had betrayed him. Not for a moment, however,
+did he suppose that the forgery had been detected.
+
+"On the strength of this letter," said Warde, gravely, "you borrowed
+thirty pounds from a tradesman?"
+
+Denial being fatuous, Beaumont-Greene said--
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+"You know, I suppose, that Harrow tradesmen are expressly forbidden to
+lend 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 the
+exact circumstances?"
+
+"Not at all, sir. I wished to make some presents to my friends. I am
+going 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, with that
+letter."
+
+"Did you?"
+
+Warde took the letter from the envelope, and glanced at it with faint
+interest, so Beaumont-Greene thought. Then he picked up a magnifying
+glass and played with it. It was a trick of his to pick up objects on
+his desk, and turn them in his thin, nervous fingers. Beaumont-Greene
+was not seriously alarmed. He had great faith in a weapon which had
+served him faithfully, his lying tongue.
+
+"Yes, sir. I thought you would be willing to advance the money for a few
+days, and then----"
+
+"And then?"
+
+"And then I thought I wouldn't bother you. It never occurred to me that
+I was getting a tradesman into trouble. I hope you won't be hard on him,
+sir."
+
+"I shall not be hard on him," said Warde, "because"--for a moment his
+eyes flashed--"because he came to me and confessed his fault; but I
+won't deny that I gave him a very uncomfortable quarter of an hour. He
+sat 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 in
+gold. Did you buy Orders?"
+
+Beaumont-Greene's head began to buzz. He found himself wondering why
+Warde was speaking in this smooth, quiet voice, so different from his
+usual 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't lay
+down the lens. Instead he used it, very deliberately. Beaumont-Greene
+shivered; with difficulty he clenched his teeth, so as to prevent them
+clicking like castanets. Then Warde held up the sheet of paper to the
+light of the lamp. Obviously he wished to examine the watermark. The
+paper was thin notepaper, the kind that is sold everywhere for foreign
+correspondence. Beaumont-Greene, economical in such matters, had bought
+a couple of quires when his people went abroad. The paper he had bought
+did not quite match the Roman envelope. 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 Rome
+uses the same notepaper that I buy here. But the envelope is Italian?"
+
+He spoke interrogatively, but the wretch opposite had lost the power of
+speech. He collapsed. Warde rose, throwing aside his quiet manner as if
+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 find you
+out. And you--you have dared to play with such an edged tool as forgery.
+Now, do the one thing which is left to you: make a clean breast 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
+creature in front of him, Warde overlooked the possibility that this
+boy's confession might implicate other boys. Already he had formed in
+his mind a working hypothesis to account for this forged letter. The
+fellow, 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 fell on
+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 his
+lips. From time to time he glanced at Beaumont-Greene. Seeing his utter
+collapse, he rang the bell, answered by the ever-discreet Dumbleton.
+
+"Dumbleton, take Mr. Beaumont-Greene to the sick-room. There is no one
+in it, I believe?"
+
+"No, sir."
+
+"You will fetch what he may require for the night; quietly, you
+understand."
+
+"Very good, sir."
+
+"Follow Dumbleton," Warde addressed Beaumont-Greene. "You will consider
+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 into the
+passage beyond. Warde waited one moment, then he followed them into the
+passage; but instead of going upstairs, he paused for an instant with
+his fingers upon the handle of the door which led from the private side
+to the boys' quarters. He sighed as he passed through.
+
+At this moment Lovell was sitting in his room alone with Scaife. They
+had no suspicion of what had taken place in the study. In the afternoon
+there had been a match with an Old Harrovian team, and both Scaife and
+Lovell had played for the School. But as yet neither had got his
+Flannels. As Warde passed through the private side door, Scaife was
+saying angrily--
+
+"I believe Challoner" (Challoner was captain of the football Eleven and
+a monitor) "has a grudge against us. If we had a chance--and we had--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't like
+us, and it amuses him to keep us out of our just rights. The monitors
+know I detest 'em, and they don't think you're called the Demon for
+nothing. Challoner is more of a monitor than a footer-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 feel
+himself master of more or less willing slaves--echoed through the house.
+Immediately the night-fag came running; it was not considered healthy 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 a slight variation for Warde's
+benefit. "Tell him I want to ask him a question 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 looked at
+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?"
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[28] The Anglo-Saxon form of Harrow.
+
+[29] The terminal examination.
+
+[30] "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these My
+brethren, ye have done it unto Me."
+
+
+
+
+CHAPTER X
+
+_Decapitation_
+
+    "Ferdinand Mendez Pinto was but a type of thee, thou liar of the
+    first magnitude!"
+
+
+Lovell betrayed his astonishment by a slight start; however, he faced
+Warde with a smile. Warde, clean-shaven, alert, with youthful figure,
+looked but little older than his pupil. For a moment the two stared
+steadily 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 discovered
+the fact of the debt. Probably that fool Beaumont-Greene had applied to
+his father, and the father had written to Warde. It was unthinkable that
+Warde knew more than this. Having reached this conclusion, Lovell turned
+over in his mind two or three specious lies that might meet the
+exigency.
+
+"Yes," he replied, with apparent frankness, "Beaumont-Greene did owe me
+money, and he has paid me."
+
+After a slight pause, Warde said quietly, "It is my duty, as your tutor,
+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 to
+call "Boy" for the last time, or did the pent-up excitement find an
+outlet in sound? He had never called "Boy" so loudly or clearly. The
+night-fag scurried up again.
+
+"Tell him to send Scaife here," said Warde.
+
+Lovell's florid face paled. Scaife would introduce complications. And
+yet, if it had come to Warde's ears that Beaumont-Greene was in debt to
+two of his schoolfellows, and if he had found out the name of one, it
+was not surprising that he knew the name of the other also. As he gave
+the fag the message, he regretted that Scaife and he could not have a
+minute's private conversation together.
+
+"You lent Beaumont-Greene ten pounds, Lovell?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Scaife came in, cool, handsomer than usual because of the sparkle in his
+eyes.
+
+"Shut the door, Scaife. Look at me, please. Beaumont-Greene owed you
+money?"
+
+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, whose father,
+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, has got
+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 that
+Beaumont-Greene borrowed this money to help a brother----"
+
+He paused, staring at Lovell. From the bottom of a big heart he was
+praying that Lovell would not lie.
+
+"Beaumont-Greene certainly gave me to understand that the affair was
+pressing. 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 many expenses
+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 which
+looms large in the imaginations of youth. What had Beaumont-Greene done?
+
+"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. I speak
+to you first, Lovell. You're a Sixth Form boy--remember, I have been one
+myself--and it is your duty to help me."
+
+"I beg pardon, sir," Lovell replied. "I have never considered it my duty
+as a Sixth Form boy to play the usher."
+
+"Nor did I; but you ought to work on parallel lines with us. You
+accepted the privileges of the Sixth."
+
+Lovell's flush deepened.
+
+"More," continued Warde, "you know that we, the masters, have implicit
+trust in the Sixth Form, a trust but seldom betrayed. For instance, I
+should not think of entering your room without tapping on the door;
+under ordinary circumstances I should accept your bare word
+unhesitatingly. I say emphatically that if you, knowing these things,
+have accepted the privileges of your order with the deliberate intention
+of ignoring its duties, you have not acted like a man of honour."
+
+"Sir!"
+
+"Don't bluff! Now, for the last time, will you give me what I have given
+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 lent him
+this money, because he wanted it badly; and he said he would pay us back
+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 his
+curtest manner. "This matter," said he, "is out of my hands. The Head
+Master 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 the
+sick-room. There were three beds in it; upon one sat Beaumont-Greene.
+His complexion turned a sickly drab when he saw Lovell and Scaife. He
+even glanced at the window with a hunted expression. The window was
+three stories from the ground, and heavily barred ever since a boy in
+delirium 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"--his voice
+broke into a terrified scream--"don't let him hit me. I couldn't help
+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. Upon
+the latter remained the results of the last game played, and under the
+winning 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 be in
+the Speech-room at 8.30. Not a boy knew or guessed the reason of this
+summons. The Manorites, aware that three of their House were in the
+sick-room, believed that an infectious disease had broken out. Only
+Desmond, John, and the Caterpillar experienced heart-breaking fears that
+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, the
+School Custos entered with Scaife. They sat down upon a small bench near
+the door. Immediately the whispers, the shuffling of feet, the
+occasional cough, died down into a thrilling silence. The Head Master
+stood up.
+
+He was a man of singularly impressive face and figure. And his voice had
+what may be described as an edge to it--the cutting quality so
+invaluable to any speaker who desires to make a deep impression upon his
+audience. He began his address in the clear, cold accents of one who
+sets forth facts which can neither be controverted nor ignored. Slowly,
+inexorably, without wasting a word or a second, he told the School what
+had happened. Then he paused.
+
+As his voice melted away, the boys moved restlessly. Upon their faces
+shone a curious excitement and relief. Gambling in its many-headed forms
+is too deeply rooted in human hearts to awaken any great antipathy. So
+far, then, the sympathy of the audience lay with the culprits; 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 those
+cases from which every clean, manly boy must recoil in disgust. But, on
+that account, don't blind yourselves to the issues involved. This
+playing of bridge--a game you have seen your own people playing night
+after night, perhaps--is harmless enough in itself. I can say more--it
+is a game, and hence its fascination, which calls into use some of the
+finest qualities of the brain: judgment, memory, the faculty of making
+correct deductions, foresight, and patience. It teaches restraint; it
+makes for pleasant fellowship. It does all this and more, provided that
+it never degenerates into gambling. The very moment that the game
+becomes a gamble, if any one of the players is likely to lose a sum
+greater than he can reasonably afford to pay, greater than he would
+cheerfully spend upon any other form of entertainment, then bridge
+becomes cursed. And because you boys have not the experience to
+determine the difference between a mere game and a gamble, card-playing
+is forbidden you, and rightly so. Now, let us consider what has
+happened. A stupid, foolish fellow, playing with boys infinitely
+cleverer 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 a
+signature. And then followed the inevitable lying--lie upon lie. That is
+always the price of lies--'to lie on still.'
+
+"I would mitigate the punishment, if I could, but I must think of the
+majority. This sort of malignant disease must be cut out. Two of the
+three offenders are young men; they were leaving at the end of this
+term. They will leave, instead--to-day. The third boy is much younger.
+Because of his youth, I have been persuaded by his house-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,[31] and prepare to
+receive the punishment which no member of the Eleven should ever
+deserve."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+John sat with his Form while the Head Master was addressing the School.
+Not far off was the Caterpillar, less cool than usual, so John remarked.
+His collar, for instance, seemed to be too tight; and he moved
+restlessly upon his chair. Many very brave men become nervous when a
+great danger has passed them by. Egerton said afterwards, "I felt like
+getting down a hole, and pulling the hole after me. Not my own. Some
+Yankee's, you know." Still, he displayed remarkable self-possession
+under trying circumstances. Two of Lovell's particular friends were seen
+to turn the colour of Cheddar cheese. But Desmond, so John noticed, grew
+red rather than yellow. Nor did he tremble, but his fists were clenched,
+and his eyes kindled.
+
+As Scaife left the Speech-room, followed by Titchener (the provider of
+birches, whose duty it is to see that boys about to be swished are
+properly prepared to receive punishment), the boys began to shuffle in
+their places. But the Head Master held up his hand. It was then that
+Lovell's two particular friends, who had partially recovered, felt that
+the earth was once more slipping from under them.
+
+"It takes four to play bridge." The Caterpillar's fingers went to
+his collar again. "In this case there must have been a fourth,
+possibly a fifth and a sixth. Not more, I think, because the secret
+was too well kept. We are confronted with the disagreeable fact that
+three boys are going to receive the most severe punishments I can
+inflict, and that another escapes scot-free. _For I do not know
+the--name--of--the--fourth._"
+
+The Head Master waited to let each deliberate word soak in. Perhaps he
+had calculated the effect of his voice upon a boy of sensibility and
+imagination. That Scaife, his friend, should suffer the indignity of a
+swishing, and that he should escape scot-free, seemed to Cæsar Desmond
+not a bit of rare good fortune--as it appeared to the others--but an
+incredible miscarriage of justice. To submit tamely to such a burden was
+unthinkable. He sprang to his feet, ardent, impetuous, afire with the
+spirit which makes men accept death rather than dishonour; and then, in
+a voice that rang through the room, thrilling the coldest and most
+callous heart, he exclaimed--
+
+"I was the fourth."
+
+A curious sound escaped from the audience--a gasp of surprise, of
+admiration, 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 us
+not blame them.
+
+"You, Egerton?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+For a moment the Head Master hesitated. Into his mind there flashed the
+image of two notable figures--the fathers whom he had entreated to send
+sons to the Manor. If--if by so doing he had compassed the boys' ruin,
+could he ever have forgiven himself? But now, the boys themselves had
+justified his action; they had proved worthy of their breeding 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 inflict
+upon Scaife?"
+
+The boys did not answer, save with their eyes. The silence in the great
+room was so profound that John made sure that the beating of his heart
+must be heard by everybody.
+
+"I shall not punish you. This voluntary confession has done much to
+redeem your fault. Meet me in my study at nine this evening, and I will
+talk to you. When I came here I hardly hoped to find saints, but I did
+expect to find--gentlemen. And I have not been disappointed." He
+addressed the others. "You will return to your boarding-houses, and
+quietly, if you please."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The immediate and most noticeable effect of Lovell's expulsion was the
+loss of the next House match. Damer's defeated the Manor easily. Some of
+the fags whispered to each other that the injuries inflicted by the Head
+Master on Scaife had been so severe as to incapacitate the star-player
+of the House. Two boys had concealed themselves in the Armoury (which is
+just below the Fourth Form Room) upon the morning when Scaife was
+flogged. But they reported--nothing. However severe the punishment might
+have been, Scaife received it without a whimper.
+
+In truth, Scaife received but one cut, and that a light one. The Head
+Master wished to lay stripes upon the boy's heart, not his body. When he
+saw him prepared to receive punishment, he said gravely--
+
+"I have never flogged a member of the Eleven. And now, at the last
+moment, 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, after
+execution. He was too proud to run, too proud not to face the boys he
+happened 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 leave
+the 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 of
+going into Hall. I've got some ripping salmon."
