The meek Coote obeyed, and took a cursory trot round the School Fields in search of his leader. No Dick was there, and no one had seen him.
Heathcote’s face grew longer as he heard the report. It was getting serious. Dick was not only ill-treating him; he was cutting him.
He went off to Cresswell’s study, as a last chance. The study was empty; and even the caps were gone from the pegs. Base desertion!
As he left the study he met Pledge.
“Ah, youngster! Going to grind all to-day?”
“I was looking for Dick.”
“Oh! David looking for Jonathan. Poor chap! Johnny has given you the slip this time.”
“Where has he gone?” asked Heathcote, trying to appear indifferent.
“The saintly youth has gone for a day’s fishing in the Bay, with the dearly-beloved Cresswell and the reverend Freckleton. They have got him an exeat from the Doctor, they have bought him lines and bait, they have filled his pockets with good things. So you see piety pays after all, Georgie. What a pity you are not pious, too! You wouldn’t be left so lonely if you were.”
Heathcote was too hard hit to reply; and Pledge was kind enough not to attempt any further consolation.