her his nose was
broken or not, when Lawrence touched his shoulder.

"Never mind, Verney," he said cheerily; "the Manor will be cock-house
at Torpids next year, and I venture to prophesy that you'll be Captain."

"Ob, thanks, Lawrence," said John.

But, much as he appreciated this tribute from the great man, and much
as it served to mitigate the pangs of defeat, a yet happier stroke of
fortune was about to befall him. Desmond, who always walked up from
the football field with Scaife, conferred upon John the honour of his
company.

"Where's Scaife?" said John.

"The Demon is demoniac," said Desmond. "He's lost his hair, and he
blames me. Well, I did my best, and so did he, and there's no more to
be said. It's a bore that we shall be too old to play next year. I
told the Demon that if we had to be beaten, I would sooner take a
licking from Damer's than any other house; and he told me that he
believed I wanted 'em to win. When a fellow's in that sort of blind
rage, I call him dotty, don't you?"

"Yes," said John.

"You played jolly well, Verney; I expect Lawrence told you so."

"He did say something decent," John replied.

The Caterpillar joined them as they were passing through the stile.
"We should have won," he said deliberately, "if the Demon hadn't
behaved like a rank out-rider."

"Scaife is my pal," said Desmond, hotly.

The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders, and held high his well-cut
aquiline nose, as he murmured--

"One doesn't pretend to be a Christian, but as a gentleman one accepts
a bit of bad luck without gnashing one's teeth. What? That Spartan
boy with the fox was a well bred 'un, you take my word for it. Scaife
isn't."

The Caterpillar joined another pair of boys before Desmond could reply.
John looked uncomfortable. Then Desmond burst out with Irish
vehemence--

"Egerton is always jawing about breeding. It's rather snobbish. I
don't think the worse of Scaife because his grandfather carried a hod.
The Egertons have been living at Mount Egerton ever since they left
Mount Ararat, but what have they done? And he ought to make allowances
for the old Demon. He was simply mad keen to win this match, and he
has a temper. You like him, Verney, don't you?"

John hesitated, realizing that to speak the truth would offend the one
fellow in the school whom he wished to please and conciliate. Then he
blurted out--

"No--I don't."

"You don't?" Desmond's frank blue eyes, Irish ey