y of record happened within a month; the one of lesser
importance can be set down first. Charles Desmond, Caesar's father,
came down to Harrow and gave a luncheon at the King's Head. From time
immemorial the Desmonds had been educated on the Hill. The family had
produced some famous soldiers, a Lord Chancellor, and a Prime Minister.
In the Fourth Form Room the stranger may read their names carved in
oak, and they are carved also in the hearts of all ardent Harrovians.
Mr. Desmond, though a Cabinet Minister, found time to visit Harrow once
at least in each term. He always chose a whole holiday, and after
attending eleven-o'clock Bill[7] in the Yard, would carry off his son
and his son's friends. The School knew him and loved him. To the
thoughtful he stood for the illustrious past, the epitome of what John
Lyon's[8] boys had fought for and accomplished. Four sons had
he--Harrovians all. Of these Caesar was youngest and last. Each had
distinguished himself on the Hill either in work or play, or in both.

Charles Desmond stood upon the step just above the master who was
calling Bill.

"That's Caesar's father," said Scaife. "I'm going to lunch with him.
Isn't he a topper?"

John's eyes were popping out of his face. He had never seen any man
like this resplendent, stately personage, smiling and nodding to the
biggest fellows in the school.

"And my governor says," Scaife added, "that he's not a rich man,
nothing much to speak of in the way of income over and above his screw
as a Cabinet Minister."

Scaife moved away, and John could hear him say to another boy, in an
easy, friendly tone, "Mr. Desmond told Caesar that he wanted to meet
_me_--very civil of him--eh?"

Presently John was in line waiting to pass by the steps.

"Verney?"

"Here, sir."

He was hurrying by, with a backward glance at the great man. Suddenly
Caesar's father beckoned, nodding cheerily. John ascended the steps,
to feel the grasp of a strong hand, to hear a ringing voice.

"You're John Verney's nephew. Just so. I think I should have spotted
you, even if Harry had not told me you were in his form. You must
lunch with us. Cut along, now."

So John was dismissed, brimful of happiness, which almost overflowed
when Caesar met him with an eager--

"I'm so glad, Verney. I say, the governor's a nailer at picking out
the old names, isn't he?"

So John ate his luncheon in distinguished company, and felt himself for
the first time