It would have been well for Heathcote if he had acted on the impulse of
the moment, and made it up with Dick that same evening.
Dick had come back from his boating expedition better disposed towards
his lieutenant than he had been for a long time. He had come determined
to befriend him, and rescue him from his enemies, and set him up upon
his feet. He had come, reproaching himself with his former neglect, and
convinced that Georgie's fate was in his hands for good or evil; and
that being so, he had determined to make a good job of his friend and
turn him out a credit to Templeton.
But in all this modest programme it had never occurred to him that
Georgie would be anything but delighted to be taken in hand and made a
good job of.
Therefore, when in the fulness of his benevolence he had found his
friend out immediately on his return, and been repulsed for his pains,
Dick felt "gravelled."
All his nice little plan of campaign fell through. It was no use
routing the Den, and putting Pledge and the "Sociables" to shame, when
Georgie wouldn't be made a good job of. And so Dick, with some dismay
and considerable loss to his self-conceit, had to order a retreat and
consider whether the war was worth going on with under the
circumstances.
He therefore did not meet Heathcote half-way, and curled himself up into
bed, sorely perplexed, sorely crest-fallen, and sorely out of love with
the world at large.
No news spreads so fast as the news of a quarrel, and before school was
well launched next morning the noise of a "row" between Dick and
Heathcote ran through Templeton from end to end.
The Den heard it, and hoped there would be a fight. The "Select
Sociables" heard it, and voted it a good job. The Fourth and Fifth
heard it, and said, "Young idiots!" The Sixth heard it, and shook their
heads.
Pledge, however, regarded the matter with complacency.
"So it's a row, is it?" said he, as his _protege_ wandered
disconsolately into his study after morning school. "Pistols for two,
coffee for four, and all that sort of thing, eh?"
"He cuts me dead," said Heathcote.
"And you break your heart? Of course you do. I knew you couldn't get
on without him."
"I don't break my heart at all!" said Heathcote, savagely.
"No; you look as if you were going to hang yourself! How glad he'll be
to see dear Georgie sorrowing for his sins! If you'll take my advice,
you'll go out next time you see him and lie down at his feet and ask him
kindly to tread upon you."
"I'm not going to bother about him!" said Heathcote, miserably. "If he
wants to make up, he'll have to come and ask me himself."
"And, of course, you'll fall on his neck, and weep, and say, 'Oh! yes, I
loved you always.' Very pretty! Seriously, youngster--don't make a
donkey of yourself! As long as it pays him to cut you, he will cut you,
and when it pays him better to be friends, he'll want to be friends.
Don't make yourself too cheap. You're better than a dirty halfpenny, to
be played pitch and toss with."
These words sank deep in the boy's disturbed mind, and drove away any
lingering desire for an immediate reconciliation.
Day after day the two old chums met and cut one another dead, and the
spectacle of the "split" became a part of every-day life at Templeton.
At the end of a week fellows almost forgot that David and Jonathan had
ever been on speaking terms.
Then an unlooked-for incident caused a diversion and upset the
calculations of everybody.
Coote had, of all interested parties, least relished the falling-out of
his two old comrades. It had not only pained him as a friend, but,
personally, it had caused him the greatest discomfort.
For he found himself in the position of an animated buffer between the
two. When Heathcote wanted to show off to Dick that he was not breaking
his heart on his account, he got possession of Coote, and lavished
untoward affection on that tender youth. And when Dick wanted to
exhibit to Heathcote that he was not pining in solitude for want of an
adherent, he attached Coote to his person and treated him like his own
brother.
And Coote, when Heathcote had him, was all for Heathcote, and eloquent
on the abominable sins of piety and inconstancy. And when he was with
Dick he was all for Dick, and discoursed no less eloquently on the
wickedness of deceit and poorness of spirit. Sometimes his bad memory,
and the quick transitions of allegiance through which he was called upon
to pass, made him forget his _role_, and condole with Dick on
Heathcote's piety, or with Heathcote on Dick's poverty of spirit; and
sometimes, when, in the company of the one, he happened to meet the
other, he quite lost his head and made an ass of himself to both.
This course of double dissimulation at the end of a week began to lose
its charms, and Coote, with all his good nature and desire to make
things pleasant for everybody, began to get tired of his two friends and
long for a breath of freedom.
So he took an early morning stroll along the cliffs one morning,
finishing up with Mr Webster's shop in the High Street.
The gossiping Templeton stationer had suffered somewhat in temper since
the reader saw him last, three months ago. The young gentry for whom he
catered were not the "apples of his eyes" they had been. Not that he
was at open war with them, but he had a grievance.
He didn't complain of the liberties they sometimes took with his shop--
making it a general house of call and discussion forum. That was good
for trade, and Mr Webster didn't object to anything that was good for
trade. Nor did the occasional horse-play, and even fighting, that took
place on his premises now and then sour his milk of human kindness more
than was natural. But when it came to abusing, not himself, but his
goods, with the result that a good many of the latter, in the course of
a term, came to be damaged, and some, he had reason to suppose,
pilfered, then Mr Webster thought it time to make a stand and assert
himself. He was, therefore, more brusque and less obsequious to the
junior portion of Templeton this term than he had been last.
So, when Coote, in the artlessness of his nature, feigned an earnest
desire to know the price of an elegant ormolu inkpot, and modestly
inquired it, the tradesman eyed him sharply and replied--
"Ten shillings. Do you want to buy it?"
