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"For whom did you steal this money? To whom did you pay it to-day? Answer!" And he was answered. "I owed the money to Scaife and Lovell." Then he told the story of the card-playing. At the last word he fell on his knees, blubbering. "Get up," said Warde, sharply. "Pull yourself together if you can." The master began to walk up and down the room, frowning and biting his lips.
The Upper School knew that, as a member of the Alpine Club, Warde had conquered half a dozen hitherto unconquerable peaks. Into the Yard and into this book Warde comes late. As he hurried to his place, the School greeted him as they had greeted Rutford only the week before. If anything, the demonstration was slightly more hostile.
A few seats away Warde is twiddling his thumbs and biting his lips. Old Lord Fawley has slipped into the pavilion for a brandy and soda. At last! Scaife takes off Fluff and puts on a fast bowler, changing his own place in the field to short slip. The ball, a first ball and very fast, puzzles the batsman, accustomed to slows.
"If it's seven miles there," said Warde, plainly elated at the thought of accompanying them, "all I'll have to do is to write my little description when I get back and there you are." "A first class scout," said Pee-wee, quite as delighted as his friend. "It says fourteen miles there and back," said Roy. "Maybe it'll be seven miles there but we don't know how far it will be back.
"It's an odd coincidence," he said, tranquilly; "your father in Rome uses the same notepaper that I buy here. But the envelope is Italian?" He spoke interrogatively, but the wretch opposite had lost the power of speech. He collapsed. Warde rose, throwing aside his quiet manner as if it were a drab-coloured cloak. Now he was himself, alert, on edge, sanguine.
"At the Harrow post-office?" "Yes, sir." "Ah." Again the house-master picked up the letter, but this time he didn't lay down the lens. Instead he used it, very deliberately. Beaumont-Greene shivered; with difficulty he clenched his teeth, so as to prevent them clicking like castanets. Then Warde held up the sheet of paper to the light of the lamp. Obviously he wished to examine the watermark.
The Duffer, Desmond, John, and the Caterpillar assembled in John's room. Desmond, you may be sure, was afire with resolution. Warde was the right sort, a clinker, a first flighter. And he meant to stick by him through thick and thin. John said nothing. The Caterpillar drawled out "Warde didn't surprise me much. I've found out that he's one of the Wardes of Warde-Pomeroy, the real old stuff.
I was interested to read in Mr. Warde Fowler's Kingham Old and New an account of a peculiar ceremony called "Skimmington," by Mr. Hardy, in his Mayor of Casterbridge which took place in Kingham village. I have known of two similar cases, one in Surrey and one at Aldington, under the name of "rough music."
Warde Hollister stepped up to him and slapped his shoulder. "You're one bully little scout, Kid," he said. Warde seemed almost converted by Pee-wee's inspiring, unreasoning loyalty. "Sometimes I agree with you, Kid," he said. "And then again " "I agree with myself all the time," Pee-wee said; "and I don't care who agrees with me."
The party broke up in confusion. Sweeny rushed to the officers' mess, where Warde was dining. As he bounded up the stairs, the officers, recognizing his step, called to him to join them in a glass of wine. He entered the room, and going up to Warde then and there publicly insulted him. The inevitable duel took place next morning, and at the first shot Major Warde fell dead.
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