led to
it as the future Captain of the Eleven. That is--settled. You and Duff
must part. He's two forms below you in the school, and never likely to
soar much higher than the Second Fifth. Next term you will be in the
Sixth, and by the summer I hope Desmond will have joined you. You will
find[32] together. Of course Scaife can find with you, if you wish. I've
spoken to him and Desmond."

And so, John's fondest hope was realized. When he came back to the
Manor, Desmond and he spent much time and rather more money than they
could afford in making No. 7 the cosiest room in the house. Consciences
were salved thus:--John bought for Desmond some picture or other
decorative object which cost more money than he felt justified in
spending on himself; then Desmond made John a similar present. It was
whipping the devil round the stump, John said, but oh! the delight of
giving his friend something he coveted, and receiving presents from him
in return.

During this term, Scaife became one of the school racquet-players. In
many ways he was admittedly the most remarkable boy at Harrow, the
Admirable Crichton who appears now and again in every decade. He won the
high jump and the hurdle-race. These triumphs kept him out of mischief,
and occupied every minute of his time. He associated with the "Bloods,"
and one day Desmond told John that he considered himself to have been
"dropped" by this tremendous swell. John discreetly held his tongue; but
in his own mind, as before, he was convinced that Scaife and Desmond
would come together again. The inexorable circumstance of Scaife's
superiority at games had separated the boys, but only for a brief
season. Desmond would become a "Blood" soon, and then it would be John's
turn to be "dropped." Being a philosopher, our hero did not worry too
much over the future, but made the most of the present, with a grateful
and joyous heart. In his humility, he was unable to measure his
influence on Desmond. In athletic pursuits an inferior, in all
intellectual attainments he was pulling far ahead of his friend. The
artful Warde had a word to say, which gave John food for thought.

"You can never equal your friend at cricket or footer, Verney. If you
wish to score, it is time to play your own game."

Shortly after this, John realized that Warde had read Caesar aright.
Charles Desmond's son, as has been said, acclaimed quality wherever he
met it. John's intellectual advance amazed and then fascinated him