"What do you mean?"
"It's too long," John explained. "I like a nice round head like yours, Cæsar. I wish I wasn't so ugly."
Desmond laughed. John always amused him. Cæsar was easily amused, saw the funny side of things, and contrasts tickled his fancy agreeably. But he stopped laughing when he realized that John was hurt. Then, quickly, impulsively, he said—
"Your head is all right, old Jonathan. And your voice is simply beautiful." He spoke seriously, staring at John as he had stared in the Speech-room when John began to sing. "I came here to tell you that. I felt odd when you were singing—quite weepsy, you know. You like me, old Jonathan, don't you?"
"Awfully," said John.
"Why did you look at me when you sang that last verse? Did you know that you were looking at me?"
"Yes."
"You looked at me because—well, because—bar chaff—you—liked—me?"
"Yes."
"You—you like me better than any other fellow in the school?"