r as John meant it to be
taken--seriously. He examined John as if he were already a candidate
for office. The piercing eyes probed deep. Then he said slowly, "I
should like to have you under me, John. We shall talk of this again,
my boy. My own sons----" He paused, sighed, and then laughed, tapping
John's cheek with his slender, finely-formed fingers. But he passed on
without finishing his sentence. John knew that, of Caesar's brothers,
Hugo, the eldest, was Secretary of Legation at Teheran; Bill "devilled"
for a famous barrister; Lionel wore her Majesty's livery. Strange that
none had elected to serve his own father! Caesar explained later.

"You see," he said, "the dear old governor outshines everybody. Hugo
and the others felt that under him they would be in eclipse, for ever
and ever--eh?"

"I see," said John, gravely. "Yes, there's something in that. He
wants you, Caesar."

"Dear old governor!" the other replied. "Yes--he's keen on that. But
I hope to make my own little mark. I'd like to have my name on a brass
tablet in Harrow Chapel; that would be something." His eyes began to
glow and sparkle.

Next day, at dinner, Rodney's name cropped up.

"Rodney paved the way for Nelson," Mr. Desmond observed. "I look upon
him as one of our greatest Harrovians. We ought to have a building to
Rodney's memory. I put him before Peel or Byron."

"Oh, I say, father----" Hot protest from Caesar.

"Act before word, Harry; practice before precept. Rodney was a man of
action. I should like to have been Rodney."

"I should like to have been Sheridan," said Caesar. "I often look at
his name on the third panel of the Fourth Form Room."

He glanced at his father, who smiled, knowing that a delicate
compliment was intended, for enthusiastic admirers had spoken of
Charles Desmond as the Richard Brinsley Sheridan of the modern House of
Commons. The father said curtly--

"A sky-rocket, my dear Harry." Then he turned to John. "And of all
our famous Harrovians whom would you like to take as a pattern, young
John?"

John hesitated. Two or three of the guests present were celebrities.
Amongst them was England's greatest critic sitting beside an
ambassador. There happened to be a lull in the talk. All looked
curiously at John.

"I'd like to be another Lord Shaftesbury," he said slowly.

"Good! Capital!" Mr. Desmond nodded his head. "I knew him well." He
poured out anecdote after anecdote illustra