Scaife got his Flannels; and at Lord's his fielding was mentioned as the finest ever seen in a Public School match. John witnessed the game from the top of the Trent coach, and he stopped at Trent House. But he didn't enjoy his exeat, because he knew that Cæsar was in trouble. Cæsar owed Scaife thirteen pounds, and the fact that this debt could not be paid without confession to his father was driving him distracted. Scaife, it is true, laughed genially at Cæsar's distress. "Settle when you please," he said, "but for Heaven's sake, don't peach to your governor! Mine would laugh and pay up; yours will pay up and make you swear not to touch another card while you're at Harrow."
"Just what he will do," Cæsar told John.
"And the best thing that could happen," John said bluntly. "If you don't cut loose now, it will be much worse next term."
"Rot," Desmond had replied. "I'm paying the usual bill for learning a difficult game. That's how the Demon puts it. But I've a turn for bridge, and now I can hold my own. I'm better than Beaumont-Greene, and quite as good as Lovell. The Demon, of course, is in another class."
"And therefore he oughtn't to play with you. It's robbery."
"Now you're talking bosh."
The Eton and Harrow match ended in another draw. Time and Scaife's fielding saved Harrow from defeat. The fact of a draw had significance. A draw spelled compromise. John had indulged in a superstitious fancy common enough to persons older than he. "If Harrow wins," he put it to himself, "Cæsar will triumph; if Eton wins, Cæsar will lose." When the match proved a draw, John drew the conclusion that his pal would "funk" telling the truth; an apprehension presently confirmed.
"I didn't tell the governor," said Cæsar, when John and he met. "My eldest brother, Hugo, is coming home, and I shall screw it out of him. He's a good sort, and he's going to marry a girl who is simply rolling. He'll fork out, I know he will. I feel awfully cheery."
"I don't," said John.