d.

"Cut him," said Dick.

"But suppose I've promised him?"

"That's a nuisance. Never mind, we're all in it, so we'll send him a
letter from the 'Firm' and tell him you cry off. It's a bad job, of
course, but it can't be helped, and we'll back you up, won't we, Coote?"

"I should rather say so," replied the genial junior partner.

So, that quiet Sunday afternoon, in an unpretentious and unsentimental
way, a very good stroke of work was done, not only for the soul of
Georgie Heathcote, but for Templeton generally.

The "Firm" were by no means elated at their decision, for they had yet
to learn what revenge the senior would take upon them. Still, the
effort and the common peril knit them together in bonds of closer
brotherhood, and enabled them to face the future, if not cheerily, at
least, with grim determination.

Pledge was considerably astounded that evening, just as he was
speculating on the reason of Heathcote's non-appearance, to see Coote's
round head suddenly thrust in at the door, and a small billet tossed on
to the table.

Pledge was getting used to small billets by this time, and was rather
tired of them. Coote, as he knew, was Cartwright's fag; he therefore
concluded that Cartwright was the writer of the note, and that being so,
he pitched the paper unopened into the empty fireplace with a sneer.

He waited for another half-hour, and still Heathcote did not appear.
Pledge didn't like it, and began to grow concerned. Was it possible,
after all, he had made too sure of his young friend?

Partly to pass the time, and partly with the vague idea that might throw
some light on the matter, he had the curiosity to pick the neglected
billet out of the hearth and open it.

His face went through a strange series of emotions as he read its
extraordinary contents:--

Our Dear Pledge,--We think you will like to hear that Heathcote can't
fag for you. He doesn't believe he really promised, but must be
excused. We've made him do it because we don't want him to be made a
cad. He is very sorry, and hopes you won't be a cad and let out about
the row we are in. Excuse this short letter, and, with kind regards,
believe us, our dear Pledge, your affectionate young friends, B.
Richardson, G. Heathcote, A.D. Coote. Sunday afternoon.

This masterpiece of conciliatory firmness, which had cost the "Firm" an
hour's painful labour to concoct, brought out the angry spots on
Pledge's cheeks and for