be proved against the man. His sins had
been of omission. Dismayed, not defeated, the Head Master considered
other methods of regenerating the Manor. Very quietly he made his
appeal to the Old Harrovians, many of whom were sending their sons and
nephews to other houses. He invited co-operation. John Verney, the
Rev. Septimus Duff, Colonel Egerton--half a dozen enthusiastic
Manorites--stepped forward. Lastly, for Charles Desmond the Head
Master baited his hook.

"The reform which we have at heart," said he, "must come from within
and from below. The house wants a Desmond in it. I was not allowed to
wield the axe; but, after all, there are more modern methods of
decapitation. And, believe me, I am not asking any man more than I am
prepared to do myself. My own nephew goes to the Manor after next
holidays."

"Um!" said Mr. Desmond, stroking his chin.

"Lawrence, the Head of the House, is a tower of strength, like all the
Lawrences."

"How did you beguile the Duke of Trent?"

"Fortune gave me that weapon. The duke"--he laughed genially----

"Yes?"

"Will turn scales which my heaviest arguments won't budge. A bit of
luck! The duke wanted to send his son, a delicate lad, to Harrow, and
I did mention to him that Rutford had a vacancy."

"O Ulysses! And Scaife? How did you handle that large bale of
bank-notes?"

"Rutford captured Scaife."

"Handsome boy--his son. Lunched with us this morning. Well, well, you
have persuaded me. But what an unpleasant quarter of an hour I shall
have with Harry!"

As a new boy, John slaved at "footer," and displayed a curious
inaptitude for squash racquets. At all games Caesar and Scaife were
precociously proficient. John's clumsiness annoyed them. Often the
Caterpillar joined him and Fluff, giving them to understand that this
must be regarded as an act of grace and condescension which might be
suitably acknowledged at the Tudor Creameries.

The Caterpillar mightily impressed the two small boys. He had acquired
his nick-name from the very leisurely pace at which he advanced up the
school. He wore "Charity tails," as they were called, the swallow-tail
coat of the Upper School mercifully given to boys of the Lower School
who are too tall to wear with decency the short Eton jacket; he
possessed a trouser-press; and his "bags" were perfectly creased and
quite spotless. From tip to toe, at all seasons and in all weathers,
he looked conspicuously spick and span