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They talked, instead, disjointedly upon things which, though they interested them mightily, were not near their hearts as is the Hill to the Harrovian. They had both come to a decision, which, however, left them in nowise comforted. Ben Kelham decided as he walked about the tent that not a word about the anonymous letter or the courtesan should pass his lips.
Yours must be an even more instructive household than mine. Gideon was a Russian Jew on his father's side, and a Harrovian. He had no decency and no manners. He made Juke, who was an Englishman and an Etonian, and had more of both, uncomfortable sometimes.
It is not simply party but school and college and county and country that lose their glamour. One does not hear nearly as much as our forefathers did of the "old Harrovian," "old Arvonian," "old Etonian" claim to this or that unfair advantage or unearnt sympathy. Even the Scotch and the Devonians weaken a little in their clannishness. A widening sense of fair play destroys such things.
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 Caesar Desmond.
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."
"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 Caesar held the ball fast in his lean brown hands. The Eton captain walks slowly towards the pavilion.
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 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.
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.
Wilkins rose, shrugged his shoulders, and laughed. Ajax scowled. "We told Silas Upham that you were an old Harrovian," began my brother. "So I am; but my name is not Wilkins." He lit a cigarette, before he continued quietly: "I'm a fraud. I'm not even an Englishman. My father was a Southerner. He settled in England after the war.
The answer to the roll-call rang out across the desert he had loved so well, and was carried by the breeze of dawn up through the stars to the Head Master whose justice and mercy take no account of race. Then the old Harrovian crashed face downward, dead. "Millions of spiritual creatures walk the earth Unseen, both when we wake and when we sleep."
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