“I’m in for it now,” groaned he to himself. “They’re both going to pitch into me for telling the other. What a mule I was ever to come to Templeton.”
But Dick’s first words dispelled these gloomy forebodings effectually.
“Keep your pecker up, old man, Georgie and I are both going to back you up. We’ll pull you through somehow.”
“I’ve got ten bob,” said Georgie. “That’s twenty-seven-and-six. Perhaps he’ll let you off the other half-crown.”
Considering he had not abstracted the pencil at all, Coote inwardly thought Mr Webster might forego this small balance, and be no loser. And he half-hinted as much.
“It’s an awful shame,” said he, “not to believe my word. I really don’t see why we ought to stump up at all.”
But this proposal by no means suited his ardent backers-up, who looked upon the whole affair as providential, and by no means to be burked.
“Bound to do it,” said Dick decisively. “Things look ugly against you, you know, and it would be a terrible business if you got locked up. It would cost less to square Webster then to bail you out; wouldn’t it, Georgie?”
“Rather!” said Georgie. “Besides, it looks awkward if it gets out that you’ve been to prison.—Our ‘Firm’ oughtn’t to get mixed up in that sort of mess.”
After this, Coote resigned all pretensions to the further direction of his own defence, and left his case unreservedly in the hands of his two honest partners.