John, in a hesitating manner, "I would lie,
if I thought a lie might save a friend's life."

Rutford was so unprepared for this deliberate statement, that he could
only reply--

"Oh, you would, would you?"

"Yes," said John; then he added, "Any decent boy or man would."

"Oh! Oh, indeed! This is very interesting. Go on, Verney."

"Scaife said he _felt_ as if he was jolly well screwed, sir; but he
isn't. I'm quite sure he isn't. He may feel like it; but he isn't."

John could see Scaife's eyes, slightly blood-shot, but sparkling with a
sort of diabolical sobriety. At that moment, one thing alone seemed
certain, Scaife had regained full possession of his faculties. Rutford
stared at John, frowning.

"You dare to look me in the face and tell me that Scaife is not drunk?"

Very seriously, John answered, "I'm sure he's not drunk, sir."

Rutford eyed the boy keenly.

"Have you ever seen anybody drunk?" he demanded.

"I live in the New Forest," said John, as gravely as before, "and on
Whit-Monday----" He was aware that he had made an impression upon this
big, truculent man.

"Don't try to be funny with me, Verney."

"Oh no, sir, as if I should dare!"

"Well, well, we are wasting time. Trieve sent you to Lovell's room to
fetch Scaife?"

"Yes, sir."

"And what was Scaife doing when you went into the room? Be very
careful!"

John considered. "He was laughing, sir."

"Laughing, was he?"

"But he stopped laughing when I gave him Trieve's message, and then he
said what Lovell told you, sir."

"Never mind what Lovell told me. Give me your version of the story."

"Scaife asked the other fellows if Trieve had any right to fag him, now
that he had got his 'fez.' If he had been drunk, sir, he wouldn't have
thought of that, would he?"

"Um," said Rutford, slightly shaken. John described his return to
Trieve's room, and Trieve's threat.

"Lovell and you tell the same story."

"Why, yes, sir." John made no deliberate attempt to look simple; but
his face, to the master studying it, seemed quite guileless.

Just then, Dumbleton ushered in the doctor. To him Rutford recited
what he knew and what he suspected. He had hardly finished speaking,
when Scaife opened his eyes for the second time. By a curious
coincidence, the doctor used the words of the house-master.

"Well, sir, how do you feel?"

And then Scaife answered, in the same dazed fashion as before--

"I feel as if I was jolly well sc