Scaife shrugged his shoulders. "It's so obvious," he said coolly, "that your kind friend ran no risks other than a sprained ankle or a cold."
"He was certain that you would come forward. He forced your hand. There was never the smallest chance of his being sacked, and he knew it."
"Just so," said Scaife. He went out whistling.
Desmond had time to whisper to John before the fags called them to breakfast in John's room--
"I say, Jonathan, I'm glad you knew that I wouldn't fail you. As the Demon says, you are clever; you are a sight cleverer than he is."
John shook his head. "I'm slow," he said. "As a matter of fact, the thought that you would come to the rescue never occurred to me till I was biking back from town."
"Anyway, you saved me from being sacked, and as long as I live I----"
[38] The Philathletic Club deals primarily with all matters which concern Harrow games; it is also a social club. Distinguished athletes, monitors, and so forth, are eligible for membership. The Head of the School is _ex-Officio_ President.
"Good night! Sleep, and so may ever Lights half seen across a murky lea, Child of hope, and courage, and endeavour, Gleam a voiceless benison on thee! Youth be bearer Soon of hardihood; Life be fairer, Loyaller to good; Till the far lamps vanish into light, Rest in the dreamtime. Good night! Good night!"
The last Saturday of the summer term saw the Manor cock-house at cricket: almost a foregone conclusion, and therefore not particularly interesting to outsiders. During the morning Scaife gave his farewell "brekker"[39] at the Creameries; a banquet of the Olympians to which John received an invitation. He accepted because Desmond made a point of his so doing; but he was quite aware that beneath the veneer of the Demon's genial smile lay implacable hatred and resentment. The breakfast in itself struck John as ostentatious. Scaife's father sent quails, _à la Lucullus_, and other delicacies. Throughout the meal the talk was of the coming war. At that time most of the Conservative papers pooh-poohed the possibility of an appeal to arms, but Scaife's father, admittedly a great authority on South African affairs, had told his son a fight was inevitable. More, he and his friends were already preparing to raise a regiment of mounted infantry. At breakfast Scaife announced this piece of news, and added that in the event of hostilities he would join this regiment, and not try to pass into Sandhurst. And he added that any of his friends who were present, and over eighteen years of age, were cordially invited to send in their names, and that he personally would do all that was possible to secure them billets. The words were hardly out of his mouth, when Cæsar Desmond was on his feet, with an eager--