CHAPTER XIII
"If I perish, I perish"
"Since we deserved the name of friends,
And thine effect so lives in me,
A part of mine may live in thee
And move thee on to noble ends."
The cheering at Bill upon the following Tuesday must be recorded, inasmuch as it has, indirectly, bearing upon our story. It will be guessed that the enthusiasm, the uproar, the tumultuous excitement were even greater than on a similar occasion some fifteen years before. But, to his amazement, Desmond, not Scaife, was made the particular hero of the hour. Scaife's display of temper festered in the hearts of boys who can forgive anything sooner than low breeding. The Hill had seen the Etonian stop to speak his cheery word of congratulation to Cæsar, and not the Caterpillar alone, but urchins of thirteen had made comparisons.
Scaife, however, could not complain of his reception upon that memorable Tuesday afternoon; the cheering must have been heard a mile away. But Desmond was acclaimed differently. The cheers were no louder—that was impossible—but afterwards, when the excitement had simmered down, Cæsar became the object of a special demonstration by the Monitors and Sixth Form. Nearly every boy of note in the Upper School insisted upon shaking his hand or patting him on the back. Scaife came up with the others, but he left the Yard almost immediately and retired to his room. He had won the great match; Desmond had saved it; and the School apprehended the subtle difference. More, Scaife knew that John had gone up to Desmond with outstretched hands after the match at Lord's. He could hear John's eager voice, see the flame of admiration in his eyes, as he said, "Oh, Cæsar, I am glad it was you who made that catch!" And with those generous words, with that warm clasp of the hand, Scaife had seen the barrier which he had built between the friends dissolve like ice in the dog-days.
The attention of the Manor was now fixed upon the house matches. It seemed probable that with four members of the School Eleven in the team, the ancient house must prove invincible. But to John's surprise, as this delightful probability ripened into conviction, Warde betrayed unwonted anxiety and even irritability. Miss Iris confided to Desmond, who paid her much court, that she couldn't imagine what was the matter with papa. And mamma, it transpired (from the same source), really feared that the strain at Lord's had been too much, that her indefatigable husband was about to break down. Finally, John made up his mind to ask a question. He was second in command; he had a right to ask the chief if anything were seriously amiss. Accordingly, he waited upon Warde after prayers.
But when he put his question, and expressed, modestly enough, his anxiety and desire to help if he could, Warde bit his lips. Then he burst out violently—