+
+Scaife had faced everything with a brazen indifference, but the sympathy
+in his friend's voice overpowered him. He flung himself upon the sofa by
+the window and wept, not as a boy weeps, but with the cruel, grinding
+sobs of a man. He wept for his stained pride, for his vain-glory, not
+because he had sinned and caused others to sin. The boy watching him,
+seeing the hero self-abased, hearing his heartbreaking sobs, interpreted
+very differently those sounds. Infinitely distressed, turning over and
+over in his mind some soothing phrases, some word of comfort and
+encouragement, Desmond waited till the first paroxysm had passed. What
+he said then shall not be set down in cold print. You may be sure he
+proved that friendship between two strong, vigorous boys is no frail
+thread, but a golden chain which adversity strengthens and refines.
+Scaife rose up with his heart softened, not by his own tears, but by the
+tears he saw in Desmond's eyes.
+
+"I'm all right now," he said. Then, with frowning brows, he added
+thoughtfully, "I deserve what I got for being a fool. I ought to have
+foreseen that such a swine as Beaumont-Greene would be sure to betray us
+sooner or later. I shall be wiser next time."
+
+"Next--time?" The dismay in Desmond's voice made Scaife smile.
+
+"Don't worry, Cæsar. No more bridge for me; but," he laughed harshly,
+"the leopard can't change his spots, and he won't give up hunting
+because he has fallen into a trap, and got out of it. Come, let's tackle
+the salmon."
+
+The winter term came to an end, and the School broke up. Upon the
+evening 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 the gardens,
+and was larger than some three-rooms. Then John remembered Scaife 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 entitled to
+it as the future Captain of the Eleven. That is--settled. You and Duff
+must part. He's two forms below you in the school, and never likely to
+soar much higher than the Second Fifth. Next term you will be in the
+Sixth, and by the summer I hope Desmond will have joined you. You will
+find[32] together. Of course Scaife can find with you, if you wish. I've
+spoken to him and Desmond."
+
+And so, John's fondest hope was realized. When he came back to the
+Manor, Desmond and he spent much time and rather more money than they
+could afford in making No. 7 the cosiest room in the house. Consciences
+were salved thus:--John bought for Desmond some picture or other
+decorative object which cost more money than he felt justified in
+spending on himself; then Desmond made John a similar present. It was
+whipping the devil round the stump, John said, but oh! the delight of
+giving his friend something he coveted, and receiving presents from him
+in return.
+
+During this term, Scaife became one of the school racquet-players. In
+many ways he was admittedly the most remarkable boy at Harrow, the
+Admirable Crichton who appears now and again in every decade. He won the
+high jump and the hurdle-race. These triumphs kept him out of mischief,
+and occupied every minute of his time. He associated with the "Bloods,"
+and one day Desmond told John that he considered himself to have been
+"dropped" by this tremendous swell. John discreetly held his tongue; but
+in his own mind, as before, he was convinced that Scaife and Desmond
+would come together again. The inexorable circumstance of Scaife's
+superiority at games had separated the boys, but only for a brief
+season. Desmond would become a "Blood" soon, and then it would be John's
+turn to be "dropped." Being a philosopher, our hero did not worry too
+much over the future, but made the most of the present, with a grateful
+and joyous heart. In his humility, he was unable to measure his
+influence on Desmond. In athletic pursuits an inferior, in all
+intellectual attainments he was pulling far ahead of his friend. The
+artful Warde had a word to say, which gave John food for thought.
+
+"You can never equal your friend at cricket or footer, Verney. If you
+wish to score, it is time to play your own game."
+
+Shortly after this, John realized that Warde had read Cæsar aright.
+Charles Desmond's son, as has been said, acclaimed quality wherever he
+met it. John's intellectual advance amazed and then fascinated him. When
+John discovered this, he worked harder. Warde smiled. John ran second
+for the Prize Poem. He had genuine feeling for Nature, but he lacked as
+yet the technical ability to display it. A more practised versifier won
+the prize; but John's taste for history and literature secured him the
+Bourchier, not without a struggle which whetted to keenness every
+faculty he possessed. More, to his delight, he realized that his
+enthusiasm was contagious. Cæsar entered eagerly into his friend'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 Cæsar Desmond might have stuck in the First Fifth, had it not
+been for this quickening of the clay. The days succeeded each other
+swiftly and smoothly. Warde was seen to smile more than ever during this
+term. Certain big fellows who opposed him were leaving or had already
+left. Bohun, now Head of the House, was a sturdy, straightforward
+monitor, not a famous athlete, but able to hold his own in any field of
+endeavour. Just before the Christmas holidays, Warde discovered, to his
+horror, that the drainage at the Manor was out of order. At great
+expense a new and perfect system was laid down. At last Warde told
+himself his house might be pronounced sanitary within and without.
+
+When the summer term came, Desmond joined John in the Sixth Form. They
+were entitled to single rooms, but they asked and obtained permission to
+remain in No. 7. Desmond was invested with the right to fag, and the
+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 own room, the
+pleasant talk, the sense of intimacy, the freedom from restraint. Custom
+stales all good things, but how delicious they taste at first!
+
+The privilege of fagging is not, however, unadulterated bliss. When
+Warde said to Cæsar, "Well, Desmond, how do you like ordering about your
+slave?" Desmond replied, ruefully, "Well, sir, little Duff has broken my
+inkstand, spilt the ink on our new carpet, and let Verney's bullfinch
+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 member of
+it. John and Fluff were playing in the Sixth Form game; but John had no
+chance of his Flannels, although he had improved in batting and bowling,
+thanks to Warde's indefatigable coaching. Scaife hardly ever spoke to
+John now, but occasionally he came into No. 7 to talk to Desmond. Upon
+these rare occasions John would generally find an excuse for leaving the
+room. Always, when he returned, Desmond seemed to be restless and
+perplexed. His admiration for Scaife had waxed rather than waned.
+Indeed, John himself, detesting Scaife--for it had come to that--fearing
+him on Desmond's account, admired him notwithstanding: captivated by
+his amazing grace, good looks, and audacity. His recklessness held even
+the "Bloods" spellbound. A coach ran through Harrow in the afternoons of
+that season. Scaife made a bet that he would 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 forth rigorously that no boy is to drive in
+or on any vehicle whatever. Only the Cycle Corps are allowed to use
+bicycles. Scaife's bet, you may be sure, excited extraordinary interest.
+He won it easily, disguised as the coachman--a make-up clever enough to
+deceive even those who were in the 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 the field. Scaife laughed when he saw her; but
+before she left the ground a note had reached her.
+
+ "DEAR MISS WARDE,
+
+"I am sure that you have too much sporting blood in your veins to tell
+your father that you have seen me playing polo.
+
+                              "Yours very sincerely,
+                                            "REGINALD SCAIFE."
+
+To run such risks seemed to John madness; to Desmond it indicated
+genius.
+
+"There never was such a fellow," said Cæsar to John.
+
+When Cæsar spoke in that tone John knew that Scaife had but to hold up a
+finger, and that Cæsar would come to him even as a bird drops into the
+jaws of a snake. Cæsar was strong, but the Demon was stronger.
+
+After the Zingari Match, Desmond got his Flannels. He was cheered at six
+Bill. Everybody liked him; everybody was proud of him, proud of his
+father, proud of the long line of Desmonds, all distinguished,
+good-looking, and with charming manners. The School roared its
+satisfaction. John stood a little back, by the cloisters. Cæsar ran past
+him, down the steps and into the street, hat in hand, blushing like a
+girl. John felt a lump in his throat. He thrilled because glory shone
+about his friend; but the poignant reflection came, that Cæsar 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, Cæsar
+arm-in-arm with Scaife and the Captain of the Eleven, Cæsar in his new
+straw,[33] looking happier than John had ever seen him, Cæsar, the
+"Blood," rolling triumphantly down the High Street, the envied of all
+beholders, the hero of the hour.
+
+John called himself a selfish beast, because he had wished for one
+terrible moment, wished with heart and soul, that Cæsar was unpopular
+and obscure.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[31] The place of execution.
+
+[32] "Finding" is the privilege, accorded to the Sixth Form, of having
+breakfast and tea served in their own rooms instead of in Hall.
+
+[33] The black-and-white straw hat only worn by members of the School
+Cricket 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 Hill
+stood in the midst of genuine and unspoilt country, separated by five
+miles of grass from the nearest point of the metropolis, and encompassed
+by isolated dwellings, ranging in rank and scale from villas to country
+houses.[34] Most of the latter have fallen victims to the speculative
+builder, and have been cut up into alleys of brick and stucco. But one
+or two still remain among their hayfields and rhododendrons.
+
+John Verney had an eager curiosity, not common in schoolboys, to know
+something about the countryside in which he dwelt. As a Lower Boy,
+whenever released from "Compulsory" and House-games, he used to wander
+with alert eyes and ears up and down the green lanes of Roxeth and
+Harrow Weald, enjoying fresh glimpses of the far-seen Spire, making
+friends with cottagers, picking up traditions of an older and more
+lawless[35] epoch, and, with these, an ever-increasing love and loyalty
+to Harrow. So Byron had wandered a hundred years before.
+
+These solitary rambles, however, were regarded with disfavour by
+schoolfellows who lacked John's imaginative temperament. The
+Caterpillar, for instance, protested, "Did I see you hobnobbing with a
+chaw the other day? I thought so; and you looked like a confounded
+bughunter." The Duffer's notions of topography were bounded by the
+cricket-ground on the one side of the Hill, and the footer-fields on the
+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 far removed
+from John to make him more than an occasional companion. And so, for
+several terms, John, for the most part, walked alone. By the time
+Desmond joined him, he had gleaned a knowledge which fascinated a friend
+of like sensibility and imagination. Together they revisited the old and
+explored the new. One never-to-be-forgotten day the boys discovered a
+deserted house of some pretensions about a mile from the Hill. Its
+grounds, covering several acres, were enclosed by a high oak paling,
+within which stood a thick belt of trees, effectually concealing what
+lay beyond. Grim iron gates, always locked, frowned upon the wayfarer;
+but John, flattening an inquisitive nose against the ironwork, could
+discern a carriage-drive overgrown with grass and weeds, and at the end
+of it a white stone portico. After this the place became to both boys a
+sort of Enchanted Castle. A dozen times they peered through the gates.
+No one went in or out of the grass-grown drive. The gatekeeper's lodge
+was uninhabited; there were no adjacent cottages where information might
+be sought. The boys called it "The Haunted House," and peopled it with
+ghosts; gorgeous bucks of the Regency, languishing beauties such as
+Lawrence painted, fiery politicians, duellists, mysterious black-a-vised
+foreigners. John connected it in fancy with the days when the gorgeous
+Duke of Chandos (who had Handel for his chapel-organist and was a
+Governor of Harrow and guardian of Lord Rodney) kept court at Cannons.
+He told Cæsar anecdotes of Dr. Parr, with his preposterous wig, his
+clouds of tobacco, his sesquipedalian quotations, coming down from
+Stanmore; and also of the great Lord Abercorn, another Governor of the
+school, who used to go out shooting in the blue riband of the Garter,
+and who entertained Pitt and Sir Walter Scott at Bentley Priory.
+
+"What a lot you know!" said Cæsar. "And you have a memory like my
+father's. I'm beginning to think, Jonathan, that you'll be a swell like
+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 twice
+as good."
+
+One soft afternoon in spring, after four Bill, Desmond and John were
+approaching the iron gates of the Haunted House. They had not taken this
+particular walk since the day when Desmond got his Flannels. During the
+winter term, Scaife and Desmond became members of the Football Eleven.
+During this term Scaife won the hundred yards and quarter-mile; Desmond
+won the half-mile and mile. In a word, they had done, from the athletic
+point of view, nearly all that could be done. A glorious victory at
+Lord's seemed assured. Scaife, Captain and epitome of the brains and
+muscles of the Eleven, had grown into a powerful man, with the mind, the
+tastes, the passions of manhood. Desmond, on the other hand, while
+nearly as tall (and much handsomer in John's eyes), still retained the
+look of youth. Indeed, he looked younger than John, although a year his
+senior; and John knew himself to be the elder and wiser, knew that
+Desmond leaned upon him whenever a crutch was wanted.
+
+The chief difficulty which besets a school friendship between two boys
+is that of being alone together. In Form, in the playing-fields, in the
+boarding-house, life is public. Even in the most secluded lane, a Harrow
+boy is not secure against the unwelcome salutations of heated athletes
+who have been taking a cross-country run, or leaping over, or into, the
+Pinner brook. To John the need of sanctuary had become pressing.
+
+Upon this blessed spring afternoon--ever afterwards recalled with
+special affection--a retreat was suddenly provided. As the boys jumped
+over 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 of
+shutting them.
+
+"May we go in?" John asked civilly.
+
+The man hesitated, eyeing the boys. Desmond's smile melted him, as it
+would have melted a mummy.
+
+"There's nothing to see," he said.
+
+Then, in answer to a few eager questions, he told the story of the
+Haunted House; haunted, indeed, by the ghosts of what might have been. A
+city magnate owned the place. He had bought it because he wished to
+educate his only son at Harrow as a "Home-Boarder," or day-boy. A few
+weeks before the boy should have joined the school, he fell ill with
+diphtheria, and died. The mother, who nursed him, caught the disease and
+died also. The father, left alone, turned his back upon a place he
+loathed, resolving to hold it till building-values increased, but never
+to set eyes on it again. The caretaker and his wife occupied a couple of
+rooms in the house.
+
+The boys glanced at the house, a common-place mansion, and began to
+explore the gardens. To their delight they found in the shrubberies, now
+a wilderness of laurel and rhododendron, a tower--what our forefathers
+called a "Gazebo," and their neighbours a "Folly." The top of 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 mistress
+and her boy are buried underneath it. She wanted him to be there--at the
+school, I mean--and there he is."
+
+"We're very much obliged to you," said Desmond. He slipped a shilling
+into the man's hand, and added, "May we stay here for a bit? and perhaps
+we might come again--eh?"
+
+"Thank you, sir," the man replied, touching his hat. "Come whenever you
+like, sir. The gates ain't really locked. I'll show you the trick of
+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 curious
+melancholy.
+
+"Sad," he repeated. "I don't know about that. Sad for the father, of
+course, 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. You
+won't, of course. I see you on pinnacles, but I----" He broke off with a
+mirthless laugh.
