Henry looked at the little man over the tops of his glasses, the excited flush still evident upon his cheek and his breath still laboured. Then he solemnly raised his cap and held out his hand. “I am very proud to know you, sir,” said he. “Your son has come back to Morley’s now and we are firm friends.” He suddenly turned his head. The scene was growing into one of indescribable commotion. He looked once longingly, then turned to Toby as if in pleading. “If you would just excuse me a minute, sir,” said he, “I really _must_ go and cheer a bit.” He went off with a sudden raking stride, shouting wild cat calls through cupped hands, and the little man turned to Toby. “It would be better for you to tell them who I am, Mr Nicholson, than to let them be deceived,” said he. “You see—that boy raised his hat to me.” Toby nodded his head. “Yes,” said he, “of course. Any boy here always raises his hat to another boy’s father.” The little man did not entirely understand. “But,” he began, “a professional boxer——” Toby stopped him. “You taught Rouse to box,” he said, “and he knocked Coles out. I can’t explain any more. The fellows at this school will always raise their hats to you.” “It makes me feel almost as if I were a—gentleman,” said Johnny simply. Toby looked at him with a fond smile. “Come to the Head,” said he, “and be introduced. You’ll understand better after you’ve seen him.” * * * * * Rouse sat in his bath. The comfort of hot water wrapping him round was bringing to him a wonderful sense of restfulness and repose. The shouting had died away at last and he was alone. Somewhere he understood that the school were forming into a queue that stretched twice across the playing fields, waiting to give in their names as desirous of taking up boxing during the coming term. He looked ahead and he could see no single cloud upon the far horizon. The year was shaping its course for breaking record. He was amazingly content, and when at last there came a knock upon the door he turned in surprise and waited a moment before he said in guarded tones: “Who’s that?” “I’ve brought you a couple of _hot towels_,” was the answer. “I thought you’d like them.” For a moment Rouse lay still, utterly and finally at peace with all the world. At last he replied. “Terence, my boy,” said he, “you are not, all things considered, at all a bad old stick. One of these days I am inclined to think that I shall very probably learn to like you.” It was, as we know, only in moments of the deepest emotion that Rouse ever called Terence by his proper name. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ THE RIVERSIDE PRESS LIMITED, EDINBURGH ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Transcriber’s note: 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling.