When Colonel Lewknor once defined him as "A first-rate officer and a first-class cad," Conky Joe, the kindest of men but a first-rate hater, who had never quite got over the bias imbibed in the atmosphere of the "greatest of all schools," replied with scorn, rare scorn, "Well, what d'you expect of Harrow?" CHAPTER XXXVI THE CAPTAIN BEGINS HIS SIEGE The morning after Captain Royal's advent, Ernie, going his round of the Third Floor, dropping boots at various doors, stopped outside No. 72. The door was open; and Ruth stood at the window looking sea-wards. It was early yet, scarcely seven, but clearly the Captain was already up and out. Ernie stood in the door, admiring the lines of the girl's big young figure, the curve of her neck and shoulders and the glossy black of her hair. He made a little whistling sound. Ruth turned, saw who it was, and beckoned to him. The window looked out over the lawns and foreshore on to the sea, brisk and broken in the sun. The tide was brimming, and swinging in, green-hued, white-tipped, and splashed with shadows. The bathing-raft was wobbling in the short chop. There were no bobbing heads about it now. It was too early in the season, too early in the morning, and the sea was too rough. But a figure, white in the sun, balanced on the unsteady raft, then shot arrow-wise into the sea. Another moment and a black head bounced up out of the water. Then there was the flash of an arm, rising and falling swiftly, as the swimmer strode away for the horizon. "Straight out to sea!" cried Ernie. "That's the Captain!--Buffet em!" "I wish I was a man," mused Ruth. "Go in like that--just as you are." She took up her duster, and resumed her work. The bed was already made. "You're early at it," said Ernie, glancing round. "Yes," answered Ruth. "I'm to do his room every morning while he's in the water. He's going to work up here after breakfast." "Hot stuff!" said Ernie, trying to work up enthusiasm. "He'll command the old Battalion one day, the skipper will. Good old Hammer-men!" Half an hour later the Captain was back. His hair still wet, was crisp still and very dark; while the brine crusted his handsome face. He had run up the stairs, three at a stride, too impetuous to await the lift. In flannels, a sweater with a broad collar, and white shoes, he looked cool and clean and strenuous as the water from which he just emerged. At the top of the stairs he met the shabby porter with his collarless shirt, his scrubby hair, and rough hands. Ruth, coming down the corridor, marked the meeting of the two men. "Mornin," said the Captain, brief as his own moustache. "Morning, sir," grinned Ernie, rolling by, full of self-consciousness. An hour later, he saw Ruth coming out of 72 with a tray. Ernie stopped. "Havin breakfast in his own room?" he asked. "Yes," said Ruth quietly. The monosyllable seemed to knock at Ernie's heart. He hesitated a moment.