"Rodney paved the way for Nelson," Mr. Desmond observed. "I look upon him as one of our greatest Harrovians. We ought to have a building to Rodney's memory. I put him before Peel or Byron."
"Oh, I say, father——" Hot protest from Cæsar.
"Act before word, Harry; practice before precept. Rodney was a man of action. I should like to have been Rodney."
"I should like to have been Sheridan," said Cæsar. "I often look at his name on the third panel of the Fourth Form Room."
He glanced at his father, who smiled, knowing that a delicate compliment was intended, for enthusiastic admirers had spoken of Charles Desmond as the Richard Brinsley Sheridan of the modern House of Commons. The father said curtly—
"A sky-rocket, my dear Harry." Then he turned to John. "And of all our famous Harrovians whom would you like to take as a pattern, young John?"
John hesitated. Two or three of the guests present were celebrities. Amongst them was England's greatest critic sitting beside an ambassador. There happened to be a lull in the talk. All looked curiously at John.
"I'd like to be another Lord Shaftesbury," he said slowly.
"Good! Capital!" Mr. Desmond nodded his head. "I knew him well." He poured out anecdote after anecdote illustrating the character and temperament of the statesman-philanthropist: his self-sacrifice, his devotion to an ideal, his curious exclusiveness, his refinement, his faith in an aristocracy never diminished by the indefatigable zeal wherein he laboured to better the condition of the poor. "If every rich man were animated by Shaftesbury's spirit," said Mr. Desmond, in conclusion, "extreme poverty would be wiped out of England, and yet we should retain all that makes life charming and profitable. He was no leveller, save of foul rookeries. First and last he believed in order, particularly his own—a true nobleman. And the inspiration of his great career came to him on the Hill."
"Indeed?" said the Critic.