“I’m glad you don’t make it one, I must say! I was going on to tell you that I followed the fly, only naturally, as I think you’ll agree. But it wasn’t my fault you didn’t hear me in the wood before you saw me, Rutter. I made noise enough, but you were so taken up with your—boon companion!” Jan resented that; but he had made up his mind not even to start the dangerous game of self-defence. “He exaggerated that part of it,” was all that Jan said, dryly. “So I should hope. It’s not my business to ask for explanations——” “And I’ve none to give, sir.” “It’s only for me to report the whole matter, Rutter, as of course I must at once.” Jan looked alarmed. “Do you mean before the match is over? Must the Eleven and all those Old Boys——” “Hear all about it? Not necessarily, I should say, but it won’t be in my hands. The facts are usually kept quiet in—in the worst cases—as you know. But I shan’t have anything to say to that.” “You would if it were a fellow in your house!” Jan could not help rejoining. “You’d take jolly good care to have as little known as possible—if you don’t mind my saying so!” Haigh did mind; he was a man to mind the slightest word, and yet he took this from Jan without a word in reply. The fact was that, much to his annoyance and embarrassment, he was beginning to respect the youth more in his downfall than at the height of his cricketing fame. Indeed, while he had grudged a great and unforeseen school success to as surly a young numskull as ever impeded the work of the Middle Remove (and the only one who ever, ever scored off Mr. Haigh), he could not but recognise the manhood of the same boy’s bearing in adversity—and such adversity at such a stage in his career! There had been nothing abject about it for a moment, and now there was neither impertinence nor bravado, but rather an unsuspected sensibility, rather a redeeming spirit altogether. Yet it was an aggravated case, if ever there had been one in the whole history of schools; a more deliberate and daring piece of trickery could not be imagined. In that respect it was typical of the drinking row of Haigh’s experience. And yet he found himself making jaunty remarks to Jan about the weather, and even bringing off his raucous laugh about nothing, for the fly-man’s benefit, as they came up to where that vehicle was waiting in the lane. Haigh, of all masters, and Jan Rutter of all the boys who had ever been through his hands! That was the feeling that preyed upon the man, the weight he tried to get off his chest when they had dismissed the fly outside the town, and had walked in together as far as Heriot’s quad. “Well, Rutter, there never was much love lost between us, was there? And yet—I don’t mind telling you—I wish any other man in the place had the job you’ve given me!” The quad was still deserted, but Jan had scarcely reached his study when a hurried but uncertain step sounded in the passage, and a small fag from another house appeared at his open door.