year, and I venture to prophesy that you'll be Captain."

"Oh, thanks, Lawrence," said John.

But, much as he appreciated this tribute from the great man, and much as
it served to mitigate the pangs of defeat, a yet happier stroke of
fortune was about to befall him. Desmond, who always walked up from the
football field with Scaife, conferred upon John the honour of his
company.

"Where's Scaife?" said John.

"The Demon is demoniac," said Desmond. "He's lost his hair, and he
blames me. Well, I did my best, and so did he, and there's no more to be
said. It's a bore that we shall be too old to play next year. I told the
Demon that if we had to be beaten, I would sooner take a licking from
Damer's than any other house; and he told me that he believed I wanted
'em to win. When a fellow's in that sort of blind rage, I call him
dotty, don't you?"

"Yes," said John.

"You played jolly well, Verney; I expect Lawrence told you so."

"He did say something decent," John replied.

The Caterpillar joined them as they were passing through the stile. "We
should have won," he said deliberately, "if the Demon hadn't behaved
like a rank outsider."

"Scaife is my pal," said Desmond, hotly.

The Caterpillar shrugged his shoulders, and held high his well-cut,
aquiline nose, as he murmured--

"One doesn't pretend to be a Christian, but as a gentleman one accepts a
bit of bad luck without gnashing one's teeth. What? That Spartan boy
with the fox was a well bred 'un, you can take my word for it. Scaife
isn't."

The Caterpillar joined another pair of boys before Desmond could reply.
John looked uncomfortable. Then Desmond burst out with Irish vehemence--

"Egerton is always jawing about breeding. It's rather snobbish. I don't
think the worse of Scaife because his grandfather carried a hod. The
Egertons have been living at Mount Egerton ever since they left Mount
Ararat, but what have they done? And he ought to make allowances for the
old Demon. He was simply mad keen to win this match, and he has a
temper. You like him, Verney, don't you?"

John hesitated, realizing that to speak the truth would offend the one
fellow in the school whom he wished to please and conciliate. Then he
blurted out--

"No--I don't."

"You don't?" Desmond's frank, blue eyes, Irish eyes, deeply blue, with
black lashes encircling them, betrayed amazement and curiosity--so John
thought--rather than anger. "You don't?" he continued. "Why not? The old
De