oys not yet born the money your people have gladly spent on you,
and other greater things beside. I want to see this house at the top
of the tree again: cock-house at cricket, cock-house at footer, with a
Balliol Scholar in it, and a school racquet-player. And now Dumbleton
is going to bring in a little champagne. We'll drink high health and
fellowship to the Manor and the Hill!"

His face broke into the smile his form knew so well; he sat down, as
the house roared its welcome to a friend.

As soon as the champagne was drunk ("Dumber" was careful to put more
froth than wine into the glasses of the kids), the boys filed out of
the Hall. 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. Our families intermarried
in Elizabeth's reign."

"Chance to do it again, Caterpillar," said the Duffer. "Warde's
daughter is an uncommonly pretty girl."

Then the Caterpillar used the epithet "fetching."

"She's fetching, very fetching," he said. "It's a pleasure to remember
that we're of kin. One must be civil to Warde. He's a well bred 'un."

"You think too much of family," said Desmond.

"_One can't_," replied the Caterpillar, solemnly. "One knows that
family is not everything, but, other things being equal, it means
refinement. The first of the Howards was a swineherd, I dare say, but
generations of education, of association with the best, have turned
them from swineherds into gentlemen, and it takes generations to do it."

"Good old Caterpillar!" said the Duffer.

"Not my own," said the Caterpillar; adding, as usual, "My governor's,
you know."

"Warde hasn't a soft job ahead of him," said Desmond. "Soft or hard,
he'll handle it his own way."

Desmond went out, wondering what had become of Scaife. Scaife was in
his room, talking to Lovell senior, who had spent a fortnight with
Scaife's people In Scotland, fishing and grousing. Desmond had been
asked also, but his father, rather to Caesar's disgust (for the Scaife
moor was famous), had refused to let him go. Lovell and Scaife were
arguing about something which Desmond could not understand.

"I left it to my p