+
+John waited. The air about them was soft and moist after a recent
+shower. The south-west wind stirred the pulses. Earth was once more
+tumid, about to bring forth. Already the hedges were green under the
+brown; bulbs were pushing delicate spears through the sweet-smelling
+soil; the buds upon a clump of fine beeches had begun to open. In this
+solitude, alone with teeming nature, John tried to interpret his
+friend's mood; but the spirit of melancholy eluded him, as if it were a
+will-o'-the-wisp dancing over an impassable marsh. Suddenly, there came
+to him, as there had come to the quicker imagination of his friend, the
+overpowering mystery of Spring, the sense of inevitable change, the
+impossibility of arresting it. At the moment all things seemed
+unsubstantial. Even the familiar Spire, powdered with gold by the
+slanting rays of the sun, appeared thinly transparent against the rosy
+mists behind it. The Hill, the solid Hill, rose out of the valley, a
+lavender-coloured shade upon the horizon.
+
+"He came here," continued Desmond, dreamily--John guessed that he was
+speaking of the father--"a rich, prosperous man. I dare say he worked
+like a slave in the city. And he wanted peace and quiet after the Stock
+Exchange. Who wouldn't? And he planted out these gardens, thinking that
+every plant would grow up and thrive, and his son with them. And then
+the boy died; and the wife followed; and the enchanted castle 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. Wild and
+desolate as things look, they will be lovely when we get back in summer.
+Don't talk. I'm going to light a pipe."
+
+Through the circling cloud of tobacco-smoke John stared at the face
+which had illumined nearly every hour of his school-life. Its peculiar
+vividness always amazed John, the vitality of it, and yet the perfect
+delicacy. Scaife's handsome features were full of vitality also, but
+coarseness 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 settled I'm
+going into the Guards. My father tells me that old Scaife tried to get
+the Demon down on the Duke's list. But we don't fancy the Scaife brand."
+
+Often and often John wondered whether Desmond saw the brand as plainly
+as the Caterpillar and he did. Sometimes he felt almost sure that a
+word, 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 he lay back in
+the chair in No. 15, sick, bruised, befuddled, and yet even in that
+moment of extreme prostration able to "play the game," as he put it, to
+defeat house-master and doctor by sheer strength of will and intellect.
+It was Scaife who had persuaded Desmond to smoke.... Cæsar'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, you
+ought to chuck smoking."
+
+"What rot!" said Cæsar. "And here, in this tower, where one couldn't
+possibly be nailed----"
+
+"That's it," said John. "It's just because you can't possibly be nailed
+that it seems to me not quite square."
+
+Cæsar burst out laughing. "Jonathan, you _are_ a rum 'un. Anyway--here
+goes!"
+
+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 a jealous
+old bird you are! Well, I like you to be jealous." And he laughed again.
+
+"I am jealous," said John, slowly.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The School broke up on the following Tuesday, and Desmond went home with
+John.
+
+This happened to be the first time that the friends had spent Easter
+together. John wondered whether Cæsar would take the Sacrament with his
+mother and him. He and Cæsar had been confirmed side by side in the
+Chapel at Harrow. He felt sure that Desmond would not refuse if he were
+asked. On Easter Eve, Mrs. Verney said, in her quiet, persuasive
+voice--
+
+"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, he
+often told John that he felt like a son to Mrs. Verney. Upon Easter
+morning, 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 above
+Stoneycross, 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 here
+amongst the rabbits for a Sunday dinner. Gone awa-a-a-ay!"
+
+He put his hand to his mouth and halloaed. A minute later he was talking
+of hunting. Religion was not mentioned till they were approaching the
+house for tea. On the threshold, Desmond said with a nervous laugh--
+
+"I'd like your mother to give me a Prayer-book--a small one, nothing
+expensive."
+
+During the following week they hunted with foxhounds or staghounds every
+day, except Wednesday. In the New Forest the Easter hunting is unique.
+Tremendous fellows come down from the shires--masters of famous packs,
+thrusters, keen to see May foxes killed. And the Forest entertains them
+handsomely, you may be sure. Big hampers are unpacked under the oaks
+which may have been saplings when William Rufus ruled in England; there
+are dinners, and, of course, a hunt-ball in the ancient village of
+Lyndhurst. But as each pleasant day passed, John told himself that the
+end was drawing near. This was almost the last holidays Cæsar and he
+would spend together; and, afterwards, would this friendship, so
+romantic a passion with one at least of them--would it wither away, or
+would it endure to the end?
+
+At the end of a fortnight, Desmond returned to Eaton Square. Upon the
+eve 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 is given, 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 passed
+Totton. "Am I ungrateful?" he asked himself. "Not to them," he muttered;
+"surely not to them." He recalled what Warde had said about ingratitude
+being the unpardonable sin. Ah! it was loathsome, ingratitude! And much
+had been given to him. How much? For the first time he made, so to
+speak, an inventory of what he had received--his innumerable blessings.
+_What had he given in return?_ And now the fine handwriting seemed
+blurred; he saw it through tears which he ought to have shed. "Oh, my
+God," he murmured, "am I ungrateful?" The question bit deeper into his
+mind, sinking from there into his soul.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When the School reassembled, a curious incident occurred. John happened
+to be going up the fine flight of steps that leads to the Old Schools.
+He was carrying some books and papers. Scaife, running down the steps,
+charged into him. By great good fortune, no damage was done except to a
+nicely-bound Sophocles. John, however, felt assured that Scaife had
+deliberately intended to knock him down, seized, possibly, by an ecstasy
+of blind rage not uncommon with him. Scaife smiled derisively, 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 in Scaife's
+bold eyes--more, a menace, the threatening frown of power thwarted.
+Scaife seemed to expand, to fill the horizon, to blot out the glad
+sunshine. Once again the curious certainty gripped the younger that
+Scaife was indeed the personification of evil, the more malefic because
+it stalked abroad masked. For Scaife had outlived his reputation as a
+breaker of the law. Since that terrible experience in the Fourth Form
+Room, he had paid tithe of mint and cummin. As a Sixth Form boy he
+upheld authority, laughing the while in his sleeve. He knew, of course,
+that one mistake, one slip, would be fatal. And he prided himself on not
+making mistakes. He gambled, but not with boys; he drank, not with boys;
+he denied his body nothing it craved; but he never forgot that expulsion
+from Harrow meant the loss of a commission in a smart cavalry regiment.
+When it was intimated to him that the Guards did not want his father's
+son, he laughed bitterly, and swore to himself that he would show the
+stuck-up snobs what a soldier they had turned away. A soldier he fully
+intended to be--a dashing cavalry leader, if the Fates were kind. His
+luck would stand by him; if not--why--what was life without luck? He had
+never been a reader, but he read now the lives of soldiers. Murat,
+Uxbridge, Cardigan, Hodson, were his heroes. Talking of their
+achievements, he inflamed his own mind and Desmond's.
+
+The pleasant summer days passed. May melted into June. And each Sunday
+John and Desmond walked to the Haunted House, ascended the tower, and
+talked. Scaife was leaving at the end of the summer. Desmond was staying
+on for the winter term; then John would have him entirely to himself.
+This thought illumined dark hours, when he saw his friend whirled away
+by Scaife, transported, as it were, by the irresistible power of the man
+of action. That nothing should be wanting to that trebly-fortunate
+youth, he had helped to win the Public Schools' Racquets Championship.
+The Manor was now the crack house--cock-house at racquets and football,
+certain to be cock-house at cricket. And Scaife got most of the credit,
+not Warde, who smiled more than ever, and talked continually of Balliol
+Scholarships. He never bragged of victories past.
+
+Meantime, John was devoting all energies to the competition for the
+Prize Essay. The Head Master had propounded as theme: "The History and
+Influence of Parliamentary Oratory." Bit by bit, John read or declaimed
+it to Desmond. Then, according to custom, Desmond copied it out for his
+friend. Signed "_Spero Infestis_," with a sealed envelope containing
+John's name inside and the motto outside, the MS. was placed in the Head
+Master's letter-box. John, cooling rapidly after the fever of
+composition, condemned his stuff as hopelessly bad; Cæsar went about
+telling everybody that Jonathan would win easily, "with a bit to spare."
+John did win, but that proved to be the least part of his triumph. The
+Essay had to be declaimed upon Speech Day. Once more John experienced
+the pangs that had twisted him at the concert, long ago, when he had
+sung to the Nation's hero. And as before, he began weakly. Then, the
+fire seizing him, self-consciousness was exorcised by feeling, and
+forgetful of the hundreds of faces about him, he burst into genuine
+oratory. Thrilled himself, he thrilled others. His voice faltered
+again, but with an emotion that found an echo in the hearts of his
+audience; his hand shook, feeling the pulse of old and young in front of
+him. Dominated, swept away by his theme, he dominated others. When he
+finished, in the silence that preceded the roar of applause, he knew
+that he had triumphed, for he saw Desmond's glowing countenance, radiant
+with pleasure, transfigured by amazement and admiration. Next day a
+great newspaper hailed the Harrow boy as one destined to delight and 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 nothing compared
+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 was
+pricked by Scaife. Midsummer madness seized the Demon. One may conceive
+that the innate recklessness of his nature, suppressed by an iron will,
+and smouldering throughout many months, burst at last into flame.
+Desmond told John that the Demon had spent a riotous night in town. He
+had slipped out of the Manor after prayers, had driven up to a certain
+club in Regent Street, returned in time for first school, fresh as
+paint--so Desmond said--and then, not content with such an achievement,
+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 Cæsar
+always chose to ignore the hatred which he must have known to exist
+between his two friends. Or did he fatuously believe that, because John
+exercised an influence over himself, the same influence would or could
+be exercised over Scaife?
+
+"We?" said John.
+
+"I've tried and failed. But together, I say----"
+
+"I shan't interfere, Cæsar."
+
+"Jonathan, you must."
+
+"It would be a fool's errand."
+
+"We three have gone up the School together. You have never been fair to
+Scaife. I tell you he's sound at core. Why, after he was swished----"
+
+Desmond told John what had passed; John shook his head. He could
+understand better than any one else why Scaife had broken down.
+
+"He has splendid ambitions," pursued Desmond. "He's going to be a great
+soldier, you see. He thinks of nothing else. You never have liked 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 asked
+himself a thousand times why he had not foreseen the inevitable result.
+But the explanation is almost too simple to be recorded: he wished to
+convince a friend that he would attempt anything to prove his
+friendship.
+
+That night they went together to Scaife's room. The second-best room in
+the Manor, situated upon the first floor, it overlooked the back of the
+garden, where there was a tangled thicket of laurustinus and
+rhododendron. Scaife had spent much money in making this room as
+comfortable as possible. It had the appearance of a man's room, and
+presented all the characteristics of the man who lived in it. Everything
+connected with Scaife's triumphal march through the School was
+preserved. On the walls were his caps, fezes, and cups. You could hardly
+see the paper for the framed photographs of Scaife and his fellow
+"bloods." Scaife as cricketer, Scaife as football-player, Scaife as
+racquet-player and athlete, stared boldly and triumphantly at you. He
+had a fine desk covered with massive silver ornaments. Upon this, as
+upon everything else in the room, was the hall-mark of the successful
+man of business. The papers, the pens and pencils, the filed bills and
+letters, the books of reference, spoke eloquently of a mind that used
+order as a means to a definite end. All his books were well bound. His
+boots were on trees. His racquets were in their press. Had you opened
+his chest of drawers, you would have found his clothes in perfect
+condition. Obviously, to an observant eye, the owner of this room gave
+his mind to details, because he realized that on details hang great and
+successful enterprises.
+
+Scaife stared at John, but welcomed him civilly enough. Cricket, of
+course, explained this unexpected visit. As Desmond blurted out what was
+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 of
+telling Jonathan,"--the derisive inflection as he pronounced the name
+warned John at least that he had much better have stayed away--"things
+which concern others and which don't concern him?"
+
+"If you're going to take it like that----"
+
+"Keep cool, Cæsar. I'll admit that you mean well. I should like to hear
+what Verney has to say."
+
+At that John spoke--haltingly. Fluent speech upon any subject very dear
+to him had always been difficult. He could talk glibly enough about
+ordinary topics; his sense of humour, his retentive memory, made him
+welcome even in the critical society of Eaton Square, but you know him
+as a creature of unplumbed reserves. The matter in hand was so vital
+that he could not touch it with firm hands or voice. He spoke at his
+worst, and he knew it; concluding an incoherent and slightly
+inarticulate recital of the reasons which ought to keep Scaife in his
+house at night with a lame "Two heads ought to prevail against one."
+
+Scaife showed his fine teeth. "You think that? Your head and Cæsar's
+against 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 ingenuous
+countenance. Then his temper whipped him to a furious resentment against
+John, as an enemy who had turned the tables with good breeding; who had
+gained, indeed, a victory against odds. Scaife drew in his breath; his
+brows met in a frown. "You have not blundered; and you are not sorry,"
+he said deliberately. "I'm not a fool, Verney; but perhaps I 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 lead me in a
+string; you knew that, I say, and yet you come here to pose as the
+righteous youth, doing his duty--eh?--against odds, and accepting credit
+for the same from Cæsar. Why, it's plain to me as the nose upon your
+face that in your heart you would like me to be sacked."
+
+Desmond interrupted. "You are mad, Demon. Take that back; take it back!"
+
+"Ask him," said Scaife. "He hates me, and common decency ought to have
+kept him out of this room. But he's not a liar. Ask him. Put it your own
+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 would
+be 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 own
+eyes, 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 are
+too 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 other was
+too impetuous, too inexperienced to interpret. Into that look of
+passionate reproach he flung all that must be left unsaid, all that
+Scaife could read as easily as if it were scored in letters of flame.
+Because, in his modesty and humility, he had ever reckoned that Scaife
+would prevail against himself--because, with unerring instinct, he had
+apprehended, as few boys could apprehend, the issues involved, he had
+desired, fervently desired, that Scaife should be swept from Cæsar's
+path. But this he could not plead as an excuse to his friend; and Scaife
+had known that, and had used his knowledge with fiendish success. John
+lowered his eyes and walked from the room.
+
+When he met Desmond again, nothing was said on either side. John told
+himself that he would speak, if Desmond spoke first. But evidently
+Desmond had determined already the nature of their future relations.
