o define an image somewhat blurred, conscious that the image
itself was clear enough, that the fault lay in the obscurity of his own
vision.

"They come down because they're keen," he replied. "My governor can't
leave his office, or he'd be here. I like to see 'em, don't you,
Demon?"

"I could worry along without 'em," the Demon replied, half-smiling.
"You see," he added, with the blend of irony and pathos which always
captivated his friend, "you see, my dear old chap, I'm the first of my
family at Harrow, and the sight of all your brothers and uncles and
fathers makes me feel like Mark Twain's good man, rather lonesome."

At once Desmond responded, clutching Scaife's arm.

"You're going to be Captain of the cricket and footer Elevens, and
School racquet-player, and a monitor; and after you leave you'll come
down here, and you'll see that Harrow hasn't forgotten you, and then
you'll know why these fellows cut engagements. My governor says that
an hour at a School Concert is the finest tonic in the world for an Old
Harrovian."

"Oh, shut up!" said Scaife; "you make me feel more of an outsider than
good old Snowball." He glanced at a youth sitting close to them.
Snowball was as black as a coal: the son of the Sultan of the Sahara.
"Yes, Caesar, you can't get away from it, I _am_ an 'alien.'"

"You're a silly old ass! I say, who's the guest of honour?"

Next to the Head Master was sitting a thin man upon whose face were
fixed hundreds of eyes. The School had not been told that a famous
Field Marshal, the hero of a hundred fights, was coming to the concert.
And, indeed, he had accepted an invitation given at the last
moment--accepted it, moreover, on the understanding that his visit was
to be informal. None the less, his face was familiar to all readers of
illustrated papers. And, suddenly, conviction seized the boys that a
conqueror was among them, an Old Etonian, making, possibly, his first
visit to the Hill. Scaife whispered his name to Desmond.

"Why, of course," Desmond replied eagerly. "How splendid!"

He leaned forward, devouring the hero with his eyes, trying to pierce
the bronzed skin, to read the record. From his seat upon the stage
John, also, stared at the illustrious guest. John was frightfully
nervous, but looking at the veteran he forgot the fear of the recruit.
Both Desmond and he were wondering what "it felt like" to have done so
much. And--they compared notes afterwards--each boy dep