"Look here, Scissors, you've said I'm jealous--well I am, but not for the reason you think. You're only a kid and a green one at that. I'm a year older, which isn't much, but I've been at school five years, in a prep, and here, and I know who's who. Lindon's a clever chap, captain of the first eleven, our best bat and all that--but keep clear of him." Vernley would say no more after that. John went out and filled Lindon's kettle and returned. His forced manner made Vernley watch him curiously; John was evidently upset. "What is the matter," he asked John, abruptly. "Nothing." "That's a lie, Scissors--try again." John flushed deeply--"Well, nothing much," he confessed. "Has Lindon said anything?" "Yes." "About me?" John was silent. "I guessed so," said Vernley bitterly, "and you believe him?" "No--I don't--and I don't understand,--and I don't want to understand." "But, Scissors, if--in the past," added Vernley. He looked anxiously at John, who had picked up Punch and was looking through it. "Well--the past is the past, that's all. I say, Verny, listen to this," he said, reading from the paper. He had dismissed the subject, and Vernley sat and listened, looking at his friend with a doglike affection. II John enjoyed the Saturday evenings when they all gathered in Mr. Fletcher's study. They sat wherever they liked, on the floor, the lounge, or in the windows, while Fletcher talked and his wife poured out the coffee. Fletcher was a man of ideas and of sufficient strength of mind to carry them out. He was never so happy as when, pipe in mouth, he debated with six or eight boys at a time. It was a time-honoured custom for the boys of his house to come in each Saturday evening to talk over the school matches or any other topic that presented itself. There was no attempt to make the conversation "improving." Sometimes, led by a question, Fletcher would tell them about his travels in Greece and Italy, illustrating them with snapshots in his albums, or perhaps Mrs. Fletcher or one of the boys would sing. The repertoire was in no way restricted. Occasionally Vernley had to be forcibly deposed from the piano stool after an orgy of music-hall ditties or waltz tunes, and any outburst of ragging was quickly suppressed. The boys were not compelled to enter into any conversation. They could take down the books and read if they wished and sometimes complete silence reigned until Fletcher stood up, knocked the ashes out of his pipe and said "Time, boys."