"I say, do any of the big fellows at Damer's drink?"
"Drink? Drink—what?"
"Well, spirits."
Cæsar snorted an indignant denial. The fellows at Damer's were above that sort of thing. The house prided itself upon its tone. Tone constituted Damer's glory, and was the secret of its success. John nodded, but two days afterwards the Demon took him by the arm, twisted it sharply, and said—
"What the deuce did you mean by telling Cæsar that the Manorites drink?"
"Oh, Scaife—I didn't."
"You gave us away."
"Us?" John's eyes opened. "You don't drink with 'em?" he faltered.
"Don't bother your head about what I do, or don't do." Scaife answered roughly; "and because you took the Lower Remove don't think for an instant that you are on a par with Cæsar and me, or even the old Caterpillar—for you ain't."
"I know that," said John, humbly.