+They no longer shared No. 7, John being in the Upper Sixth with a room
+to himself, but they still "found" together. To separate would mean a
+public scandal from which each shrank in horror. No; let them meet at
+meals as before till the end of the term. Indeed, so little change was
+made in their previous intercourse, that John began to hope that Cæsar
+would walk with him as usual upon the following Sunday. And if he
+did--if he did, John felt that he would speak. On the top of the tower,
+looking towards the Spire, alone with his friend, exalted above the
+thorns and brambles of the wilderness, words would come to him.
+
+But on the following Sunday Desmond walked with Scaife.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[34] Of these, the Park, now a boarding-house, was a characteristic
+specimen. It belonged to Lord Northwick, Lord of the Manor of Harrow.
+
+[35] In the thirties Harrow boys played "Jack o' Lantern," or nocturnal
+Hare 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 of
+beagles 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, I
+think?" It was the Caterpillar that spoke.
+
+John shook hands with Colonel Egerton.
+
+The three were standing in the Members' Enclosure at Lord's. The
+Caterpillar, gorgeous in frock-coat, with three corn-flowers[36] in the
+lapel 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 heat seldom affected Colonel Egerton.
+
+"By Jove," he said to John, "I'm told it's a certainty this year, and
+I've come early, too early for me, to see a glorious victory. There's
+civil 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 great
+ground in front of them was being cleared. One could see, through the
+few people scattered here and there, the wickets pitched in the middle
+of that 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 Eton
+captain was collecting his Eleven. The Duffer, who had got his Flannels
+at the last moment, came up and joined John and the Caterpillar.
+
+"The Manor's well to the front," said the Caterpillar. "By Jove! I never
+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 talking
+with Charles Desmond and Colonel Egerton, "has worked like a slave. He
+made a cricketer out of Fluff and a scholar out of Jonathan. He's so mad
+keen to see us win, that he's given me the jumps."
+
+"You must keep cool," the Caterpillar murmured. "I've just come from the
+Trent coach. Fluff has it from the brother who is playing that the Eton
+bowling is weak. But Strathpeffer, the eldest son, tells me the batsmen
+are stronger than last year. He seemed anxious to bet; so we have a
+fiver about it. They're taking the field."
+
+The Eton Eleven walked towards the wicket, loudly cheered. Cæsar came up
+in his pads, carrying his bat and gloves. He shook hands with the
+Caterpillar, 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 from
+Cosmo 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 shall
+cut my throat."
+
+But Cæsar looked alert, cool, and neither under- nor over-confident.
+
+"You'll cut the ball, not your throat," said the Duffer. Cutting was
+Cæsar's strong point.
+
+The Caterpillar nodded, and spoke oracularly--
+
+"My governor says he never shoots at a snipe without muttering to
+himself, 'Snipe on toast.' It steadies his nerves. When you see the
+ball leave the bowler's hand, 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.
+
+"Cæsar won't be bowled first ball," said the Caterpillar. "He's the sort
+that rises to an emergency. Can't we find a seat?"
+
+They sat down and watched the Eton captain placing his field. Desmond
+and his companion were walking slowly towards the wickets amid Harrow
+cheers. The cheering was lukewarm as yet. It would have fire enough in
+it presently. The Caterpillar pointed out some of the swells.
+
+"That's old Lyburn. Hasn't missed a match since '64. Was brought here
+once with a broken leg! Carried in a litter, by Jove! That fellow with
+the long, white beard is Lord Fawley. He made 78 _not out_ in the days
+of Charlemagne."
+
+"It was in '53," said the Duffer, who never joked on really serious
+subjects; "and he made 68, not 78. He's pulling his beard. I believe
+he's as nervous as I am."
+
+Presently the innumerable voices about them were hushed; all eyes turned
+in one direction. Desmond was about to take the first ball. It was
+delivered 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 a
+great match are always thrilling. The second and third balls were played
+like the first. John could hear Mr. Desmond saying to Warde, "He has
+Hugo's style and way of standing--eh?" And Warde replied, "Yes; but he's
+a finer batsman. Ah-h-h!"
+
+The first real cheer burst like a bomb. Desmond had cut the sixth ball
+to 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 over the shop at White
+Ladies last summer."
+
+"He's come on, they tell me," said the Caterpillar. "Good Lord, he
+nearly had him first ball."
+
+Fluff's brother bowled slows of a good length, with an awkward break
+from the off to the leg.
+
+"Teasers," said the Caterpillar, critically. "Hullo! No, my young
+friend, that may do well enough in Shropshire, not here."
+
+A ball breaking sharply from the off had struck the batsman's pad; he
+had stepped in front of his wicket to cut it. Country umpires are often
+beguiled by bowlers into giving wrong decisions in such cases; not so
+your 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 it
+pitched. The Eton captain had nearly all his men on the off side. The
+Harrovian 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 Eleven
+and 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 of
+a cheery, bearded face. Look at him well. An Harrovian of the Harrovians
+this. His grandfathers on the maternal and paternal side had been
+friends at Harrow in Byron's time. The Rev. Septimus wore rather a
+shabby coat and a terrible hat, but the consummate Caterpillar, who
+respected pedigrees, regarded him with pride and veneration. He came up
+from his obscure West Country vicarage to town just once a year--to see
+the match. If you asked him, he would tell you quite simply that he
+would sooner see the match and his old friends than go to Palestine; and
+the Rev. Septimus had yearned to visit Palestine ever since he left
+Cambridge; and it is not likely that this great wish will ever be
+gratified. He is the father of three sons, but the Duffer is the first
+to get into the Eleven. Charles Desmond joins them. At the moment,
+Charles Desmond is supposed to be one of the most harried men in the
+Empire. Times are troublous. A war-cloud, as large as Kruger's hand, has
+just risen in the South, and is spreading itself over the whole world.
+But to-day the great Minister has left the cares of office in Downing
+Street. He hails the Rev. Septimus with a genial laugh and a hearty
+grasp of the hand.
+
+"Ah, Sep, upon your word of honour, now--would you sooner be here to see
+the Duffer take half a dozen wickets, or be down in Somerset, Bishop of
+Bath and Wells?"
+
+"When _you_ offer me the bishopric," replied the Rev. Septimus, with a
+twinkle, "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 stuck
+your 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 seen
+twenty-five matches at least."
+
+John looked at no hats; his eyes were on the pitch. Another round of
+cheers proclaimed that "20" had gone up. Both boys are batting steadily;
+no more boundary hits; a snick here, a snack there--and then--merciful
+Heavens!--Cæsar has cut a curling ball "bang" into short slip's hands.
+
+Short slip--wretched youth--muffs it! Derisive remarks from Rev.
+Septimus.
+
+"Well caught! Well held! Tha-a-nks!"
+
+The Caterpillar would pronounce this sort of chaff bad form in a
+contemporary. He removes his hat.
+
+"By Jove!" says he. "It's very warm."
+
+Cæsar times the next ball beautifully. It glides past point and under
+the ropes.
+
+Early as it is, the ground seems to be packed with people. Glorious
+weather has allured everybody. Stand after stand is filled up. The
+colour becomes kaleidoscopic. The Rev. Septimus, during the brief
+interval 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 the
+kingdom, and, best of all, his old friends. The Rev. Septimus has a
+weakness, 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 and
+coaches--you could drive on to the ground then!--and here and there,
+only here and there, a tent or a small stand. _Consule Planco_--the
+parson loves a Latin tag--the match was an immense picnic for Harrovians
+and Etonians. And, my word, you ought to have heard the chaff when an
+unlucky fielder put the ball on the floor. Or, when a batsman interposed
+a pad where a bat ought to have been. Or, if a player was bowled first
+ball. Or, if he swaggered as he walked, the cynosure of all eyes, from
+the pavilion to the pitch. Upon this subject the Rev. Septimus will
+preach a longer (and a more interesting) sermon than any you will hear
+from his pulpit in Blackford-Orcas Church.
+
+Loud cheers put an end to the parson's reminiscences. Desmond's
+companion has been clean bowled for a useful fifteen runs. He walks
+towards the pavilion slowly. Then, as he hears the Harrow cheers, he
+blushes like a nymph of sixteen, for he counts himself a failure. Last
+year he made a "duck" in his first innings, and five in the second. No
+cheers 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
+the bowling.
+
+"They're taking off Fluff's brother," the Caterpillar observes.
+
+A thick-set young man holds the ball. He makes some slight alteration in
+the field. The wicket-keeper stands back; the slips and point retreat a
+few 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, runs
+sideways at great speed, changes the ball from the left hand to the
+right at the last moment, and seems to hurl both it and himself at the
+batsman.
+
+"Greased lightning!" says John.
+
+A dry summer had made the pitch rather fiery. The ball, short-pitched,
+whizzes just over Cæsar's head. A second and a third seem to graze his
+cap. Murmurs are heard. Is the Eton bowler trying to kill or maim his
+antagonist? 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 between
+short slip and third man; it goes to the boundary.
+
+"That's what Cæsar likes," says the Duffer. "He can cut behind the
+wicket till the cows come home."
+
+"Cut--and come again," says the Caterpillar.
+
+The fifth ball is played forward for a risky single. The Rev. Septimus
+forgets that times have changed. And if they have, what of it? He
+hasn't. His deep, vibrant voice rolls across the lawn right up to the
+batsman--
+
+"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. The
+Harrovian plays forward. Man alive, you ought to have played back to
+that! The ball grazes the top edge of the bat's blade and flies straight
+into the welcoming hands of the wicket-keeper.
+
+Two wickets for 33.
+
+Breathless suspense, broken by tumultuous cheers as Scaife strides on to
+the 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 and
+figure.
+
+"What a mover!" murmurs the Rev. Septimus.
+
+Scaife strides on. Upon his face is the expression John knows so well
+and fears so much--the consciousness of power, the stern determination
+to be first, to shatter previous records. John can predict--and does so
+with absolute certainty--what will happen. For six overs the Demon will
+treat every ball--good, bad, and indifferent--with the most
+distinguished consideration. And then, when his "eye" is in, he will
+give the Etonians such leather-hunting as they never had before.
+
+After a long stand made by Scaife and Desmond, Cæsar is caught at
+cover-point, but Scaife remains. It is a Colossus batting, not a Harrow
+boy. The balls come down the pitch; the Demon's shoulders and chest
+widen; the great knotted arms go up--crash! First singles; then twos;
+then threes; and then boundary after boundary. To John--and to how many
+others?--Scaife has been transformed into a tremendous human machine,
+inexorably cutting and slicing, pulling and driving--the embodied symbol
+of force, ruthlessly applied, indefatigable, omnipotent.
+
+The Eton captain, hopeful against odds, puts on a cunning and cool
+dealer in "lobs." Fluff is in, playing steadily, holding up his wicket,
+letting the giant make the runs. The Etonian delivers his first ball.
+Scaife leaves the crease. Fluff sees the ball slowly spinning--harmless
+enough till it pitches, and then deadly as a writhing serpent. Scaife
+will not let it pitch. The ball curves slightly from the leg to the off.
+Scaife is facing the pavilion----
+
+A stupendous roar bursts from the crowd. The ball, hit with terrific
+force, sails away over the green sward, over the ropes, over the heads
+of the spectators, and slap on to the top of the pavilion.
+
+Only four; but one of the finest swipes ever seen at Lord's. Shade of
+Mynn, come forth from the tomb to applaud that mighty stroke!
+
+But the dealer in lobs knows that the man who leaves his citadel, leaves
+it, sooner or later, not to return. In the hope that Scaife, intoxicated
+with triumph, will run out again, he pitches the next lob too much up--a
+half-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
+the ropes in succession. The crowds have lost their self-possession.
+Men, women, and children are becoming delirious. The Rev. Septimus
+throws his ancient topper into the air; the Caterpillar splits a
+brand-new pair of delicate 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 his
+bat for an almost flawless 126. Desmond made 72; Fluff was in for
+twenty-seven minutes--a great performance for him--and was caught in the
+slips after compiling a useful 17.
+
+But the remarkable feature of the innings was the short time in which so
+many runs were made--exactly three hours. The elevens went in to lunch,
+as the crowd poured over the ground, laughing and chattering. This is a
+delightful hour to the Rev. Septimus. He will walk to the wickets, and
+wait there for his innumerable friends. It will be, "Hullo, Sep!" "By
+Jove, here's dear old Sep!" "Sep, you unfriendly beast, why do you never
+come to see us?" "Sep, when are you going to send that awful tile of
+yours to the British Museum?" And so on.
+
+Twenty men, at least--some of them with names known wherever the Union
+Jack waves--will ask the Rev. Sep to lunch with them; but the Rev. Sep
+will say, as he has said these thirty years, that he doesn't come to
+Lord's to "gorge." A sandwich presently, and a glass of "fizz," if you
+please; but time is precious. A tall bishop strolls up--one of the
+pillars of the Church, an eloquent preacher, and an autocrat in his
+diocese. Most people regard him with awe. The Rev. Sep greets him with a
+scandalous slap on the back, and addresses him, the apostolic one,
+as--Lamper.[37] And the Lord Bishop of Dudley says, like the others--
+
+"Hullo, Sep! We used to think you a slogger, but you never came anywhere
+near that smite of Scaife's."
+
+"I thought his smite was coming too near me," says the Rev. Sep, with a
+shrewd glance at the pavilion. "Lamper, old chap, I _am_ glad to see
+your 'phiz' again."
+
+And so they stroll off together, mighty prelate and humble country
+parson, once again happy Harrow boys.
+
+And now, before Eton goes in, we must climb on to the Trent coach. Fluff
+and his brother Cosmo, the Eton bowler, are lunching in other company,
+but we shall find Colonel Egerton and the Caterpillar and Warde; so the
+Hill slightly outnumbers the Plain, as the duke puts it. Next to the
+duchess sits Mrs. Verney. The duke is torn nearly in two between his
+desire that Fluff should make runs and that Cosmo, the Etonian, should
+take wickets. His Eton sons regard him as a traitor, a "rat," and
+Colonel Egerton gravely offers him the corn-flowers out of his coat.
+
+"You can laugh," the duke says seriously, "but when I see what Harrow
+has done 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
+almost sorry that I didn't send Alastair there also."
+
+Alastair smiles contemptuously. "If you had," he says, "I should have
+never spoken to you again. Esmé is a forgiving chap, but you've wrecked
+his life. At least, that's my opinion."
+
+After luncheon, the crowd on the lawn thickens. The ladies want to see
+the pitch, and, shall we add, to display their wonderful frocks. The
+enclosure 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 uncommonly
+pleased with himself and his companion; a smart pair, but smart pairs
+are common as gooseberries. It is the year of picture hats and
+Gainsborough dresses.
