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Updated: July 4, 2025
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.
If Caesar 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!
He perceived that Desmond's loyalty to Scaife made him hesitate and flush. "I understand, Caesar, 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, Caesar.
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.
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.
"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 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?"
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?"
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.
"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.
Medland appeared appropriate and needful, and Miss Scaife was minded to engage in it, in spite of the hostility of Lady Eynesford. She had studied Sir Robert Perry for three years, but Sir Robert was disappointing. That he was a charming old gentleman she freely admitted, but he was not in any special way characteristic of a young community.
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