Coote was one of those individuals who cannot say "no" to a shopman.
Though nothing was further from his mind than putting his sadly reduced
pocket-money into an ormolu inkpot, his tender heart could not bear to
dash the stationer's hopes too rudely. He said he couldn't quite make
up his mind, and would just look round, if he might.
Mr Webster had got tired of the young Templeton gentlemen "looking
round." He knew what it meant, generally. The springs of all his
inkpots got critically tested, pencils got twisted in and out till they
refused to twist again, desks got ransacked, and their contents mixed in
glorious and hopeless confusion, photographs got thumbed, books got dog-
eared; and the sole profit to the honest merchant was the healthy
exercise of putting everything tidy after his visitors had left, and the
satisfaction of expressing his feelings in language strictly selected
from the dictionary.
He was, therefore, by no means elated at Coote's proposal, and might
have vetoed it, had not an important customer, in the shape of the Rev.
Mr Westworth, the curate, entered at that moment, and diverted his
attention. But even the reverend gentleman's conversation was unable
entirely to engross the honest bookseller, who kept a restless corner of
one eye on the boy's movements, while, with the rest of his features, he
smiled deferentially at his customer.
Coote, meanwhile, unaware of the suspicion with which he was being
regarded, enjoyed a pleasant five minutes in turning Mr Webster's stock
of writing materials inside out. Being of a susceptible nature, he fell
in love with a great many things in the course of his investigations,
and the ormolu inkpot was several times eclipsed. What took his fancy
most was a pretty chased silver penholder and pencil, which shut up into
the compass of a date-stone, and yet, when open, was large and firm
enough to write out the whole of Virgil at a sitting.
Whatever else he looked at, he always came back to this treasure; and
finally, when he became aware that Mr Westworth was about to depart, he
had almost to push it from him, in order to bring himself to the pitch
of leaving too.
He had no desire further to lacerate Mr Webster's feelings by declining
to purchase anything, and therefore quitted the shop hurriedly, not
noticing, as he did so, that the unlucky little pencil, which he had put
down with such affectionate reluctance, had shown its regret by rolling
quietly and sadly off the tray on to the counter, till it reached a gap
half-way, into which it plunged suicidally, and became lost to the light
of day.
Mr Webster, who had seen as little of the catastrophe as the boy had,
bowed his reverend guest out, and then turned to the disordered tray
with a shrug of his shoulders.
His review of its contents had not lasted half a minute when he started
and uttered an exclamation. The pencil was gone--so was Coote!
For once there was no shadow of a doubt in the honest stationer's mind;
it was as clear as daylight. No one else had been in the shop except
the curate, who had never been near the tray. Coote had; he had touched
and fingered all its contents; he had had this very pencil in his hand,
he had quitted the shop abruptly, and started running as soon as he got
outside.
Mr Webster _did_ know what two and two made, and it was quite a relief
to him to feel absolutely and positively certain he had been robbed by a
Templeton boy!
His one difficulty was that he did not remember having seen Coote
before, nor did he know his name. However, he would find him, if he had
the whole school marched one by one in front of him, and, when he had
found him, he would make an example of him.
Blissfully unconscious of the cloud on the horizon, Coote had arrived at
the school just in time for chapel. On his way out Heathcote came up
and took his arm.
"Well, old fellow," said that youth in a loud voice, which made it
perfectly clear to Coote that Dick must be somewhere within hearing,
"come and have another jolly two-hander after school, won't you? You
and I ought to be able to lick Raggles and Culver into fits now,
oughtn't we?"
"It's a wonder to me," said Dick, walking off in another direction with
Aspinall, "how Raggles and Culver play tennis at all; any fool could
lick them left-handed."
Aspinall knew better than to dispute the assertion, and submitted to be
taken down to the courts after morning school by Dick, where, in full
view of Heathcote and Coote, the two played an exciting match, in which,
of course, Dick came off victorious, for the simple reason that Aspinall
had not the moral courage to beat him.
Towards the end of the game Cresswell and Cartwright walked up with
their rackets. Finding all the courts occupied, Cresswell said to
Dick--
"You two may as well make up a four with Heathcote and Coote; we want
one of the courts."
Dick was delighted to give up the court, but he was far too fagged to
play any more. So was Aspinall, wasn't he? Besides, they neither of
them cared about four-handers.
Heathcote and Coote, for their part, were far too absorbed in their game
to heed Cresswell's suggestion. They were playing best out of fifteen
sets, Georgie announced, and had just finished the third. Which being
known, the spectators fell away from that part of the field rapidly.
The two o'clock bell sounded before the fifth set was over, rather to
Coote's relief, who had been getting just tennis enough during the last
week.
The two champions were walking back lovingly to the school, when, as
they approached the Quad gate, Heathcote said--
"Hallo! there's Webster! What's he hanging about for there?"
"Perhaps you owe him a bill," said Coote.
"Not I. I've jacked Webster up; he's a surly beast."
"I was in his shop this morning," said Coote. "There was such a
stunning little shut-up penholder, about so big. I can't fancy how they
make them shut up so small."
"Did you buy it?"
"No; I couldn't afford it. Hallo! what does he want? He's beckoning."
"Jolly cheek of him!" said Heathcote. "If he wants you, let him come.
I wouldn't go to him if I were you. Call out and ask him what he
wants."