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Set it a-rolling. See?" John had appetite for such talk, but Warde never gave much of it half a dozen sentences, a smile, a nod of the head, a keen look, and a striding off elsewhere. But when John repeated what Warde had said to Caesar, that young gentleman looked uneasy.
"Come ahead in, Kid," said Roy; "Warde didn't mean that." "I will not." "What's the matter with you anyway?" Will Dawson asked. "I'm not in your patrol," Pee-wee said. "What's the big idea?" Westy Martin asked. "You weren't in it when you went on the bee-line hike with us either, were you?" "That's different," Pee-wee said.
Two pictures, one a front face, the other a profile, were there shown. "What " Pee-wee began, anxiously, hesitatingly, as if he dared not say what was in his mind. "Yep," said Warde, with a kind of cold resolve, as if one of them must express their common thought; "it's him it's Blythe." Still neither Roy nor Pee-wee spoke, only stood there, gazing steadfastly at the pictures.
Afterwards she testified that he looked singularly cool and self-possessed. "I wish to see Mr. Warde," he said. "He's dining at the Head Master's." "Will he be in soon?" "I er don't know. Perhaps not. I wouldn't wait for him, Verney, if I were you." "Thank you," said John. "Good night." He went back to his room. In Mrs. Warde's eyes had read what? Excitement? Apprehension?
"Your Grace is never in earnest." "Sometimes I am." Her eyelids drooped a little as she looked at him. "Not often enough, you think? And you too often. Always, indeed." "If I were Queen of France, I could be light-hearted, too," said Gilbert. "But if your Grace were Gilbert Warde, you should be perhaps a sadder man than I." And he also laughed a little, but bitterly.
This staunchness somewhat daunted Roy. It made him feel not quite sure of himself; a little ashamed. But after all it was just Pee-wee's way; his faith was so strong that he shut his eyes to facts. Roy went down to the river and got Warde and together they started for the hospital. Warde was glad to go. He said little, for that was his habit. He was quiet and thoughtful.
"Yes, yes, yes, help yourselves to anything," called Minerva, "only bring them back pile them in the boat it doesn't make any difference how only hurry, he may drift off again." "Now you see," said Roy, addressing Warde, "the harder you work and the longer you wait the hungrier you'll be. Everything is working out fine, thanks to me."
John might have smiled at this opportune mention of Warde, but sense of humour was swamped in apprehension. Desmond went on to talk about Scaife. "He'll make 'em sit up, you see! The 'pro. we had is the finest cover-point in England. I never saw such a chap. He dashes at the ball.
She had married Raymond Warde without loving him, being ambitious of his name and honours, when his future had seemed brilliant in the days of good King Henry.
Now I'll be candid with you. I like Lovell. There's no nonsense about him. He don't put on frills because he's in the Sixth, and he don't mean to take to their sneaking, spying ways. He's just as anxious as Warde to see the Manor cock-house at footer and cricket, and I'm as keen as he is; but we stop there. The Balliol Scholarship may go hang.
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