Desmond courteously, and
gave him his "fez" after the first house-game. Both boys now were
members of the Manor cricket and football Elevens, and, as such,
persons of distinction in their small world. Scaife, moreover, began
to play football with such extraordinary dash and brilliancy, that it
seemed to be quite on the cards that he might get his School Flannels.
This possibility, and the Greek in the Fifth, absorbed his energies for
the first six weeks of the winter quarter. John had come back to
Scaife's room to prepare work. Desmond felt that Scaife had been
generous in proposing that John should join them, because in many small
ways it had become evident that the Demon disliked John, although he
still spoke of the tight place out of which John had hauled him.
Through Scaife John received his "fez"; and when John wore it for the
first time, Scaife came up and said, smiling--

"I'm nearly even with you, Verney."

"What do you mean?" said John.

"You know well enough what I mean," said Scaife, winking his eye
maliciously.

John flushed, because in his heart he did know. But when he told
Egerton what Scaife had said, that experienced man of the world turned
up his nose.

"Just like him," he said. "He wants you to feel that he has wiped out
his debt."

"Do you think my 'fez' ought to have been given to young Lovell?"

The Caterpillar, who played back for the Manor, considered the question.

"I don't know," he said. "You are pretty nearly equal; but it's a fact
that the Demon turned the scale. He pointed out to Lovell that if he
gave a 'fez' to his young brother, the house might accuse him of
favouritism. That did the trick."

This made John uneasy and unhappy for a week or two; but the
consciousness that another might be better entitled to the coveted
"fez" made him play up with such energy that he succeeded in proving to
all critics that he had honestly earned what luck had bestowed on him.

During the last week of October, John began those long walks with
Desmond which, afterwards, he came to regard as perhaps the most
delightful hours spent at Harrow. Scaife detested walking. He had his
father's power of focusing attention and energy upon a single object.
For the moment he was mad about football. Talk about books, scenery,
people, bored him, and he said so with his usual frankness and
impatience of restraint. Desmond, on the other hand, was also like his
father, inasmuch as his tastes were c