“Edward Austin Clavering of the Sixth Form.”
Immediately there was a little buzz; then the boys began pouring out of the Chapel. Finch sat still. Outside he heard Doc Thorn calling for a cheer for Clavering. At last, he pulled himself together and went out. On the gravel walk boys were still congregated; he passed Tony who was shaking hands at the moment with Ned Clavering. “I say, Jake; wait a second!” Tony called, catching sight of him; but Finch, making no sign that he had heard, bent his head and hurried on.
Jimmie Lawrence, however, was waiting for Tony until with good grace he had finished his congratulations to Clavering. A good many, as they poured out of the Chapel that morning, watched with curious interest the meeting between the successful and the unsuccessful candidate. But from Tony’s manner, the most critical could not have imagined a shade of envy in his cordiality.
“It is a downright shame!” exclaimed Jimmie, when at last Tony joined him. “It is an outrage. I can’t understand it—why—!”
“Careful, Jim, careful. Deuce take it, I do feel a bit sore, but then I reckon Ned Clavering has as good a right to it as I have.”
“Perhaps he has, other things being equal; but they are not equal. You were nominated, the school wanted you, everybody expected you would get it: there is not a single reason why you shouldn’t have it.”
“Perhaps there is,” protested Tony. “We’ve all been in scrapes now and then. We weren’t always the angels we are now, Jim.”
“Likely not, but I notice they didn’t hold up my ante-angelic days against me. Why, you aren’t even a prefect, do you know it?”
“By Jove, I’m not, am I?” exclaimed Deering. That fact until then had not occurred to him.