+
+"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 tells
+the Caterpillar that when she was a small girl with only threepence a
+week pocket-money, she used to save a penny a week for twelve weeks
+preceding the match, so as to be able to put a shilling into the plate
+on Sunday _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 or
+two. The Elevens have finished lunch, and are mixing with the crowd.
+Scaife is talking with a famous Old Carthusian, one of the finest living
+exponents of cricket, sometime an "International" at football, and a
+D.S.O. The great man is very cordial, for he sees in Scaife an
+All-England player. Scaife listens, smiling. Obviously, he is impatient
+to begin again. As soon as possible he collects his men, and leads them
+into 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 lawn
+melt away. In a few minutes the Etonians come out of the pavilion. The
+sun shines upon their pale-blue caps and sashes, and upon faces slightly
+pale also, but not yet blue. For Eton has a strong batting team, and
+Scaife and Desmond have proved that it is a batsman's wicket.
+
+And now the connoisseurs, the really great players, settle themselves
+down comfortably to watch Scaife field. That, to them, is the great
+attraction, apart from the contest between the rival schools. Some of
+these Olympians have been heard to say that Scaife's innings against
+weak bowling was no very meritorious performance, although the two
+"swipes," they admit, were parlous knocks. Still, Public School cricket
+is kindergarten cricket, and if you've not been at Eton or Harrow, and
+if you loathe a fashionable crowd, and if you think first-class fielding
+is worth 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 will
+see that he is almost on his toes. His heels are not touching the
+ground. And he bends slightly, not quite as low as a sprinter, but so
+low that he can start with amazing speed. For two overs not a ball worth
+fielding rolls his way. Ah! that will be punished. A long hop comes down
+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 the first
+burst of applause. Bat meets ball with a smack which echoes from the
+Tennis Court to the stands across the ground. Now watch Scaife! He
+dashes at top speed for the only point where his hands may intercept
+that hard-hit ball. And, by Heaven! he stops it, and flicks it up to the
+wicket-keeper, who whips 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 runs
+from the Demon."
+
+"Sometimes," says Iris Warde, "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 the
+score is under twenty. The Rev. Septimus is beaming; the Bishop seated
+beside him looks as if he were about to pronounce a benediction; Charles
+Desmond is scintillating with wit and good humour. Visions of a single
+innings victory engross the minds of these three. They are in the front
+row 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. Runs
+come 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 removes
+his hat, wipes his forehead, and replaces his hat. It is on the back of
+his head, but he is unaware of that. The Bishop appears now as if he
+were reading a new commination--to wit, "Cursed is he that smiteth his
+neighbour; cursed is he that bowleth half volleys." The Minister is
+frowning; things may look black in South Africa, but they're looking
+blacker in St. John's Wood.
+
+One hundred runs for two wickets.
+
+The Eton cheers are becoming exasperating. A few seats away Warde is
+twiddling his thumbs and biting his lips. Old Lord Fawley has slipped
+into the pavilion for a brandy and soda.
+
+At last!
+
+Scaife takes off Fluff and puts on a fast bowler, changing his own place
+in the field to short slip. The ball, a first ball and very fast,
+puzzles the batsman, accustomed to slows. He mistimes it; it grazes the
+edge of his bat, and whizzes off far to the right of Scaife, but the
+Demon has it. Somehow or other, ask of the spirits of the air--not of
+the 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. Then
+the three generously applaud the retiring batsman. He has played a
+brilliant innings, and restored the confidence of all Etonians.
+
+The Eton captain descends the steps; a veteran this, not a dashing
+player, but sure, patient, and full of grit. He asks the umpire to give
+him 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 him
+with gratitude. There are times when an honest oath becomes expedient.
+The Eton captain has cut the first ball into Fluff's hands, and Fluff
+has dropped it! Alastair Kinloch, from the top of the Trent coach,
+screams out, "Jolly well muffed!" The great Minister silently thanks
+Heaven that point is the Duke's son and not his.
+
+And, of course, the Eton captain never gives another chance till he is
+dismissed with half a century to his credit. Meantime five more wickets
+have fallen. Seven down for 191! Eton leaves the field with a score of
+226 against Harrow's 289. Harrow goes in without delay, and one wicket
+is taken for 13 runs before the stumps are drawn. Charles Desmond looks
+at 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
+two hours' heavy rain. You may be sure that all our friends were early
+at Lord'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 not
+done the famous hat-trick only three weeks before? The rain, however,
+was over, and soon the sun would drive away the filmy mists. No man
+alive could foretell what condition the pitch would be in after a few
+hours of blazing sunshine. The Rev. Septimus told Charles Desmond that
+he considered the situation to be critical, and, although he had read
+the morning paper, he was not alluding even indirectly to South African
+affairs. Charles Desmond said that, other things being equal, the Hill
+would triumph; but he admitted that other things were very far from
+equal. It looked as if Harrow would have to bat upon a treacherous
+wicket, and Eton on a sound one.
+
+At half-past ten punctually the men were in the field. Scaife issued
+last instructions. "Block the bowling; don't try to score till you see
+what tricks the ground will play. A minute saved now may mean a quarter
+of an hour to us later." Cæsar nodded cheerfully. The fact that the luck
+had changed stimulated every fibre of his being. And he said that he
+felt in his bones that this was going to be a famous match, like that of
+'85--something never to be forgotten.
+
+Charles Desmond spoke few words while his son was batting. It was a
+tradition among the Desmonds that they rose superior to emergency. The
+Minister wondered whether his Harry would rise or fall. The fast bowler
+delivered the first ball. It bumped horribly. The Rev. Septimus
+shuddered and closed his eyes. Cæsar got well over it. The third ball
+was cut for three. The fourth whizzed down--a wide. The fast bowler
+dipped 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. Cæsar's
+partner, 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 the
+wickets, wondering whether he should reach them alive. Never had his
+heart beat as at this moment. Scaife had come up to him as soon as he
+had 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 an
+active automatic hammer in his heart; but he didn't dare tell the Demon
+that funk, abject funk, possessed him, body and soul.
+
+The second bowler began his first over. He bowled slows. Desmond played
+the 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. The
+wicket-keeper had a grim smile on his lips, for his billet was no easy
+one. Cosmo Kinloch at short slip looked as if it were a foregone
+conclusion that Fluff would put the ball into his hands. Then Fluff
+faced 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 past
+Fluff's leg, but he just snicked it. Desmond started to run, and then
+stopped, holding up his hand. Cheers rippled round the ring for the
+first hit to the boundary. That was a bit of sheer luck, Fluff
+reflected.
+
+After this both boys played steadily for some ten minutes. Then, very
+slowly, Cæsar began to score. He had made about fifteen when he drove a
+ball hard to the on, Fluff backing up. Desmond, watching the travelling
+ball, called to him to run. It seemed to Desmond almost certain that the
+ball would go to the boundary. Too late he realized that it had been
+magnificently fielded. Desmond strained every nerve, but his bat had not
+reached 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 made
+eleven runs, and kept up his wicket during a crisis. Harrow cheered him
+loudly.
+
+And then came the terrible moment of the morning. Scaife went in when
+Fluff's wicket fell. The ground had improved, but it was still
+treacherous. The fast bowler sent down a straight one. It shot under
+Scaife's bat and spread-eagled his stumps.
+
+The wicket-keeper knows what the Harrow captain said, but it does not
+bear repeating. Every eye was on his scowling, furious face as he
+returned to the pavilion; and the Rev. Septimus scowled also, because he
+had always maintained that any Harrovian could accept defeat like a
+gentleman. Upon the other side of the ground the Caterpillar was saying
+to his father. "I always said he was hairy at the heel."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+It was admitted afterwards that the Duffer's performance was the one
+really bright spot in Harrow's second innings. Being a bowler, he went
+in last but one. It happened that Fluff's brother was in possession of
+the ball. It will never be known why the Duffer chose to treat Cosmo
+Kinloch's balk with utter scorn and contempt. The Duffer was tall,
+strong, and a terrific slogger. Nobody expected him to make a run, but
+he made twenty in one over--all boundary hits. When he left the wicket
+he had added thirty-eight to the score, and wouldn't have changed places
+with an emperor. The Rev. Septimus followed him into the room where the
+players 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 as
+sound 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" so
+successfully that he took four wickets for 33. Four out of five! The
+other bowlers, however, being not so successful, Eton accumulated a
+hundred 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
+of their 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 and
+thrilling; that the one thing worth undivided attention was taking place
+in the middle of the ground. As the minutes passed, a curious silence
+fell upon the crowd, broken only by the cheers of the rival schools. The
+boys, old and young alike, were watching every ball, every stroke. The
+Eton captain was still in, playing steadily, not brilliantly; the Harrow
+bowling was getting slack.
+
+In the pavilion, the Rev. Septimus, Warde, and Charles Desmond were
+sitting together. Not far from them was Scaife's father, a big, burly
+man with a square head and heavy, strongly-marked features. He had never
+been a cricketer, but this game gripped him. He sat next to a
+world-famous financier of the great house of Neuchatel, whose sons had
+been sent to the Hill. Run after run, run after run was added to the
+score. 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 excited
+since Sir Bevis won the Derby."
+
+In the deep field Desmond was standing, miserable because he had nothing
+to do. No balls came his way; for the Eton captain had made up his mind
+to win this match with singles and twos. Very carefully he placed his
+balls between the fielders; very carefully his partner followed his
+chief's example. No stealing of runs, no scoring off straight balls, no
+gallery play--till victory was assured.
+
+Poor Lord Fawley retired at this point into an inner room, pulling
+savagely at his white beard. Old Lyburn, who had been sitting beside
+him, gurgling and gasping, staggered after him. The Rev. Septimus kept
+wiping 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 from
+the pavilion end--a half-volley and off the wicket. The Etonian put all
+the strength and power he had suppressed so manfully into a tremendous
+swipe, 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 Etonian
+smote, 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
+it fall over the ropes? Thousands of eyes watched its flight. Desmond
+started 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 ground
+howled. For Cæsar held the ball fast in his lean, brown hands.
+
+The Eton captain walks slowly towards the pavilion. He had to pass Cæsar
+on his way, and passing him he pauses.
+
+"That was a glorious catch," he says, with the smile of a gallant
+gentleman.
+
+And as Harrow, as cordially as Eton, cheers the retiring chieftain, the
+Caterpillar whispers to Mrs. Verney--
+
+"Did you see that? Did you see him stop to congratulate Cæsar?"
+
+"Yes," says Mrs. Verney.
+
+"I hope Scaife saw it too," the Caterpillar replies coolly. "That Eton
+captain is cut out of whole cloth; no shoddy there, by Jove!"
+
+And Desmond. How does Desmond feel? It is futile to ask him, because he
+could not tell you, if he tried. But we can answer the question. If the
+country that he wishes to serve crowns him with all the honours bestowed
+upon a favoured son, never, _never_ will Cæsar Desmond know again a
+moment 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 or
+otherwise. The Rev. Septimus need not prate of golden days gone by. Boys
+at heart never change. And the atmosphere is so charged with electricity
+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 has
+become deplorably feeble, the batting even more so. Four more singles
+are 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 to
+move inaudibly. Is he praying, or cursing, because three singles are
+scored off his son's first three balls?
+
+"Well bowled--well bowled!"
+
+A ball of fair length, easy enough to play under all ordinary
+circumstances, but a "teaser" when tremendous issues are at stake, has
+defeated one of the Etonians. The last man runs towards the pitch
+through a perfect hurricane of howls. Warde rises.
+
+"I can't stand it," he says, and his voice shakes oddly. "You fellows
+will find me behind the Pavvy after the match."
+
+"I'd go with you," says the Rev. Septimus, in a choked tone, "but if I
+tried to walk I should tumble down."
+
+Charles Desmond says nothing. But, pray note the expression so
+faithfully recorded in _Punch_--the compressed lips, the stern, frowning
+brows, the protruded jaw. The famous debater sees all fights to a
+finish, 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 his
+chief. The bowling has degenerated into that of anæmic girls--and two
+whacks to the boundary mean--Victory. The new-comer is the square,
+thick-set fast bowler, the worst bat in the Eleven, but a fellow of
+determination, a slogger and a run-getter against village teams.
+
+He obeys instructions to the letter. The Duffer's fifth ball goes to the
+boundary.
+
+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 as
+chop-sticks in the hands of a Griffin! O egregious Duff! O degenerate
+son of a noble sire, dost thou dare at such a moment as this to attack
+thine 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 no
+hand, surely, can stop the whirling sphere. Runs--ay--and so does the
+Demon at cover point. This is the Demon's amazing conjuring-trick--what
+else can you call it? And he has practised it so often, that he reckons
+failure to be almost impossible. To those watching he seems to spring
+like a tiger at the ball. By Heaven! he has stopped it--he's snapped it
+up! But if he despatches it to the wicket-keeper, it will arrive too
+late. The other Etonian is already within a couple of yards of the
+crease. Scaife does not hesitate. He aims at the bowler's wicket towards
+which the burly one is running as fast as legs a thought too short 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!_"
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[36] The blue of the Harrow colours.
+
+[37] 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 be
+guessed that the enthusiasm, the uproar, the tumultuous excitement were
+even greater than on a similar occasion some fifteen years before. But,
+to his amazement, Desmond, not Scaife, was made the particular hero of
+the hour. Scaife's display of temper festered in the hearts of boys who
+can forgive anything sooner than low breeding. The Hill had seen the
+Etonian stop to speak his cheery word of congratulation to Cæsar, and
+not the Caterpillar alone, but urchins of thirteen had made comparisons.
+
+Scaife, however, could not complain of his reception upon that memorable
+Tuesday afternoon; the cheering must have been heard a mile away. But
+Desmond was acclaimed differently. The cheers were no louder--that was
+impossible--but afterwards, when the excitement had simmered down, Cæsar
+became the object of a special demonstration by the Monitors and Sixth
+Form. Nearly every boy of note in the Upper School insisted upon shaking
+his hand or patting him on the back. Scaife came up with the others, but
+he left the Yard almost immediately and retired to his room. He had won
+the great match; Desmond had saved it; and the School apprehended the
+subtle difference. More, Scaife knew that John had gone up to Desmond
+with outstretched hands after the match at Lord's. He could hear John's
+eager voice, see the flame of admiration in his eyes, as he said, "Oh,
+Cæsar, I am glad it was you who made that catch!" And with those
+generous words, with that warm clasp of the hand, Scaife had seen the
+barrier which he had built between the friends dissolve like ice in the
+dog-days.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The attention of the Manor was now fixed upon the house matches. It
+seemed probable that with four members of the School Eleven in the team,
+the ancient house must prove invincible. But to John's surprise, as this
+delightful probability ripened into conviction, Warde betrayed unwonted
+anxiety and even irritability. Miss Iris confided to Desmond, who paid
+her much court, that she couldn't imagine what was the matter with papa.
