“Didn’t have money enough to go any place else. The Head gave me some work in the library, cataloguing books.” “Good for him! I ought to have been working myself, I reckon. Money’s been pretty scarce down our way too. By Jove, old boy, it’s good to be back, you know. You don’t know how much you care for the old shop till you leave it.” “No, I guess you don’t,” was Finch’s ambiguous reply. “Well, Jake, we’re going to have a good year this time anyway. I’m going to pull you out of the dumps instanter. Jimmie says you’ve been cutting Number Five since I’ve been away. That won’t do.” He looked about him with undisguised pride and pleasure. “Things do look pretty nice and comfy in the old camp-ground, don’t they?” “They certainly do look good for you, Deering. You’ll be Head Prefect.” “Stop your kidding, Jake.” “Oh, you know you’ll get it,” said Jake. “I guess it would have been announced all right last spring if you hadn’t been so sure you mightn’t come back. But it’s all right now.” “Well, to tell the truth,” rejoined Tony with a laugh, “of course I hope it’s all right. It’s a sort of a turn-down when a President of the Dealonian doesn’t get it. But there are other chaps that deserve it on other accounts much more than I do. There’s Ned Clavering and Doc Thorn. They are the right sort. We’ve never been very thick but there aren’t two fellows in the school that I have more respect for. I reckon if I hadn’t made that lucky run in the Boxford game and been elected President of the Dealonian soon after, that Ned would have had a better chance than I. Fact is, I really never thought of being Head Prefect till I had that election thrust upon me.” “Clavering and Thorn are prefects all right. But you are to be head. The Doctor told me so himself.” “The deuce he did!” “Honest. He wrote me a letter about my being here last summer while he was at Easthampfield, staying with Mr. Lawrence. He said you were there with Lawrence, and then told me that you were to be Head Prefect.” “That’s funny. But if it’s so, why of course I’m mighty glad. As far back as I know anything about the school there have only been three Presidents of Dealonian who were not Head Prefect in their Sixth Form year. However, it means a lot of responsibility and knocks out chances of a heap of fun.” “I guess you’re up to it,” said Finch with conviction. “If I get it, I’ll certainly try to make good. But as a matter of fact I haven’t got it yet. Tell me how things went last year? How’s the dear old Gumshoe?” “Same as ever. I hate him.” “Tut, tut, my child; there’s mighty few people worth hating.” “He is,” said Jake without a smile. “He’s a sneak.”