ld, there wouldn't be much to measure. But take it
from me, not a word, not an action of yours is without weight with the
lower boys. Everything helps or hinders. Next term there will be war--to
the knife--between Warde and some fellows I needn't name, and Warde will
win. Remember I said so. I hope you," he looked hard at Desmond, "will
fight on the right side."

The boys returned to their room, jubilant because the house-cap was
theirs, but uneasy because of the words given with it. As soon as they
were alone, Scaife said sullenly--

"Does Lawrence expect us to stand in with Warde against Lovell and his
pals? If he does, he's jolly well mistaken, as far as I'm concerned."

Desmond flushed. He had spent nearly five terms at Harrow, but only two
at the Manor. Of what had been done or left undone by certain fellows in
the Fifth he was still in twilight ignorance. He discerned shadows,
nothing more, and, boylike, he ran from shadows into the sunlight.
Desmond knew that there were beasts at the Manor. Had you forced from
him an expression approaching, let us say, definiteness, he would have
admitted that beasts lurked in every house, in every school in the
kingdom. You must keep out of their way (and ways)--that was all. And he
knew also that too many beasts wreck a house, as they wreck a regiment
or a nation.

But once or twice within the past few months he had suspected that his
cut-and-dried views on good and evil were not shared by Scaife. Scaife
confessed to Desmond that the Old Adam was strong in him. He liked,
craved for, the excitement of breaking the law. Hitherto, this breaking
of the law had been confined to such offences as smoking or drinking a
glass of beer at a "pub,"[25] or using cribs, or, generally speaking,
setting at naught authority. That Scaife had escaped severe punishment
was due to his keen wits.

Now, when Scaife gave Desmond the unexpurgated history of the row which
so nearly resulted in the expulsion of six boys, Desmond had asked a
question--

"Do you _like_ whisky? I loathe it."

Scaife laughed before he answered. Doubtless one reason why he exacted
interest and admiration from Desmond lay in a rare (rare at fifteen)
ability to analyse his own and others' actions.

"I loathe it, too," he admitted. "Really, you know, we drank precious
little, because it _is_ such beastly stuff. But I liked, we all liked,
to believe that we were doing the correct thing--eh? And it warmed us
up. Just a t