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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.
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.
The laughter which greeted his passionate protest sent him hot-foot to Scaife himself. "They say," panted Caesar, "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 Caesar's loyalty? Who can tell? Always he subordinated emotion to intelligence: head commanded heart.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?"
"Put me down, Demon; put me down first!" And then Scaife glanced at John, as he answered "Right you are, Caesar, and if things go well with us, I fancy that we shall get our commissions in regular regiments soon enough. The governor has had a hint to that effect. Let's drink success to 'Scaife's Horse." The toast was drunk with enthusiasm.
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.
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