olmaster read out the glorious news of
Clive's defense of Arcot with a handful of men against an overwhelming
host! How he glowed when the schoolroom rang with the cheers of the boys,
and when, a half holiday being granted, he rushed forth with the rest to
do battle in the church yard with the town boys, and helped to lick them
thoroughly in honor of Clive!

From that moment there was for Desmond but one man in the world, and that
man was Robert Clive. In the twinkling of an eye he became the devoutest
of hero worshipers. He coaxed Mr. Burslem to let him occupy Clive's old
desk, and with his fists maintained the privilege against all comers. The
initials R. C. roughly cut in the oak never lost their fascination for
him. He walked out day after day to Styche Hall, two miles away, and
pleased himself with the thought that his feet trod the very spots once
trodden by Bob Clive. Not an inch of the route from Hall to school--the
meadow path into Longslow, the lane from Longslow to Shropshire Street,
Little Street, Church Street, the church yard--was unknown to him: Bob
Clive had known them all. He feasted on the oft-told stories of Clive's
boyish escapades: how he had bundled a watchman into the bulks and made
him prisoner there by closing down and fastening the shutters; how he had
thrown himself across the current of a torrential gutter to divert the
stream into the cellar shop of a tradesman who had offended him; above
all, that feat of his when, ascending the spiral turret stair of the
church, he had lowered himself down from the parapet, and, astride upon a
gargoyle, had worked his way along it until he could secure a stone that
lay in its mouth, the perilous and dizzy adventure watched by a
breathless throng in the churchyard below. The Bob Clive who had done
these things was now doing greater deeds in India; and Desmond Burke sat
day after day at his desk, gazing at the entrancing R. C., and doing over
again in his own person the exploits of which all Market Drayton was
proud, and he the proudest.

But at the age of fourteen his brother took him from school, though Mr.
Burslem had pleaded that he might remain longer and afterwards proceed to
the university. He was set to do odd jobs about the farm. To farming
itself he had no objection; he was fond of animals and would willingly
have spent his life with them. But he did object to drudging for a hard
and inconsiderate taskmaster such as his brother was, and the wor