He knew well enough last night, when he sent Heathcote out, that he was bringing matters between himself and the Captain to an issue. And he had been too curious to see what Mansfield’s next move would be, to calculate for himself on what it was likely to be. And now he felt himself hit in his weakest point.
Not that the “Spider” was desperately in love with Heathcote. As long as that volatile youth had owned his allegiance and proved amenable to his influence, so long had Pledge liked the boy and set store by his companionship.
But lately Heathcote had been coming out in an unsatisfactory light.
For no apparent reason he had upset all his patron’s calculations, and spoiled all his carefully arranged plans, by going over to Dick and placing Pledge in the ridiculous position of a worsted rival to that noisy young hero. And, as if that were not enough, he had let himself be used by the Captain as a means of dealing a further blow. For, when Pledge came to think of it, Heathcote had made prompt use of his new liberty to absent himself from his senior’s chamber that very morning.
He left his study door open, and watched the passage sharply for the deserter.
He saw him at last, labouring under a huge pile of books, which he was carrying to his new lord’s study.
“Ah, Georgie!” cried Pledge, with studied friendliness, “you’ll drop that pile, if you try to carry all at once. Put some down here, and make two loads of it. So you’ve been promoted to a new senior?”
“It’s not my choice; Mansfield moved me,” said Heathcote, feeling and looking very uncomfortable.
“And I fancy I can hear the fervour with which you said, ‘God bless you, for saving me from Pledge, Mansfield,’ when he moved you.”
“I said nothing of the sort. I knew nothing about it, I tell you, till he told me.”