he exacted
interest and admiration from Desmond lay in a rare (rare at fifteen)
ability to analyse his own and others' actions.

"I loathe it too," he admitted. "Really, you know, we drank precious
little, because it is such beastly stuff. But I liked, we all liked,
to believe that we were doing the correct thing--eh? And it warmed us
up. Just a taste made the Caterpillar awfully funny."

"I see."

"Do you see? I doubt it, Caesar. Perhaps I shall horrify you when I
tell you that vice interests me. I used to buy the _Police News_ when
I was a kid, and simply wallow in it. I told a woman that last Easter,
and she laughed--she was as clever as they make 'em--and said that I
suffered from what the French call _la nostalgie de la boue_; that
means, you know, the homesickness for the gutter. Rather personal, but
dev'lish sharp, wasn't it?"

"I think she was a beast."

"Not she, she's a sort of cousin; she came from the same old place
herself, that's why she understood. You don't want to know what goes
on in the slums, but I do. Why? Because my grand-dad was born in 'em."

"He pulled himself out by brains and muscles."

"But he went back--sometimes. Oh yes, he did. And the governor--I'm
up to some of _his_ little games. I could tell you----"

"Oh--shut up!" said Caesar, the colour flooding his cheeks.

Upon the last Saturday of the term the School Concert took place. Few
of the boys in the Manor, and none out of it, knew that John Verney had
been chosen to sing the treble solo; always an attractive number of the
programme. John, indeed, was painfully shy in regard to his singing,
so shy that he never told Desmond that he had a voice. And the
music-master, enchanted by its quality, impressed upon his pupil the
expediency of silence. He wished to surprise the School.

The concerts at Harrow take place in the great Speech-room. Their
characteristic note is the singing of Harrow songs. To any boy with an
ear for music and a heart susceptible of emotion these songs must
appeal profoundly, because both words and music seem to enshrine all
that is noble and uplifting in life. And, sung by the whole School (as
are most of the choruses), their message becomes curiously emphatic.
The spirit of the Hill is acclaimed, gladly, triumphantly,
unmistakably, by Harrovians repeating the creed of their fathers,
knowing that creed will be so repeated by their sons and sons' sons.
Was it happy chance or a happier