“Of course you didn’t. He’s a cad and has got a spite against us, that’s what it is. What’s he going to do?”
“He says unless I take it to him by this time to-morrow, he’ll send a policeman to take me up,” and the unhappy youth’s voice choked with the words.
Heathcote gave a long, dismal whistle.
“Whatever will you do?” he asked, in tones of deep concern.
“How can I take it back?” asked Coote, “if I hadn’t got it. I wish to goodness I had got it!”
“You’ll have to square him, somehow,” said Georgie. “You’re positive it hasn’t dropped into your shoes, or anywhere, by accident.”
The bare suggestion sent Coote up to the dormitory, where he undressed, and shook out each article of his toilet, in the hope of discovering the lost treasure.
Alas! high or low, there was no sign of it.
He spent a terrible afternoon, wondering where he should be that time to-morrow, or whether possibly Mr Webster would alter his mind, and send a policeman up forthwith.
He was in no humour for tennis, or a row in the Den, or a “Sociable” concert after school, and avoided them all. And to add to his troubles, Heathcote was detained two hours for some offence; so that he was deprived for an equal length of time of the consolation of that hero’s sympathy and advice.