fair face was scarlet.

"You sneer at the wrong man and at the wrong time," he said angrily,
"and you talk as though I was a fool. Well, I am a fool, perhaps, and
I blow bubbles. Prick this one, if you can. I challenge you to do it."

Scaife shrugged his shoulders. "It's so obvious," he said coolly,
"that your kind friend ran no risks other than a sprained ankle or a
cold."

"What do you mean?"

"He was certain that you would come forward. He forced your hand.
There was never the smallest chance of his being sacked, and he knew
it."

"Yes," said John, calmly, "I knew it."

"Just so," said Scaife. He went out whistling.

Desmond had time to whisper to John before the fags called them to
breakfast in John's room--

"I say, Jonathan, I'm glad you knew that I wouldn't fail you. As the
Demon says, you are clever; you are a sight cleverer than he is."

John shook his head. "I'm slow," he said. "As a matter of fact, the
thought that you would come to the rescue never occurred to me till I
was hiking back from town."

"Anyway, you saved me from being sacked, and as long as I live I----"

"Come on to breakfast," said John.

[1] The Philathletic Club deals primarily with all matters which
concern Harrow games; it is also a social club. Distinguished
athletes, monitors, and so forth, are eligible for membership. The
Head of the School is _ex-officio_ President.

CHAPTER XIV

GOOD NIGHT

"Good night! Sleep, and so may ever
Lights half seen across a murky lea,
Child of hope, and courage, and endeavour,
Gleam a voiceless benison on thee!
Youth be bearer
Soon of hardihood;
Life be fairer,
Loyaller to good;
Till the far lamps vanish into light,
Rest in the dreamtime. Good night! Good night!"

The last Saturday of the summer term saw the Manor cock-house at
cricket: almost a foregone conclusion, and therefore not particularly
interesting to outsiders. During the morning Scaife gave his farewell
"brekker" [1] at the Creameries; a banquet of the Olympians to which
John received an invitation. He accepted because Desmond made a point
of his so doing; but he was quite aware that beneath the veneer of the
Demon's genial smile lay implacable hatred and resentment. The
breakfast in itself struck John as ostentatious. Scaife's father sent
quails, _a la Lucullus_, and other delicacies. Throughout the meal the
talk was of the coming war.