his hit.

"They'd like you all the better, wouldn't they, if they heard you and
your precious friends are--well, quite a matter of interest to the
Templeton police; eh, my boy?"

"We're not," stammered Georgie, very red. "You needn't say anything
about that, Pledge."

"Is it likely? Don't I owe you too much already for cutting me, and
talking of me behind my back, and letting the monitors make a catspaw of
you to hurt me? Oh, no! I've no interest in telling anybody!"

"Really, Pledge, I never talked of you behind your back, and all that.
I didn't mean to cut you. Please don't go telling everybody. It's bad
enough as it is."

Pledge chuckled to himself, and began to get his tea-pot out of his
cupboard.

"You see I have to help myself now," said he.

Georgie's heart was touched. What with dread of the possible mischief
Pledge could do him, and with a certain amount of self-reproach at his
desertion, he felt the least he could do would be to fall into his old
ways for this one evening.

It was just what Pledge wanted. How he longed that Mansfield and
Cresswell and Freckleton could all have been there to see it.

"Mansfield is hardly likely to trouble his head about every errand even
such an important personage as you run," said he, in reply to one feeble
protest from the boy. "Call yourself Swinstead's fag by all means. You
can still fag for me. However, it doesn't matter to me. I can get on
well enough without."

"Oh, yes, I'll try," said Georgie.

That was enough. Pledge felt that too much might overdo it. So with
this triumph he dismissed his youthful perturbed _protege_ for the
night, and dreamed sweetly of the wrath of his enemies, when they
discovered that after all he (Pledge) was master of the situation in
spite of them.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

HOW THE "MARTHA" COMES HOME TO HER BEREAVED FRIENDS.

Pledge did well to sleep sweetly and enjoy his triumph while it lasted,
for the battle which raged over the soul of George Heathcote was by no
means ended yet.

"I say, Georgie," said Dick, next day, as the "Firm" took a Sunday
afternoon stroll along the cliffs. "Where on earth did you get to
yesterday? You never turned up at football practice, and skulked all
the evening."

Georgie coloured. His conscience had already smitten him for detaching
himself from his leader at a time of danger like the present; still
more, for deserting him for a fellow like Pledge.

One result of Di