He beckoned gravely, turned, and began to move down the corridor followed by his train. At last Rouse spoke. “Tell me,” said he, “who is your friend—the friend you so very kindly brought? I should like to kick somebody, and it might as well be him.” “It’s the kid called Carr,” said Terence over his shoulder. “He seems rather a decent kid, so I told him to come along and be introduced to Henry and eat some cake in his new study. He waits within.” “Waits within?” repeated Rouse. “If he takes my advice he’ll wait without. It’ll get him used to the idea that he’ll have to go without.” “As a matter of fact he’s minding the kettle.” “Kettle, indeed? Is there going to be a dish of tea then?” “Yes, of course there is. I’ve been getting it ready.” “You’ve fixed up a sort of christening breakfast, have you?” He nodded his head thoughtfully. It occurred to him that in his quiet way Terence generally did fix up things. He grunted. “H’m,” said he. “Most ingenious of you. I’m sure Henry Hope is indeed lucky in his friends.” Terence smiled modestly and opened the door of No. 8, whereupon Rouse walked in and looked round with a contemptuous sniff. “This,” said he, “looks like a prison cell. It’ll make Henry feel absolutely homesick.” “Homesick?” “Certainly. That little den upstairs was a veritable home from home.” “Why, dash it all, man, you said it was——” “Never mind what I said,” retorted Rouse. “I’d grown to love that place.” Terence burst out laughing. At last Rouse smiled. “Well, well, I suppose he may as well abide here as abide there. The great thing was to ensure that Henry was not being wronged in any way. Everything is now to the good, thanks to myself. Hullo, Carr, how are you? Hold out your fist, and that tall, well-set-up young fellow with the opera-glasses stuck on his face will slap a piece of cake into it. That is Henry Hope. Shake him heartily by the hand. He is one of the phenomena of Harley. People come miles to see what he carries behind those spectacles of his. You will grow to love Henry.... Who are you going to fag for?” The little boy looked up. “I don’t know yet,” said he. “There was some mix-up over the studies and things.” “I can tell you,” put in Terence. “I saw the list half-an-hour ago. You’re going to fag for Coles.” At first the effect that this news had upon Bobbie Carr passed unnoticed. The others were too busy dissecting cake to wonder why he made no answer at all. But at last Terence looked up and saw that he was sitting stiffly on his chair and staring at him. “Is that right?” said he at last, and his voice sounded very small. “That’s right,” said Terence. “Yes. Do you know Coles?” For a moment he did not answer. Wild thoughts were scurrying across his mind. He was suddenly very afraid. He did not want them to know that he knew Coles at all, and yet—— “Rather bad luck,” said Rouse, talking with his mouth full. “Coles isn’t a man I’d care to fag for.”