+And mamma, it transpired (from the same source), really feared that the
+strain at Lord's had been too much, that her indefatigable husband was
+about to break down. Finally, John made up his mind to ask a question.
+He was second in command; he had a right to ask the chief if anything
+were seriously amiss. Accordingly, he waited upon Warde after prayers.
+
+But when he put his question, and expressed, modestly enough, his
+anxiety and desire to help if he could, Warde bit his lips. Then he
+burst out violently--
+
+"I am miserable, Verney."
+
+John said nothing. His tutor rose and began to pace up and down the
+study; then, halting, facing John, he spoke quickly, with restless
+gestures indicating volcanic disturbance.
+
+"I'm between the devil and the deep sea," he said, "as many a better man
+has been before me. I thought I'd wiped out the grosser evils in the
+Manor, but I haven't--I haven't. Do you know that a fellow in this
+house, perhaps two of 'em, but one at any rate, is getting out at night
+and 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, I
+must play the spy, creep and crawl, do what I loathe to do--suspect the
+innocent 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 said
+slowly. "At this moment I am tempted, tempted as I never have been
+tempted, to let things slide, to shut both eyes and ears, till this term
+is over. Next term"--he laughed harshly--"I shan't stand in such an
+awkward place. The deep sea will always be near me, but the devil--the
+devil will be elsewhere."
+
+John nodded. His serious face expressed neither approval nor disapproval
+to the man keenly watching it. Afterwards Warde remembered this
+impassivity.
+
+"If I do not act"--Warde's voice trembled--"I am damned as a traitor in
+my own eyes."
+
+John had never doubted that his house-master would act. As for creeping
+and crawling, can peaks be scaled without creeping and crawling?
+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 speak to
+me; and you will not speak to him, on your honour?"
+
+There was interrogation in the last sentence. John replied almost
+inaudibly--
+
+"I shall not speak--on my honour!"
+
+"It is hard, hard indeed, that I should have to foul my own nest, but it
+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 no
+word of warning. Like Warde, he did not know absolutely, but he guessed
+that Scaife had spent another riotous night in town since the match. He
+had read it in the eyes glittering with excitement, in the derisive
+smile of conscious power, in the magnetic audacity of Scaife's glance.
+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 spurred himself
+to the point of going to Warde and saying, "Think what you like of 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 to restrain
+him. But when he tried to analyse his feelings, he confessed himself
+muddled. He had obtained, nay, invited, Warde's confidence; and he dared
+not abuse it. It was a time of anguish. He was unable to concentrate his
+mind upon work or play, deprived of sleep, haunted by the conviction
+that if Desmond knew all, he would turn from him for ever. Then, at the
+most difficult moment of his life, the way of escape was opened.
+
+Since the match, John and Cæsar had resumed the former unrestrained and
+continual intimacy and intercourse. John was in and out of Desmond'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 meals that boys or
+men discuss the things nearest to their hearts. But at night, just
+before lights were turned out, or just after, when an Olympian is
+privileged to work a little longer by the light of the useful "tolly,"
+Cæsar and Jonathan would talk freely of past, present, and future. It
+was during these much-valued minutes, or on Sunday afternoons, that John
+would read to his friend the essays or verses which always fired
+Desmond's admiration and enthusiasm. To John's intellectual activities
+Cæsar played, so to speak, gallery; even as John upon many an afternoon
+had sat stewing in the covered racquet-court, applauding Desmond's
+service into the corner, or his hot returns just above the line. At
+home, in the holidays, the boys had always met upon the same plane. Of
+the two, John was the better rider and shot. Both were members of the
+Philathletic Club[38] of Harrow, and the fact that Desmond was
+incomparably his superior as an athlete was counterbalanced by John's
+fine intellectual attainments. If John, at times, wished that he could
+cut behind the wicket in Cæsar's faultless style, Desmond, on the other
+hand, spoke enviously of the Medal, or the Essay, or some other of
+John's successes. John spoke often and well in the Debating Society,
+getting up his subjects with intelligence and care. So it was
+give-and-take between them, and this adjusted the balance of their
+friendship, and without this no friendship can be pronounced perfect.
+
+None the less, free and delightful as this resumption of the old
+intimacy had been, John knew Cæsar too well not to perceive that between
+them lay an unmentionable five weeks, during which something had
+occurred. From signs only too well interpreted before, John guessed that
+Cæsar was once more in debt to the Demon. And finally, Cæsar confessed
+that he had been betting, that he had won, following Scaife's advice,
+and then had lost. The loss was greater than the gain, and the
+difference, some five and twenty pounds, had been sent to Scaife's
+bookmaker by Scaife. As before, Scaife ridiculed the possibility of such
+a debt causing his pal any uneasiness, but it chafed Desmond consumedly.
+
+Upon the Saturday of the semi-final house match, in which the Manor had
+won a great victory by an innings and twenty-three runs, John went to
+Desmond's room after prayers. He noticed at once that his friend was
+unusually excited. John, however, attributed this to Cæsar's big score.
+Success always inflamed Cæsar, just as it seemed to tranquillize John.
+John began to talk, but he noticed that Cæsar was abstracted, answered
+in monosyllables, and twice looked at his watch.
+
+"Have you an appointment, Cæsar?"
+
+"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 Cæsar 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 Cæsar's finely-formed hands
+were trembling, whenever they were still.
+
+"Harry," said he--he never called Desmond Harry except when they were at
+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't you
+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 tiny, dancing
+flecks of golden brown, which Desmond had seen once or twice
+before,--which came whenever John was profoundly moved. The dancing
+flecks transformed themselves in Desmond's fancy into sprites, the airy
+creatures 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 tell me; I
+am sure of that." He felt his way by the dim light of smouldering
+suspicion. If Scaife wanted John to know anything, it was because such
+knowledge must prove pain, not pleasure. John did not say this. Then,
+very abruptly, Desmond continued. "You swear that what I'm about to tell
+you will be regarded as sacred?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"It is a matter which concerns Scaife and me, not you. You won't
+interfere?"
+
+"No."
+
+"I'm going to London."
+
+"_What?_"
+
+"Don't look at me like that, you silly old ass! It's not--not what you
+think," 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's supper at
+the Carlton Hotel will be handed to him after Chapel to-morrow morning.
+I bike up to town, and bike back. If I don't go this Saturday, I have
+one more chance before the term is over. That's all."
+
+"That's all," repeated John, stupefied.
+
+"If you can show me an easier way to make a 'pony,' I'll be obliged to
+you."
+
+"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, stood
+Scaife, loving evil for evil's sake, planting evil, gleaning evil,
+deliberately setting about the devil's work. Desmond, it appeared, had
+persuaded Scaife not to go to town till the Lord's match was over. Since
+the match Scaife had spent two nights in London, whetting an inordinate
+appetite for forbidden fruit; exciting in Desmond also, not an appetite
+for the fruit itself, but for the mad excitement of a perilous
+adventure. Then, when the thoughtless "I'd like a lark of that sort" had
+been spoken, came the derisive answer, "You haven't the nerve for it."
+And then again the subtle leading of an ardent and self-willed nature
+into the morass, Scaife pretending to dissuade a friend, 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 the other, 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 no
+turning at the end of it. Could he make his friend believe that Scaife
+had brought this thing to pass from no other motive than wishing to hurt
+mortally an enemy by the hand of a friend? No, never would such an
+ingenuous youth as Cæsar accept, or even listen to, such an abominable
+explanation.
+
+"Good night," said John.
+
+"I see you're rather sick with me, Jonathan. Remember, you made me
+speak. To-morrow morning we'll have a good laugh over it. We'll walk to
+the Haunted House, and I'll tell my tale. I shall be on my way in less
+than an hour."
+
+John went back to his room. The necessity for silence and thought had
+become imperative. What could he do? It was certain that Warde was
+waiting and watching. He had inexhaustible patience. Desmond, not the
+Demon, 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 you
+going 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 sill of
+the first landing window into the horse-chestnut. One must be able to
+jump, of course; but I can jump. Then you shin down the tree, nip
+through 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 it in
+the garden, in a bush to the right of 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 just
+before Chapel. He may have slipped out on half a dozen errands as soon
+as 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 that I'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 this thing----"
+
+"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 my being
+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's
+extraordinary luck was about to stand between him and expulsion. Desmond
+would be caught red-handed, but not he. John ground his teeth with rage
+at the thought. He found Scaife alone--at work on cricketing accounts.
+
+"Hullo, Verney!"
+
+"Cæsar 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 the
+stronger?"
+
+"Perhaps." Scaife laughed.
+
+"Well, if I surrender, if I admit that you are the stronger, that you
+have 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 have tried
+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. Turn round and use
+your strength the other way. Make him give up this folly. 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 can
+tell? His keen eye softened, and then hardened again.
+
+"No," he said quickly. "If I agree to what you propose, it is, after
+all, you who triumph, not I. And I doubt if I could stop him now, even
+if I tried." He laughed again, for the third time, savagely. "You are
+hoist with your own petard, Verney. You wanted to see me sacked; and now
+that there is a chance in a thousand that Cæsar will be sacked, you
+squirm. I swore to get my knife into you, and, by God, I've done it."
+
+John went out, very pale. He passed through into the private side, and
+tapped at Warde's study door. Mrs. Warde's voice bade him enter. She
+looked at John's face. Afterwards she testified that he looked
+singularly 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, if I
+were you."
+
+"Thank you," said John. "Good night."
+
+He went back to his room. In Mrs. Warde's eyes he had read--what?
+Excitement? Apprehension? Suddenly, conviction came to him that this
+dinner at the Head Master's was a blind. Why, during that very
+afternoon, Warde had mentioned casually to Scaife that he was dining
+out. He had deliberately informed the Demon that the coast was clear.
+And at this moment, probably, Warde lay concealed near the chestnut
+tree, waiting, watching, about to pounce upon the--wrong man!
+
+The temptation to cry "_Cave!_" tore at his vitals. Till this moment the
+tyranny of honour had never oppressed John. Having resolved to tell
+Warde that he meant to break his word, it may seem inexplicable that he
+shouldn't go a step further and break his word without warning the
+house-master. Upon such nice points of conscience hang issues of
+world-wide importance. To John, at any rate, the difference between the
+two paths out of a tangled wood was greater than it might appear to some
+of us. Warde had trusted him implicitly: could he bring himself to
+violate Warde's confidence without giving the man notice?
+
+However, what he might have done under pressure must remain a matter of
+surmise. At this moment a third path became visible. And down it John
+rushed, without consideration as to where it might lead. The one thing
+plain at this crisis was the certainty that he had discovered a plan of
+action which would save two things he valued supremely--his friendship
+for Cæsar and his word of honour.
+
+Here we are to liberty to speculate what John would have done had he
+considered dispassionately the consequences of an action to be
+accomplished at once or not at all. But he had not time to consider
+anything except the fact that action would put to rout some very
+tormenting thoughts.
+
+He crumpled his bed, disarranged his room, and put on a cap and a thin
+overcoat, as all lights in the boys' side of the Manor were
+extinguished. Then he stole out of his room, and crept to the window at
+the end of the passage. A moment later, he had squeezed through it, and
+was standing upon the sill outside, gazing fearfully at the void
+beneath, and the distance between the sill and the branch in front of
+him. Afterwards, he confessed that this moment was the most difficult.
+He was an active boy, but he had never jumped such a chasm. If he
+missed the bough----
+
+To hesitate meant shameful retreat. John felt the sweat break upon him;
+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 relief that
+he almost forgot his errand. He slid quietly down the tree, pausing as
+he reached the bottom of it. The moon was just rising above the horizon,
+but under the trees the darkness was Stygian. John pushed quietly
+through the shrubberies, treading as lightly as possible. Every moment
+he expected to see the flash of a lantern, to hear Warde's voice, to
+feel an arresting hand upon the shoulder. It was quite impossible to
+guess with any reasonable accuracy what part of the garden Warde had
+selected for a hiding-place. Very soon he reached the edge of the
+shrubbery, and gazed keenly into the moonlit, park-like meadow below
+him. Peer as he might, he could see no trace of Warde. A dozen trees
+might conceal him. Perhaps with the omniscience of the house-master, he
+had divined that the wicket-gate was the ultimate place of egress.
+Perhaps the wicket had been used for a similar purpose when Warde
+himself was a boy at the Manor. It was vital to John's plan that Warde
+should see him without recognizing him, and give chase. The chase would
+end in capture at some point as reasonably far from the Manor as
+possible. Warde might ask for explanations, but none would be
+forthcoming till the morrow. Meantime, the coast would be clear for
+Desmond. John, in fine, was playing the part of a pilot-engine.
+
+But where was Warde?
+
+The question answered itself within a minute, and after a fashion
+absolutely unforeseen. As John was crossing from the shrubbery to the
+wicket 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 had
+come to pass, and cursed himself for a fool. Warde, from some coign of
+vantage, had seen a boy leave his house. Why should he try to arrest the
+boy? why should he risk the humiliation of running after him, and,
+perhaps, failing to capture him? No, no; men forty were not likely to
+work in that boyish fashion. Warde had adopted an infinitely better
+plan. Assured that a boy had left the house, he had nothing to do but
+walk round the rooms and find out which one was absent. He had begun
+with Scaife. Next to Scaife was the room belonging to the Head of the
+House; then came John's room, and then Cæsar's. Long before Warde
+reached Cæsar's room, Cæsar would have heard him. Cæsar, at any rate,
+was saved. John crept back under cover of the shrubberies. He saw the
+light flicker out of Scaife's window, and shine more steadily in the
+next room. The window of this room was open, and John could hear the
+voice of Warde and the Head of the House. John waited. And then the
+light shone in Desmond's room. John crouched against the wall,
+trembling. If Cæsar had not heard the voices, if he were fully dressed,
+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! Just so.
