The absence of the Prefect of Rooke's House on the first day of a new term was a matter of some concern, and Dick at once reported it to Mr. Rooke.
"I was just coming to see you about that very matter, Forge," the housemaster said. "Cayton's father has written to say that the poor lad is down with cerebral inflammation."
"Ill!" exclaimed Dick, blankly.
"Rather seriously, I fear. Over-study during the holidays, his father says. Been working hard, unknown to the rest of the family, when he ought to have been in bed. Trying to make sure of his Varsity scholarship, no doubt."
"Do—do you think I could get leave to go and see him, sir?" stammered Dick, pale of face and visibly distressed.
"No use if you could, Forge. They wouldn't admit you to a delirious patient. Better wait and hope for the best. I'll let you know the bulletins as they arrive, or you can write for information yourself."
Calamity on calamities! Trouble heaped on trouble, pressed down and brimming over. Deprived of the moral support of his trustiest friend, Dick had now to face his editorial dilemma entirely alone, with the added anguish of knowing that Roger might succumb to the fever and be for ever lost to him.
No shame to the Captain of Foxenby that he locked himself in his study—their study—that night, and, with his head buried in his-arms, gave way to silent sobbing. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune were coming too fast about his ears—it was more than human endurance could be expected to withstand!
He was soon bitterly angry with himself for this outburst of grief. He, the Captain of Foxenby, blubbering like a First Form kid with the toothache! A smile must be pumped up from somewhere for that last walk along the dormitories—poor old Roger's work if he had been there. It must never be said that Foxenby's Captain went to bed, on the first night of the term, with a countenance as long as a fiddle.
Pride brought the smile, and sheer physical weariness—the reaction of yesterday's fight—the sleep. And in the morning his damaged eye was heaps better, and the marks of Juddy's fist were far less noticeable. So Dick set about his duties with philosophical resignation, determined to look facts in the face, intent on wearing a mask of nonchalance which would deceive all but the shrewdest boys around him.