He saw Finch in the morning on the way to Chapel, and tried to greet him naturally. Finch seemed stolid, unresponsive, but not keenly conscious, as Tony had supposed he would appear, of what had taken place between them the night before. Finch had spent a sleepless night. But now he had set his teeth and was waiting. He was staking his all, as it were, on the Head proving _fair_ as he called it to himself. He was staking his reform, his remorse, his repentance on the issue which, beyond his control now by fair means or foul, depended on the Head. The morning hymn was “I need Thee every hour,” and Finch joined in it. He dumbly felt he was willing to bribe heaven to gain his end. He looked about the Chapel, and noted that Mr. Roylston was not present, and his heart leaped with the thought that the master had lost his case, perhaps even, Finch passionately hoped, the Head had accepted his resignation. He tried, but he could not listen to the reading of the scriptures and the prayers. Then the Grace was said, and the boys were settling back in their seats into attitudes of attention, for the Doctor was still at the reading-desk as if he had something to say to them. “There is still”—the Doctor’s voice seemed to Finch to come from a great distance—“there is still an important appointment to be announced. The Head Prefect for the year will be——” There was a slight disturbance in the back of the Chapel—some one had dropped a hymn-book, and the Doctor paused, it seemed to Finch for an intolerable age. “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.”