Paul hit him in the ribs. "Where is he?" he demanded. "I must go and congratulate him."
"He's in the garden, reading telegrams. I believe there are some for you. It's a sickening sight, but I'll come with you if you like."
Paul took his arm and they marched off. "I'm sorry you didn't get one, Gussie," he said. "You deserved it."
The other snorted. "Rot," he grunted. "Never stood a look in. Lucky to get a second. But I always thought you'd score."
Between the First Court and the river, under the chestnuts, were a couple of deck-chairs and a rug. Judson in flannels sprawled there, with Hannam, Donaldson and one or two others. Somebody tossed Paul half a dozen orange envelopes. He threw himself down, and tore them open. Mr. Kestern wired that he and Mrs. Kestern were coming up to-morrow. Then an uncle had wired, and a grandfather. Mr. Ernest also. There was one from school, and that intrigued Paul. It was jolly to think that the Head and the rest of them had been expecting the occasion, thinking of it, caring. Pleasant, too, that he had conferred honour on the school. He stared out at the shining river, and saw the old hall, the cut and mutilated forms, the honour boards, the dais, the rows of shuffling schoolboys, and himself amongst them. Announcements were made after prayers. To-morrow, probably, then, the Head would say precisely: "I am sure the school will be glad to learn that Paul Kestern, who went up to St. Mary's, Cambridge, in ... has ..." The school would cheer, sensing a possible half-holiday in connection therewith. Well, he'd look in next month, towards the end of July, and then---- It was really rather pleasant.
He reached for the last telegram, speculating idly who had sent it. He could not know that Mr. Kestern had told the news to every possible person in the street as he himself went to the post office. "I'm so glad--Edith," he read.
He read it again and again. He glanced up covertly at the others. Then he folded the thin paper, slipped it back in its envelope, stretched himself out at full length and stared up into the blue sky. Fragments of conversation from the men about him drifted in and out of his mind, and now and again he had to respond to a remark addressed point-blank to him. He was still pleasantly aware of achievement and pride that must be hid. But he was wrestling all the while with an enigma.