"Bless my soul," said he, "don't I remember being three terms in the Third Fifth when that tartar old Heriot had it? I dare swear I got no more than my deserts. I was an idle vagabond, but Heriot made my life such a burden to me that I entreated my people to take me away from Harrow. And then my governor urged me to put my back into the work and get a remove. And I did. And would you believe it, upon the first day of the next term I wired to my people, 'You must take me away. I've got my remove all right—and so has Heriot.'"
How gaily the speaker led the laugh which followed this recital! And the chaff! Was it possible that Cæsar dared to chaff a man who was supposed to have the peace of Europe in his keeping? And, by Jove! Cæsar could hold his own.
So the minutes flew. But John noticed, with surprise, that the Demon didn't score. In fact, John and he were the only guests that contributed nothing to the feast save hearty appetites. It was strange that the Demon, the wit of his house and form, never opened his mouth except to fill it with food. He answered, it is true, and very modestly, the questions addressed to him by his host; but then, as John reflected, any silly fool in the Fourth Form could do that.
After luncheon, the boys were dismissed, each with a hearty word of encouragement and half a sovereign. John was passing the plate-glass splendours of the Creameries, when the Demon overtook him, and they walked down the winding High Street together. Scaife had never walked with John before.
"That was worth while," Scaife said quietly. John could not interpret this speech, save in its obvious meaning.
"Rather," he replied.
"Why?" said Scaife, very sharply.
"Eh?"
"Why was it worth while?"
John stammered out something about good food and jolly talk.