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"Yesterday I was in Lovell's room. We were talking of the first House match. Scaife and Caesar were there. I took it upon myself to say you ought to be given your 'cap'; and then Caesar burst out, 'Oh yes, Lovell, do give him his "cap." If you knew how he'd slaved to earn it. But Lovell only laughed.
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. Caesar, 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 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.
"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.
"But he didn't," said John. "Eh? what?" "Scaife wanted Caesar," John explained. "And I've noticed, Caterpillar, that whatever Scaife wants he gets." "He wants breeding, Jonathan, but he'll never get that never." After this, John saw but little of Desmond; and Scaife hardly spoke to him. Accordingly, much of our hero's time was spent in the company of the Duffer and Fluff.
"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.
"An entomologist, I suppose," suggested Miss Scaife. "He chases butterflies in the Governor's garden, and swears when he doesn't catch them!" "He fears not God, neither regards the Governor," remarked Dick, with a solemn shake of his head. "Don't be flippant, Dick," said Lady Eynesford sharply. "He might at least brush the knees of his trousers," moaned Captain Heseltine. Meanwhile 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!
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.
"Oh, watch them!" retorted Lady Eynesford, and, leaving her husband, she sought Alicia and invited her to come and have a talk in the verandah. Alicia, when thus summoned, was sitting with Eleanor Scaife, and they were both watching Captain Heseltine's fox terrier jump over a walking-stick under his master's tuition.
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