proposing that John should join them, because in many small ways it had
become evident that the Demon disliked John, although he still spoke of
the tight place out of which John had hauled him. Through Scaife John
received his "fez"; and when John wore it for the first time, Scaife
came up and said, smiling--

"I'm nearly even with you, Verney."

"What do you mean?" said John.

"You know well enough what I mean," said Scaife, winking his eye
maliciously.

John flushed, because in his heart he did know. But when he told Egerton
what Scaife had said, that experienced man of the world turned up his
nose.

"Just like him," he said. "He wants you to feel that he has wiped out
his debt."

"Do you think my 'fez' ought to have been given to young Lovell?"

The Caterpillar, who played back for the Manor, considered the question.

"I don't know," he said. "You are pretty nearly equal; but it's a fact
that the Demon turned the scale. He pointed out to Lovell that if he
gave a 'fez' to his young brother, the house might accuse him of
favouritism. That did the trick."

This made John uneasy and unhappy for a week or two; but the
consciousness that another might be better entitled to the coveted "fez"
made him play up with such energy that he succeeded in proving to all
critics that he had honestly earned what luck had bestowed on him.

During the last week of October, John began those long walks with
Desmond which, afterwards, he came to regard as perhaps the most
delightful hours spent at Harrow. Scaife detested walking. He had his
father's power of focusing attention and energy upon a single object.
For the moment he was mad about football. Talk about books, scenery,
people, bored him, and he said so with his usual frankness and
impatience of restraint. Desmond, on the other hand, was also like his
father, inasmuch as his tastes were catholic. He was a bit of a
naturalist, learned in the lore of woods and fields, and he liked to
talk about books, and he liked to talk about his home. Simple John would
sooner hear Caesar talk than listen to the heavenly choir. So it came to
pass that once a week at least the boys would stroll down the avenue at
Orley Farm (where Anthony Trollope's sad boyhood was passed), or take
the Northwick Walk, which winds through meadows to the Bridge, or visit
John Lyon's farm at Preston, or, getting signed for Bill, attempt a
longer ramble to Ruislip Reservoir, or Oxhey Wood, or Headstone with it