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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.
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.
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.
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-finals with Damer's.
"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.
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.
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 sickroom, believed that an infectious disease had broken out. Only Desmond, John, and the Caterpillar experienced heart-breaking fears that a catastrophe had taken place.
"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!
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 Caesar 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.
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.