e a
girl. John felt a lump in his throat. He thrilled because glory shone
about his friend; but the poignant reflection came, that Caesar was
running swiftly, out of the Yard and out of his own life. And before
lock-up he saw, what he had seen in fancy a thousand times, Caesar
arm-in-arm with Scaife and the Captain of the Eleven, Caesar in his new
straw,[33] looking happier than John had ever seen him, Caesar, the
"Blood," rolling triumphantly down the High Street, the envied of all
beholders, the hero of the hour.

John called himself a selfish beast, because he had wished for one
terrible moment, wished with heart and soul, that Caesar was unpopular
and obscure.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] The place of execution.

[32] "Finding" is the privilege, accorded to the Sixth Form, of having
breakfast and tea served in their own rooms instead of in Hall.

[33] The black-and-white straw hat only worn by members of the School
Cricket Eleven.

CHAPTER XI

_Self-questioning_

"Friend, of my infinite dreams
Little enough endures;
Little howe'er it seems,
It is yours, all yours.
Fame hath a fleeting breath,
Hope may be frail or fond;
But Love shall be Love till death,
And perhaps beyond."

Until the Metropolitan Railway joined Harrow to Baker Street, the Hill
stood in the midst of genuine and unspoilt country, separated by five
miles of grass from the nearest point of the metropolis, and encompassed
by isolated dwellings, ranging in rank and scale from villas to country
houses.[34] Most of the latter have fallen victims to the speculative
builder, and have been cut up into alleys of brick and stucco. But one
or two still remain among their hayfields and rhododendrons.

John Verney had an eager curiosity, not common in schoolboys, to know
something about the countryside in which he dwelt. As a Lower Boy,
whenever released from "Compulsory" and House-games, he used to wander
with alert eyes and ears up and down the green lanes of Roxeth and
Harrow Weald, enjoying fresh glimpses of the far-seen Spire, making
friends with cottagers, picking up traditions of an older and more
lawless[35] epoch, and, with these, an ever-increasing love and loyalty
to Harrow. So Byron had wandered a hundred years before.

These solitary rambles, however, were regarded with disfavour by
schoolfellows who lacked John's imaginative temperament. The
Caterpillar, for instance, protested, "Did I see you