him. Quality confronted quantity.

"Kick me," said Desmond, "if--if you dare, you big, hulking coward and
cad!"

"Come on, Lubber, get into line!" shouted some boy.

Sprott turned slowly, glancing over his vast, fat shoulder to guard
against further assault. Then he took his place in the line, and
passed slowly out of the Yard and out of these pages. He never
persecuted John again.[4]

Not yet, however, was the sun to shine in John's firmament. As the
days lengthened, as June touched all hearts with her magic fingers,
insensibly relaxing the tissues and warming the senses, John became
more and more miserably aware that, in the fight between Scaife and
himself for the possession of Desmond, the odds were stupendously
against him. Truly the Demon had the subtlety of the serpent, for he
used the failings which he was unable to hide as cords wherewith to
bind his friend more closely to him. When the facts, for instance, of
what had taken place in Lovell's room came to Desmond's ears, he denied
fiercely the possibility of Scaife, his pal, making a "beast" of
himself. 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.

"Perhaps they did," he answered steadily; "and perhaps they didn't. I
deny nothing; I admit nothing. But"--his fine eyes, so dark and
piercing, flamed--"Caesar, if I was dead drunk at your feet now, would
you turn away from me, would you chuck me?"

Desmond winced. Scaife pursued his advantage.

"If you _are_ that sort of a fellow--the Pharisee"--Desmond winced
again--"the saint who is too pure, too holy, to associate with a
sinner, say so, and let us part here--and now. For I _am_ a--sinner.
You are not a sinner. Hold hard! let me have my say. I've always
known that this moment was coming. Yes, I am a sinner. And my
governor is a sinner, a hardened sinner. His father made our pile by
what you would call robbery. The whole world knows it, and condones
it, because we are so rich. Even my mother----"

He paused, trembling, white to the lips.

"Don't," said Desmond. "Please don't."

"You're right. I won't. But I'm handicapped on both sides. It's only
fair that you should know