+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 more
+reached him. "Verney---- D----d interfering sneak! Let's see!" It was
+Scaife who was speaking.
+
+John heard his own door opened and shut. Scaife, then, had discovered
+his absence, and naturally leaped to the conclusion that he had warned
+Warde. 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, would satisfy
+himself that no boy in his house was missing except John, before he
+pronounced him the absentee. Poor Warde! This would be a hard knock for
+him. John's thoughts were jostling each other freely, when he recalled
+Desmond's words: "I have one more chance before the term is over." He
+had wished to clear the way for his friend, not to block it. Then he
+remembered the terms of the bet, and laughed.
+
+He ran back to the wicket, found the bicycle, lit the lamp, and hoisted
+the machine over the gate. Then he laughed again. After all, this
+escaping from bondage, this midnight adventure beneath the impending
+sword of expulsion, thrilled him to the marrow.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+When John returned on Sunday to the Manor, shortly after the doors were
+unlocked in the morning, he found Dumbleton awaiting him. Dumber's face
+expressed such amazement and consternation that John nearly laughed in
+spite of himself.
+
+"It's all hup, sir," said the butler. Only in moments of intense
+excitement did Dumber misplace or leave out the aspirate. "You're to
+come with me at once to Mr. Warde's study."
+
+John followed the butler into the familiar room. Warde was not down yet,
+but evidently Dumber had instructions not to leave the prisoner. John
+stared at the writing-desk. Then he turned to Dumbleton, and said
+carelessly--
+
+"This means the sack, eh, Dumber?"
+
+"Yes, sir. 'Ow could you do it, sir? Such a well-be'aved gentleman,
+too!"
+
+"Thank you, Dumber." John took an envelope from the desk, and wrote
+Scaife's name upon it.
+
+"Dumber, please give Mr. Scaife this--with my compliments. It is, as you
+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 a
+sorrowful, backward glance at John. The good fellow looked terribly
+bewildered. For John's face, John's deportment, had amazed him. John was
+quite unaware of it, but he looked astonishingly well. Excitement had
+flushed his cheek and lent a sparkle to his grey eyes. He had enjoyed
+his ride to town and back; he had slept soundly under the lee of a
+haystack; and he had washed his face and hands in the horse-trough at
+the foot of Sudbury Hill. And the certainty that Desmond was safe, that
+in the end he, John, had triumphed over Scaife, filled his soul with
+joy. Warde, on the other hand, looked wretched; he had passed a
+sleepless night; he was pale, haggard, gaunt.
+
+"What have you to say, Verney?"
+
+"Nothing, sir."
+
+"Nothing." Warde clenched his hands, and burst into speech, letting all
+that he had suffered and suppressed escape in tumultuous words and
+gestures. "Nothing. You dare to stand there and say--nothing. That you
+should have done this thing! Why, it's incredible! And I who trusted
+you. And you listened to me with a face like brass, laughing in your
+sleeve, no doubt, at the fool who betrayed himself. And you came here,
+so my wife tells me, to see if I was out of the way, if the coast 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 I look willingly
+upon your face, never! Well, this wretched business must be ended. You
+got out of my house last night. You heard I was dining with the Head
+Master. I returned early, and I saw you jump from the passage window.
+You don't deny that you went up to London, I suppose?"
+
+"No, sir; I don't deny it."
+
+At the moment John, quite unconsciously, looked as if he were glorying
+in what he had done. Warde could have struck his clean, clear face,
+unblushingly meeting his furious glance. In disgust, he turned his back
+and walked to the window. John felt rather than saw that his tutor was
+profoundly moved. When he turned, two tears were trickling down his
+cheeks. The sight of them nearly undid John. When Warde spoke again, his
+voice was choked by his emotion.
+
+"Verney," he said, "I spoke just now in an unrestrained manner, because
+you--you"--his voice trembled--"have shaken my faith in all I hold most
+dear. I say to you--I say to you that I believed in you as I believe in
+my wife. Even now I feel that somehow there is a mistake--that you are
+not what you confess yourself to be--a brazen-faced humbug. You have
+worked as I have worked for this House, and in one moment you undo that
+work. Have you paused to think, what effect this will have upon the
+others?"
+
+"Not yet, sir."
+
+John looked respectfully sympathetic. Poor Warde! This was rough indeed
+upon him.
+
+Suddenly the door was flung open, and Desmond burst into the room, with
+a complete disregard of the customary proprieties, and rushed up to
+Warde.
+
+"Sir," he said vehemently, "Verney did this to save--_me_!"
+
+Warde saw the slow smile break upon John's face. And, seeing it, he came
+as near hysterical laughter as a man of his character and temperament
+can come. He perceived that John, for some amazing reason, had played
+the scape-goat; that, in fact, he was innocent--not a humbug, not a
+hypocrite, not a brazen-faced sinner. And the relief was so 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 to win
+a bet, and for the excitement of jumping out of a window. John tried to
+dissuade me. When he exhausted every argument, he went himself."
+
+"The Lord be praised!" said Warde. He had divined everything; but he let
+Desmond tell the story in detail. Scaife's name was left out of the
+narrative.
+
+Then Warde said slowly, "I shall not refer this business to the Head
+Master; I shall deal with it myself. For your own sake, Desmond, for the
+sake of your father, and, above all else, for the sake of this House, I
+shall do no more than ask you to promise that, for the rest of your time
+at Harrow, you will endeavour to atone for what has been."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+All boys worth their salt are creatures of reserves; let us respect
+them. It is easy to surmise what passed between the friends--the
+gratitude, the self-reproach, the humiliation on one side; the sympathy,
+the encouragement and shy, restrained affection on the other. A
+bitter-sweet moment for John this, revealing, without disguise, the
+weakness of Desmond's character, but illuminating the triumph over
+Scaife, the all-powerful. John had been inhuman if this knowledge had
+not been as spikenard to him.
+
+Chapel over, the boys came pouring back into the house. In a minute the
+fags would be hurrying up with the tea and the jam-pots, asking for
+orders; in a minute Scaife would rush in with questions hot upon his
+lips. John chuckled to himself as he heard Scaife's step.
+
+"Hullo, Cæsar! Why did you cut Chapel? And----"
+
+John saw that the Carlton supper-card was in his hand. He chuckled
+again.
+
+"Dumber has just given me--_this_. Did you go, after all?" he asked
+Cæsar. They had not met since Warde's visit of the night before.
+
+"I didn't go," said Cæsar.
+
+"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 he was
+with Warde--he wasn't. This morning, early, I found out that he hadn't
+slept in his bed. I saw him come back, and I saw Dumber waiting for him.
+When Dumber came out of Warde's room, he told me that Jonathan had been
+up to town, and was going to be--sacked."
+
+He blurted out the rest of the story, to which Scaife listened
+attentively. 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 hang
+about that. I'm glad--and you ought to know it--that you've won the bet.
+All the same, Verney isn't entitled to all the glory that you give him."
+
+"He is, he is--and more, too."
+
+Scaife laughed. John felt rather uncomfortable. Always Scaife exhibited
+his amazing resource at unexpected moments.
+
+"Never mind," Scaife continued, "I won't burst the pretty bubble. And I
+admit, remember, Verney's cleverness."
+
+He was turning to go, but Desmond clutched his sleeve. When he spoke his
+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, and I
+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 a cold."
+
+"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 knew it."
+
+"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 to
+breakfast in John's room--
+
+"I say, Jonathan, I'm glad you knew that I wouldn't fail you. As the
+Demon 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, the
+thought that you would come to the rescue never occurred to me till I
+was biking back from town."
+
+"Anyway, you saved me from being sacked, and as long as I live I----"
+
+"Come on to breakfast," said John.
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[38] The Philathletic Club deals primarily with all matters which
+concern Harrow games; it is also a social club. Distinguished athletes,
+monitors, and so forth, are eligible for membership. The Head 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 at
+cricket: almost a foregone conclusion, and therefore not particularly
+interesting to outsiders. During the morning Scaife gave his farewell
+"brekker"[39] at the Creameries; a banquet of the Olympians to which
+John received an invitation. He accepted because Desmond made a point of
+his so doing; but he was quite aware that beneath the veneer of the
+Demon's genial smile lay implacable hatred and resentment. The breakfast
+in itself struck John as ostentatious. Scaife's father sent quails, _à
+la Lucullus_, and other delicacies. Throughout the meal the talk was of
+the coming war. At that time most of the Conservative papers pooh-poohed
+the possibility of an appeal to arms, but Scaife's father, admittedly a
+great authority on South African affairs, had told his son a fight was
+inevitable. More, he and his friends were already preparing to raise a
+regiment of mounted infantry. At breakfast Scaife announced this piece
+of news, and added that in the event of hostilities he would join this
+regiment, and not try to pass into Sandhurst. And he added that any of
+his friends who were present, and over eighteen years of age, were
+cordially invited to send in their names, and that he personally would
+do all that was possible to secure them billets. The words were hardly
+out of his mouth, when Cæsar Desmond 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, Cæsar, and if things go well with us, I fancy that we
+shall get our commissions in regular regiments soon enough. The governor
+had 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 wrote to
+each other once a week. John was reading hard with an eye to a possible
+scholarship at Oxford; Desmond was playing cricket with Scaife. Later,
+Desmond went to the Scaife moor in Scotland. John noted that his
+friend's letters were full of two things only: sport, and the
+ever-increasing probability of war. At the end of August John Verney,
+the explorer, returning to Verney Boscobel after an absence of nearly
+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 the charges 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 the
+hardships endured in Manchuria and Thibet had left scars upon the
+traveller. His hair was white, he looked an old man; one whose
+wanderings 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; we
+can guess what they were. The prospect of war had set all ardent souls
+afire.
+
+"I must think this over, my boy," the uncle replied presently. "I must
+sleep 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, but
+the pair rode together over the estate. During that ride it became plain
+to the young man that his uncle had no intention of settling down. Once
+or twice, in the driest, most matter-of-fact tone, the elder spoke as if
+his heir were likely to inherit soon. Finally, John blurted 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 into
+silence.
+
+Not till the evening, after Mrs. Verney had gone to bed, did the man of
+many wanderings speak freely.
+
+"John," said he, quietly, "I have a story to tell you. Years ago, your
+father and I fell in love with the same girl. She married the better
+man." He paused to fill a pipe: John saw that his uncle's fingers
+trembled slightly; but his voice was cool, measured, almost monotonous.
+"I made my first expedition to Patagonia. When I came back you were just
+born; and I asked that I might be your godfather. I went to Africa after
+the christening. And six years later your father died. I think he had
+the purest and most unselfish love of the poor and helpless that I have
+ever known. He wore away his life in the service of the outcast and
+forlorn. And before he died, he expressed a wish that you should work as
+he did, for others, but not in precisely the same way. He knew, none
+better, the limitations imposed upon a parson. He prayed that you might
+labour in a field larger than one parish. And I promised him that I
+would do what I could when the time came. It has come--to-night. In my
+opinion, in Warde's opinion, in your dear mother's opinion, Parliament
+is the place for you. You will be sufficiently well off. Take all Oxford
+can give you, and then try for the House of Commons. Charles Desmond
+will make you one of his Private Secretaries. I have spoken to him. You
+have a great career before you."
+
+"But if war breaks out, uncle----"
+
+"War _will_ break out. Don't misunderstand me! If you are wanted out
+there, 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 only son;
+all your mother has. John, you must think of her, and you will think 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 a voice
+curiously like his uncle's--
+
+"All right."
+
+Verney senior held out his hand. "I knew you would say that," he
+murmured.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+On the 18th of September, when John returned to the Hill, the country
+had just learned that the proposals of the Imperial Government to accept
+the note of August 19th (provided it were not encumbered by conditions
+which would nullify the intention to give substantial representation to
+the Uitlanders) had not been accepted. That this meant war, none, least
+of all a schoolboy, doubted. Desmond could talk of nothing else. He told
+John that his father had promised to let him leave Harrow before the end
+of the term, if war were declared. The Demon, so John was informed, had
+made already preparations. He was taking out his three polo ponies, and
+had hopes of being appointed Galloper to a certain General. Scaife's
+Horse was being organized, but in 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 a curious
+sinking of the heart. He had looked forward to having Desmond to
+himself; and lo! his friend was seven thousand miles away--on the veldt,
+not on the Hill.
+
+"You are not keen," said Desmond.
+
+On the day of the Goose Match, Saturday, September 30th, Scaife came
+down to Harrow to take leave of his friends. Already, John noted an
+extraordinary difference in his manner and appearance. He treated John
+to a slightly patronizing smile, called him Jonathan, asked if he could
+be of service to him, and posed most successfully as a sort of sucking
+Alexander.
+
+That he absorbed Desmond's eyes and mind was indisputable. Everything
+outside South Africa, and in particular the Hill and all things thereon,
+dwindled into insignificance. Scaife made Desmond a present of the very
+best maps obtainable, and nailed them on the wall above the mantelpiece,
+pulling down a fine engraving which John had given to Desmond about a
+year before. Desmond uttered no protest. The engraving was bundled out
+of sight behind a sofa.
+
+And after Scaife's departure, Desmond talked of him continually, and
+always with enthusiasm. Warde added a note or two to the chorus.
+
+"This is an opportunity for Scaife," he told John. "He may distinguish
+himself very greatly, and the discipline of the camp will transmute the
+bad 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 that
+he pitied his father profoundly because he was a civilian and a
+non-combatant. Warde wrote to Charles Desmond: "If you mean to send
+Harry out, send him at once. He's fretting himself to fiddle-strings,
+doing no work, and causing others to do no work also."
+
+Sir William Symons' victory and death followed, and then the mortifying
+retreat of General Yule. Upon the 30th day of the month eight hundred
+and fifty officers and men were isolated and captured. Who does not
+remember the wave of passionate incredulity that swept across the
+kingdom when the evil tidings flashed over-seas? But Buller and his
+staff were on the _Dunottar Castle_, and all Harrovians believed
+devoutly that within a month of landing the Commander-in-Chief would
+drive 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. A
+billet had been obtained. Desmond received a long envelope from the War
+Office. He showed it to all his friends, old and young. Duff
+junior--Cæsar's fag--became so excited that he asked Warde for
+permission to enlist as a drummer-boy. The School cheered Cæsar at four
+Bill.
+
+And then came the parting.
