Time drifted on. Finch continued to worship Deering, but he avoided him more than he had done before, and lived his own lonely, unhappy life, as many a boy had done before him at school, with all that young world around him, gay, spirited, uncaring. Morris cared, but to his advances Finch proved adamant. As the term advanced, in the inevitable distraction to other interests and pleasures, it was only natural that the attention Tony had concentrated on Finch at the opening of the term, should have slacked. After a time, growing used to seeing less of him, even Tony began to feel that Finch was getting on well enough, and ceased for the most part to worry about him. Finch had not forgotten his grudge against Mr. Roylston, but rather nursed it with the tenacity of such a nature, and took a gloomy pleasure in planning from time to time impossible schemes of revenge. For a long time Deering’s tranquillity with regard to the Head Prefectship disarmed Jacob. It was hard to resent for your hero what he himself did not resent. But he nursed his grudge. It happened along in January that the prefects had occasion to deal with some disciplinary irregularities. Being governed by Clavering’s advice, they frankly mismanaged the case and involved two or three boys in a somewhat unfair predicament. Clavering, realizing that his judgment had been at fault, appealed to Deering, who had the good luck to make a suggestion that speedily set matters straight and saved the school from rather a mess. The boys talked over the affair quite generally, and as often happens, they criticised Clavering somewhat sharply, spoke indeed more harshly, most of them, than they really felt. Finch overheard a discussion of the incident in the common-rooms which was concluded by Teddy Lansing affirming rather loudly and tactlessly, “Well, it was a rotten roast when Deering did not get the Head Prefectship in the first place. Clavering is a blundering old cow.” “That it was—a rotten roast!” came in a sharp staccato from a near-by corner. Finch had spoken, impulsively, and quite unusually drawing attention to himself. “Yeaaaaa! Yeaaaa!” was returned in full chorus which half jeered at the boy, half applauded his sentiments. “Bully for you, Pinch!” shouted Teddy. “You stick up for your friend, don’t you?” “Friend or no friend,” answered Finch, with unwonted boldness, “it was a roast. He was cheated out of it.” “Guess he was,” agreed another boy. “How’d it come about, d’ye know?” “Yes, I know,” Finch answered, “but I’m not saying.” “Oh, inside information, eh?” “If you want to call it that.” “Who from—Tony Deering?” Finch turned to his questioner with a vicious snarl. “No, it wasn’t from Tony Deering. He don’t care. It doesn’t make any difference to him, but it makes a lot of difference to the school.” “Well, who cooked his goose?” “Who cooks everybody’s goose?” demanded Finch.