"And what delights can equal those
That stir the spirit's inner deeps,
When one that loves but knows not reaps
A truth from one that loves and knows?"
The Manor played in the cock-house match at cricket, being but barely beaten by Damer's. Everybody admitted that this glorious state of affairs was due to Warde's coaching of the weaker members of the Eleven. Scaife fielded brilliantly, and John, watching him, said to himself that at such times the Demon was irresistible. Warde invited the Eleven to dinner, and spoke of nothing but football, much to every one's amusement.
"He's right," said the Caterpillar; "we're not cock-house at cricket this year, but we may be at footer."
John spent his holidays abroad with his mother, and when the School reassembled, he found himself in the First Fifth alone. With satisfaction he reflected that this was Lovell's last term, and Beaumont-Greene's, too. Warde said a few words at first lock-up.
"We are going to be cock-house at footer, I hope," he began, "and next term Scaife will show the School what he can do at racquets; but I want more. I'm a glutton. How about work, eh? Lot o' slacking last term. Is it honest? You fellows cost your people a deal of money. And it's well spent, if, if you tackle everything in school life as you tackled Mr. Damer's last July. That's all."
"He's giving you what he gave me," said John.
"Good fellow, Warde," observed the Caterpillar; "in his room every night after prayers to mug up his form work."
"What?" Murmurs of incredulity.
"Fact, 'pon my word. And he never refuses a 'con' to a fellow who wants it."
"He's paid for it," sneered Scaife.