Next day he asked Fluff to walk with him, but Fluff was walking with
some one else. The Duffer had letters to write, and stigmatized
walking as a beastly grind. John determined to walk by himself; but as
he was leaving the Manor he met the Caterpillar, a tremendous buck,
arrayed in his best--patent-leather boots, white waistcoat, a flower in
his buttonhole.

"Where are you off to, Jonathan?"

"To Preston. You'd better come, Caterpillar."

"I never walk far in these boots. Peal made 'em."

"Change 'em, can't you?"

"Right."

While he was absent, John seriously considered the propriety of taking
Egerton into his confidence. Sincerely attached to Egerton, and
valuing his advice, he knew, none the less, that the Caterpillar looked
at everybody and everything with the eyes of a colonel in the Guards.
To tell Colonel Egerton's son that one's heart was lacerated because
Caesar Desmond was playing bridge on Sunday, seemed to invite jeers.
And, besides, that wasn't the real reason. John felt wretched because
the Sunday walk had been sacrificed to Moloch. Presently Egerton came
downstairs, spick and span, but not quite so smart. The boys walked
quickly, talking of cricket.

"The Demon'll get his Flannels," said Egerton. "I'm glad Lovell gave
you your cap, Jonathan; you deserved it a month ago. It wasn't my
fault you didn't get it at the beginning of the term."

"I'm sure of that," said John, gratefully.

"You don't look particularly bucked-up. A grin improves your face, my
dear fellow."

At this John burst into explosive speech. Those beasts had got hold of
Caesar. The Caterpillar stared; he had never heard John let himself
go. John's vocabulary surprised him.

"Whew-w-w!" he whistled. "Gad! Jonathan, you do pile on the agony.
Caesar's all right. Don't worry."

"He's not all right. I thought Caesar had backbone, I----"

"Hold on," said the Caterpillar, gravely.

John thought he was about to be rebuked for disloyalty to a pal, an
abominable sin in the Caterpillar's eyes.

"Well?" said John.

"I'm going to tell you something," said Egerton. "But you must swear
not to give me away."

"I'll swear."

"You're a good little cove, Jonathan, but sometimes you smell just a
little bit of--er--bread and butter. Keep cool. Personally, I would
sooner that you, at your age, did smell of bread and butter than
whisky. Well, you think that Caesar is going straight to the bow-wows
because he plays bri