loves and knows?

The Manor played in the cock-house match at cricket, being but barely
defeated by Damer's. Everybody admitted that this glorious state of
affairs was due to Warde's coaching of the weaker members of the
Eleven. Scaife fielded brilliantly, and John, watching him, said to
himself that at such times the Demon was irresistible, Warde invited
the Eleven to dinner, and spoke of nothing but football, much to every
one's amusement.

"He's right," said the Caterpillar; "we're not cock-house at cricket
this year, but we may be at footer."

John spent his holidays abroad with his mother, and when the School
reassembled, he found himself in the First Fifth _alone_. With
satisfaction he reflected that this was Lovell's last term, and
Beaumont-Greene's too. Warde said a few words at first lock-up.

"We are going to be cock-house at footer, I hope," he began, "and next
term Scaife will show the School what he can do at racquets; but I want
more. I'm a glutton. How about work, eh? Lot o' slacking last term.
Is it honest? You fellows cost your people a deal of money. And it's
well spent, if, _if_ you tackle everything in school life as you
tackled Mr. Damer's last July. That's all."

"He's giving you what he gave me," said John.

"Good fellow, Warde," observed the Caterpillar; "in his room every
night after prayers to mug up his form work."

"What?" Murmurs of incredulity.

"Fact, 'pon my word. And he never refuses a 'con' to a fellow who
wants it."

"He's paid for it," sneered Scaife.

The other boys nodded; enthusiasm was chilled. Yes, of course Warde
was paid for it. John caught Scaife's eye.

"You don't believe that he's in love with his job, as he told us?"

"Skittles--that!"

John looked solemn. He had a bomb to throw.

"Skittles, is it?" he echoed. The other boys turned to listen. "Do
you think he'd take a better-paid billet?"

Scaife laughed derisively. "Of course he would, like a shot. But he's
not likely to get the chance."

"He has just been offered the Head Mastership of Wellborough. It's
worth about four thousand a year."

"Pooh! who told you that?"

"Caesar's father."

"It's true," said Caesar.

"And he refused it," said John, triumphantly.

"Then he's a fool," said Scaife, angrily. He marched out of the room,
slamming the door. But the Manor, as a corporate body, when it heard
of Warde's refusal to accept promotion, was profoundly impressed. Thus
the