“We must try one fine day. But now about the Club. I want you to help me draw up a scheme for my committee.”
And the two friends spent the rest of the evening in one of the most gratifying tasks that ever fell to the lot of two honest seniors.
A very different conversation was taking place a few studies away, where Pledge found himself alone with his fag for the first time since the boy had avowed his reconciliation with Dick.
“Ah, Georgie, I don’t see much of you now. My study’s badly off for dusting.”
“I’m very sorry, Pledge; I really hadn’t time.”
“No? Busy reading the police news, I suppose, and seeing how young gentlemen behave themselves in the dock?”
Heathcote flushed up, though from a very different cause from that which his senior suspected. In the new terror about Tom White, the youngster had forgotten all about Webster’s pencil-case.
“You’re going it, Georgie,” said the monitor; “the inevitable result of bad company. You’ll want me to go bail for you after all.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said the boy, with a confusion that belied the words.
“Well, I may be able to pull you through it better than you think, though, of course, I’m not such a great gun as Dick. However, what I want you for now is to go and post this letter at the head office.”