“Is Cresswell very fond of you?” asked Pledge.
“No. I hardly ever saw him.”
“Why do you suppose he sent you that message, then?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps he’s got a spite against you.”
The boy was fairly out of his depth now, and gave up trying to recover his feet.
“Would you like to know why; or don’t you care?”
“I would like to know, please.”
“I daresay you’ve heard of a fellow called Forbes?”
Heathcote had, from twenty different fellows.
“Forbes was a fag of mine last year—a nice boy, but dreadfully weak-minded. Any one could twist him round his thumb. As long as I kept my eye on him he was steady enough; but if ever I let him slide he got into trouble. I was laid up a month last autumn with scarlet fever, and, of course, Forbes was on the loose, and spent most of his time with Cresswell and his set. As soon as I got back I noticed a change in him. He had got into bad ways, and talked like a fellow who was proud of what he had learned. He used to swear and tell lies, and other things a great deal worse. I did all I could to pull him up, and before Christmas I fancied he was rather steadier. But last term he broke out again as bad as ever. I could keep no hold of him. He was constantly cutting me for his other friend; and all the time I, as his senior, got the credit of his ruin. He was expelled in February for some disgraceful row he got into, and, because I stuck to him to the end, his other friend gets up a report that I was to blame for it all. I don’t profess to be better than I ought to be, youngster; I know I should be better than I am; but I’m not a blackguard.”