+
+Cæsar was to join the Headquarters' Staff as soon as possible. He spent
+the last hours with John, but his mind, naturally enough, was
+concentrated upon his kit. He chattered endlessly of saddlery,
+revolvers, sleeping bags, and Zeiss glasses. John packed his
+portmanteau. And on the morrow the friends parted at the station without
+a word beyond--
+
+"Good-bye, old Jonathan. Wish you were coming."
+
+"Good-bye, Cæsar. Good luck!"
+
+And then the shrill whistle, the inexorable rolling of the wheels, the
+bright, eager face leaning far out of the window, the waved
+handkerchief, the last words: "So long!" and John's reply, "So long!"
+
+John saw the face fade; the wheels of the vanishing train seemed to have
+rolled over his heart; the scream of the engine was the scream of
+anguish from himself. He left the station and ran to the Tower. There,
+after the first indescribable moments, some kindly spirit touched him.
+He became whole. But he had ceased to be a boy. Alone upon the tower he
+prayed for his friend, prayed fervently that it might be 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 might, indeed,
+be bridged by prayer, but not by the shouts of boys and the turmoil of a
+Public School.
+
+During the rest of the term he worked furiously. Desmond was now on the
+high seas, whither John followed him at night and on Sundays. Warde,
+guessing, perhaps, what was passing in John's heart, talked much of
+Desmond, always hopefully. From Warde, John learned that Charles Desmond
+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 would have
+made a debater. Yes; yes; a nimble wit, an engaging manner, and the gift
+of the gab. And the father would have had him under his own eye."
+
+"But he wanted to go to South Africa from the beginning."
+
+"You wanted to go," said Warde; "your uncle told me so. It was a greater
+thing for you, John, to stand aside."
+
+And then John put a question. "Do you think that Harry ought to have
+stood aside too?"
+
+Warde, however, unwilling to commit himself, spoke of Harry's ardour and
+patriotism. But at the end he let fall a straw which indicated the true
+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 than
+thoughtlessness."
+
+"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 grip of
+the invader; the Boers were not yet driven out of Natal. Meantime Cæsar
+had reached Sir Redvers Buller. A letter to his father, describing the
+few incidents of the voyage out, and his arrival in South Africa, was
+sent on to John and received by him on the 1st of February. "John will
+understand," said Cæsar, in a postscript, "that I have little time for
+writing." But John did not understand. He wrote regularly to Desmond; no
+answer came in return.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+At the end of the Christmas holidays John returned to Harrow. He was now
+Head of his House, and very nearly Head of the School. The weeks went by
+slowly. Soon, he and a few others would travel to Oxford for their
+examination; there would be the strenuous excitement of competition, and
+the final announcement of success or failure. To all this John told
+himself that he was lukewarm. Nothing seemed to matter since he had lost
+sight of Cæsar's face, since the train whirled his friend out of his
+life. But he worked hard, so hard that the Head Master bade him beware
+of a breakdown.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The hour of triumph came. John had gratified his own and Warde's
+ambition; he was a Scholar of Christ Church. And this well-earned
+success seemed to draw something in his heart. The congratulations, the
+warm hand-clasps, the generous joy of schoolfellows not as fortunate,
+restored his moral circulation. A whole holiday was granted in honour of
+his success at Oxford. He told himself that now he would take things
+easy and enjoy himself. The clouds in South Africa were lifting,
+everybody said the glorious end was in sight. And so far Desmond had
+escaped wounds and sickness. He had received a commission in
+Beauregard's Irregular Horse; in the five days' action about Spion Kop
+he behaved with conspicuous gallantry. Scaife, having obtained his
+billet of Galloper, was with a General under Lord Methuen.
+
+On the last Monday but one in the term, John was entering the Manor just
+before lock-up, when a Sixth Form boy from another house passed him,
+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 be late.
+
+John ran, too, with his heart thumping against his side. He felt
+certain, from the expression upon the boy's face, that Scaife was dead.
+And John recalled with intense bitterness and humiliation moments in
+past years when he had wished that Scaife would die. Charles Desmond had
+told him only three weeks before that his Harry hoped to join the smart
+cavalry regiment in which a commission had been promised to Scaife. At
+that moment John was sensible of an inordinate desire for anything that
+might come between this wish and its fulfilment. And now, Scaife might
+be lying dead.
+
+He found Warde in his study staring at a telegram. He looked up as John
+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. John met
+his glance and could not interpret it. Presently, Warde said nervously--
+
+"Why did the fellow write 'Demon' instead of 'Scaife'? I don't like
+that." He looked sharply at John, who did not understand. Then he added,
+"I've wired for confirmation. There may be a--mistake."
+
+"What mistake?" said John. Warde's manner confused him, frightened him.
+"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 any one
+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 a mistake
+could be made!--"Desmond," ill-written, handed to an old Manorite 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 were
+trying 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 second
+telegram. Dumbleton brought it in, and lingered, anxiously expectant;
+but Warde dismissed him with a gesture. As the door closed, Warde stood
+up.
+
+"If our fears are well founded," he said solemnly, "may God give you
+strength, 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 sinewy
+fingers. John's face appalled him. He had known, he had guessed, the
+strength of John's feeling for Desmond, but, he had not known the
+strength of John's hatred of Scaife. And Desmond had been taken--and
+Scaife left. The irony of it tore the soul.
+
+"Don't speak," commanded Warde.
+
+John closed his lips with instinctive obedience. When he opened them
+again his face had softened; the words fell upon the silence with a
+heartrending inflection of misery.
+
+"And now I shall never know--I shall never know."
+
+He broke down piteously. Warde let the first passion of grief spend
+itself; then he asked John to explain. The good fellow saw that if John
+could give his trouble words it would be lightened enormously. He
+divined 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 the
+never-ending struggle between Scaife and himself for the soul of his
+friend; gave them with a clearness of expression which proved beyond all
+else how his thoughts had crystallized in his mind. Warde listened,
+holding John's hand, gripping it with sympathy and affection. The
+romance of this friendship stirred him profoundly; the romance of the
+struggle for good and evil; a struggle of which the issues remained
+still in doubt; a romance which Death had cruelly left unfinished--this
+had 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 thought he
+would write, and that everything would be cleared up. And now, silence."
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+The week wore itself away. A few details were forthcoming: enough to
+prove 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 a
+popular Minister. The name of Desmond rang through the Empire. John
+bought every paper and devoured the meagre lines which left so much
+between them. It seemed that a certain position had to be taken--a small
+hill. For the hundredth time in this campaign too few men were detailed
+for the task. The reek of that awful slaughter on Spion Kop was still
+strong in men's nostrils. Beauregard and his soldiers halted at 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 foes simply
+exterminated the leading files. The moment came when those behind
+wavered and recoiled. And then Desmond darted forward--alone, cheering
+on his fellows. They were all afoot. The men rallied and followed. But
+they could not overtake the gallant figure pressing on in front. He
+ran--so the Special Correspondent reported--as if he were racing for a
+goal. The men staggered after him, aflame with his ardour. They reached
+the top, captured the guns, drove down the enemy, and returned to the
+highest point to find their leader--shot through the heart, and dead,
+and smiling at death. Of all the men who passed through that blizzard of
+bullets he was the youngest by two years.
+
+Warde told John that the Head Master would preach upon the last Sunday
+evening of the term, with special reference to Harry Desmond. Could John
+bear it? John nodded. Since the first breakdown in Warde's study, 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 in surplice
+and scarlet hood, entered the pulpit, and, in his clear, calm tones,
+announced his text, taken from the 17th verse of the First Chapter of
+the Book of Ruth--
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"The Lord do so to me, and more also, if ought but death part thee and
+me."
+
+The subject of the sermon was "Friendship:" the heart's blood of a
+Public School: Friendship with its delights, its perils, its peculiar
+graces and benedictions.
+
+"To-night," concluded the preacher, amid the breathless silence of the
+congregation, "this thought of Friendship has for us a special
+solemnity. It is consecrated by the memory of one whom we have just
+lost. You, who are leaving the school, have been the friends and
+contemporaries of Henry Julius Desmond; his features are fresh in your
+memories, 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 died
+here on this Hill. Henry Desmond died on another hill, and died so
+gloriously that the shadow of our loss, dark as it seemed to us at
+first, is already melting in the radiance of his gain. To die young,
+clean, ardent; to die swiftly, in perfect health; to die saving others
+from death, or worse--disgrace--to die scaling heights; to die and to
+carry with you into the fuller, ampler life beyond, untainted hopes and
+aspirations, unembittered memories, all the freshness and gladness of
+May--is not that cause for joy rather than sorrow? I say--yes. Henry
+Desmond 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 our
+acts, whether good or evil, but the memory of them; and that memory,
+undimmed by falsehood or self-deception, will create for us Heaven or
+Hell. I do not say--God forbid!--that you should desire death because
+you are still young, and, comparatively speaking, unspotted from the
+world; but I say I would sooner see any of you struck down in the flower
+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, poised for
+flight into the great world of which this school is the microcosm, I
+commend the memory of Henry Desmond. It stands in our records for all we
+venerate and strive for: loyalty, honour, purity, strenuousness,
+faithfulness in friendship. When temptation assails you, think of that
+gallant boy running swiftly uphill, leaving craven fear behind, and
+drawing with him the others who, led by him to the heights, made victory
+possible. You cannot all be leaders, but you can follow leaders; only
+see to it that they lead you, as Henry Desmond led the men of
+Beauregard's Horse, onward and upward."
+
+The preacher ended, and then followed the familiar hymn, always sung
+upon 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 boys
+streamed out of Chapel; some of them for the last time.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+Upon the next Tuesday, John travelled down into the New Forest. April
+was abroad in Hampshire; the larches already were bright green against
+the Scotch firs; the beech buds were bursting; only the oaks retained
+their drab winter's-livery.
+
+During the few days preceding Easter Sunday, John rode or walked to
+every part of the forest which he had visited in company with his dead
+friend. At Beaulieu, standing in the ruins of the Abbey, he could hear
+Desmond's delightful laugh as he recited the misadventures of Hordle
+John; at Stoneycross he sat upon the bank overlooking the moor, whence
+they had seen the fox steal into the woods about Rufus's Stone; at the
+Bell tavern at Brook they had lunched; at Hinton Admiral they had
+played cricket.
+
+To his mother's and his uncle's silent sympathy John responded but
+churlishly. His friend had departed without a word, without a sign; that
+ate into John's heart and consumed it. For the first time since he had
+been confirmed, he refused to receive the Sacrament. He went to church
+as a matter of form; but he dared not approach the altar in his present
+rebellious mood.
+
+Again and again he accused himself of having yielded to a craven fear of
+offending Desmond by speech too plain. Always he had been so terribly
+afraid of losing his friend; and now he had lost him indeed. This
+poignancy of grief may be accounted for in part by the previous
+long-continued strain of overwork. And it is ever the habit of those who
+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 watch
+and ward over the destinies of our Empire.
+
+In a long letter from Charles Desmond, the Minister had spoken of the
+secretaryship to be kept warm for him, of the pleasure and solace the
+writer would take in seeing his son's best friend in the place where
+that son might have stood.
+
+His best friend? Was that true?
+
+The question tormented John. Because Cæsar 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, only something--to
+Cæsar.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+One day, about the middle of the month, John had been playing cricket,
+the game of all games which brought Cæsar most vividly to his mind.
+Then, just before six Bill, he strolled up the Hill and into the Vaughan
+Library, where so many relics dear to Harrovians are enshrined. Sitting
+in the splendid window which faces distant Hampstead, John told himself
+that he must put aside the miseries and perplexities of the past month.
+Had he been loyal to his friend's memory? Would not a more 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 told
+John that something had happened. Warde said quietly--
+
+"A letter has come for you in Harry Desmond's handwriting."
+
+John, unable to speak, stretched out his hand.
+
+"Take it," said Warde, "to some quiet spot where you cannot be
+disturbed."
+
+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, because
+long 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 hand what
+you want--and what you deserve."
+
+Warde left the library; John put the letter into his pocket. Where
+should he go? One place beckoned him. Upon the tower, looking towards
+the Hill, he would read the last letter of his friend.
+
+Within half an hour he was passing through the iron gates. He had not
+visited the garden since that forlorn winter's afternoon, when he came
+here, alone, after bidding Desmond good-bye. He could recall the
+desolation of the scene: bleak Winter dripping tears upon the tomb of
+Summer. With what disgust he had perceived the decaying masses of
+vegetation, the sodden turf, the soot upon the bare trunks of the trees.
+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! a
+miracle. The hawthorns shone white against the brilliant green of the
+laurels; the horse-chestnuts had--to use a fanciful expression of
+Cæsar's--"lit their lamps." Out of the waving grass glimmered and
+sparkled a thousand wild flowers. John heard the glad _Frühlingslied_ of
+bees and birds. Then, opening his lungs, he inhaled the life-renewing
+odours of earth renascent; opening his heart he felt a spiritual essence
+pervading every fibre of his being. Once more the chilled sap in his
+veins flowed generously. It was well with him and well with his friend.
+This conviction possessed him, remember, before he opened the letter.
+
+He ascended the tower, and broke the seal.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+"I have been meaning to write to you, dear old chap, ever since we
+parted; but, somehow, I couldn't bring myself to tackle it in earnest
+till 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 best friend a
+man ever had, the only one I love as much as my own brothers--_and even
+more_. It was from knowing you that I came to see what good-for-nothing
+fools some fellows are. You were always so unselfish 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 I didn't improve a bit. So, if we don't
+meet again in this jolly old world, it may be a little comfort to you to
+remember that what you have done for a very worthless pal was not thrown
+away.
+
+"Good night, Jonathan. I'm going to turn in; we shall be astir before
+daybreak. Over the veldt the stars are shining. It's so light, that I
+can just make out the hill upon which, I hope, our flag will be waving
+within a few hours. The sight of this hill brings back our Hill. If I
+shut my eyes, I can see it plainly, as we used to see it from the
+tower, with the Spire rising out of the heart of the old school. I have
+the absurd conviction strong in me that, to-morrow, I shall get up the
+hill here faster and easier than the other fellows because you and I
+have so often run up our Hill together--God bless it--and you! Good
+night."
+
+
+FOOTNOTES:
+
+[39] Brekker, _i.e._ breakfast.
+
+
+
+
+ PRINTED AND BOUND IN ENGLAND BY
+ WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hill, by Horace Annesley Vachell
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