Heathcote alone was aghast and dumbfounded. For he had never seriously calculated on his leader’s decision; and, being himself under vow not to present himself, his dilemma was terrible.
Perjury or treason? That was the problem he had to decide at half a minute’s notice, and it was no joke.
As he watched Dick slowly advance up the room, dogged by the faithful Coote and supported by a bodyguard of loyal followers, his courage failed, and he could hardly restrain himself from rushing after him.
And yet, the memory of his promise to the “Select Sociables,” and the vision of Braider watching him from a distance, held him where he was.
How he wished he could have a fit, or break his arm, or have his nose bleed; anything to get him out of this hobble!
But no. He saw Dick ascend the dais and shake hands with the Captain, who looked almost amiable as he spoke a few words to him. He saw Pauncefote and Smith and the other, loyal ones come in for the same greeting. He saw Coote and his watered ribbon being presented by Cartwright, and he caught sight of Pledge looking up and down the room, possibly in search of his Georgie.
All this he saw, and yet could not stir. Only when he saw Dick descend the platform and slowly return towards the door, did the spell yield and permit him to escape to the Quad.
There half an hour later he was found by Pledge.
“Hullo, youngster; you didn’t turn up at the pantomime, then?”
“No,” said Heathcote, “I didn’t want to.”