e, maybe, you
will see Caesar's curly head and his blue eyes full of fun and life,
and you will hear his joyous laughter--peal upon peal--echoing through
the corridors of Verney Boscobel. Your mother took him to her
heart--didn't she? And all the servants, from butler to scullerymaid,
voted him the jolliest, cheeriest boy that ever came to Hampshire.
Why, Mrs. Osman, the cook, with a temper like tinder from too much
heat, refused flatly to let Caesar make toffee in her kitchen. But
just then a barrel-organ turned up, and before she could open her
mouth, Caesar was dancing a polka with her; and after that he could
make toffee, or hay, or anything else, wherever and whenever he pleased.

When they returned to the Manor, John hoped and prayed that this
blessed intimacy would continue. It did--for a time. The three boys
got their remove, and found themselves in the Second Fifth, where they
proposed to linger till after the summer term. Lovell and Scaife
seemed inseparable, and bridge began again, apparently an inexhaustible
source of amusement and excitement. Then came the Torpid matches; and
John, as Lawrence predicted, was captain of the cock-house Eleven--the
first great victory of the Manorites. During the term, Scaife and
Desmond won no races, being in age betwixt and between winners of Upper
and Lower School races. Scaife refused to train. Desmond took a few
runs, but abandoned them for racquets, the chief game in the Easter
term, but only played regularly by boys whose purses are well lined.
John confined his attention to "Squash." Caesar played "Harder" with
the Demon. The three worked together as of yore. John now perceived
that Scaife had joined a clique pledged to fight Reform. It was in the
air that something might happen. Warde eyed the big fellows shrewdly,
as if measuring weapons. He confounded some by asking them to dine
with him. At dessert he would talk of sport, or games, or
politics--everything, in fine, except "shop." The more worthy came
away from these pleasant evenings with rather a hangdog expression, as
if they had been receiving goods under false pretences. John and
Desmond were made especially welcome. And, after dinner, John, whose
voice had not yet cracked, would sing, to Mrs. Warde's accompaniment,
such songs as "O Bay of Dublin, my heart yu're throublin'," or "Think
of me sometimes," or Handel's "Where'er you walk." The Caterpillar
made no secret of a passion for Iris W