The Caterpillar replied, thoughtfully, "One bottles up that sort of thing, I suppose."
"Ah," said the duke, kindly, "if it's the right sort of thing, it's none the worse for being bottled up."
The boys went to the play that night and enjoyed themselves hugely. Next day, however, the match ended in a draw. John was standing on the top of the coach, very disconsolate, when he saw Desmond beckoning to him from below. The expression on Cæsar's face puzzled him.
"How can you pal up with those Etonians?" whispered Cæsar, after John had descended. "Every Eton face I see now I want to hit." Then he added, with a smile and a chuckle, "I say, there's going to be a ruction in front of the Pavvy. Come on."
A minute later John was in the thick of a very pretty scrimmage between the Hill and the Plain. Hats were bashed in; cornflowers torn from buttonholes; pale-blue tassels were captured; umbrellas broken. Finally, the police interfered.
"Short, but very, very sweet," said Cæsar, panting.
John and he were lamentable objects for fond parents to behold, but the sense of depression had vanished. And then Cæsar said suddenly—
"By Jove! I have got a bit of news. It quite takes the sting out of this draw."
"What's happened?"
"My governor has been talking with Warde. Rutford is leaving Harrow."