ghter tinkled delightfully; but John reflected that Desmond was
eating the Scaife food and drinking the Scaife wine--all bought with
ill-gotten gold.

Later in the afternoon it became evident that the Scaife champagne was
flowing freely. To John's dismay, the Harrovians (including Caesar) on
the top of the Scaife coach became noisy. The Caterpillar and his
father, Colonel Egerton, sauntered up, and were invited by the duke to
rest and refresh themselves. John was amused to note that the colonel
was even a greater buck than his son. He quite cut out the poor old
Caterpillar, challenging and monopolizing the attention of all who
beheld him.

"Those boys are makin' the devil of a row," said the colonel, fixing his
eyeglass. "Ah, the Scaifes! A man I know dined with them last week. He
reported everything _over_done, except the food. Their _chef_ is
Marcobruno, you know."

Presently, to John's relief, Desmond left the Scaifes and joined the
Trent party, upon whom his gay, radiant face and charming manners made a
most favourable impression. He laughed at the duchess's stories, and
made love to her quite unaffectedly. The Etonians looked rather glum,
because their wickets were falling faster than had been expected.
Desmond told the duke, in answer to a question, that his father was in
his seat in the pavilion, with his eyes glued to the pitch.

"He's awfully keen," said Caesar.

"You boys are not so keen as we were," said the duke, nodding
reflectively.

"Oh, but we are, sir--indeed we are," said Caesar. "Aren't we,
Caterpillar?"

The Caterpillar replied, thoughtfully, "One bottles up that sort of
thing, I suppose."

"Ah," said the duke, kindly, "if it's the right sort of thing, it's none
the worse for being bottled up."

The boys went to the play that night and enjoyed themselves hugely. Next
day, however, the match ended in a draw. John was standing on the top of
the coach, very disconsolate, when he saw Desmond beckoning to him from
below. The expression on Caesar's face puzzled him.

"How can you pal up with those Etonians?" whispered Caesar, after John
had descended. "Every Eton face I see now I want to hit." Then he added,
with a smile and a chuckle, "I say, there's going to be a ruction in
front of the Pavvy. Come on."

A minute later John was in the thick of a very pretty scrimmage between
the Hill and the Plain. Hats were bashed in; cornflowers torn from
buttonholes; pale-blue tassels were captured; umb