hurt me as much as he thought he had."

The thought gave Martin a thrill: it was something more than sympathy.

"What did he have you up for?" he asked.

"Cheek. You must have heard what I said. I certainly shouted."

"But I joined in that."

It had been in the tuck-shop. Heseltine's entrance had been greeted
with remarks about the advent of the deity.

"He didn't hear you."

Martin knew that he hadn't shouted: he had only muttered something. He
hadn't Anstey's pluck. The thought was bitter and increased his
admiration of Heseltine's victim. Anstey had suffered for what he had
helped to do.

"But what about this persecution?" he exclaimed suddenly. "I'm damned
if I stand it."

"And what do you propose to do?"

"I don't see why we shouldn't remain friends."

"Nor do I. But the powers disagree."

"Damn the powers."

"Certainly."

"Well, I'm going to see you as often as I like if you'll have me. If
Heseltine says anything I'll tell him to go to Berney or Foskett if he
likes."

Anstey made no reply.

"Do you mean," said Martin, "that you won't go on, that you don't want
me?"

"Of course I want you. But it's no use fighting. I've got a bad name
with the beaks and it's a hundred to one they back up Heseltine. You
know how they drop on this sort of thing. I think they're all wrong:
in this case I know they are. But there it is. They've got the whip
hand and we can't fight against the odds."

"I'm willing to try."

"If you do, you'll be very admirable and very foolish. Look here. You
may be a pre next term. Fighting means you miss that; it means nothing
but trouble all day long. I've been in rows and I know. It's no use.
There's more pluck in surrender."

Martin got up. "I think I'll go," he said.

"I hope you don't think I'm playing a low-down game," interrupted
Anstey.

"No, it isn't that. I just want to think things over. Besides, time
is up."

He went back to his study and tried to clear his mind. At first he was
bitterly angered by Anstey's surrender, but later on he realised that,
after all, Anstey had already been under fire in the war's first
skirmish, whereas he, Martin, had gone unscathed. He was in no
position to make criticisms, much less taunts. Then his thoughts
turned from Anstey to Heseltine. He knew now what Gregson meant when
he talked of the Iron Heel: he could feel its pressure now. More
clearly than ever before he learned that membership of socie