CHAPTER NINETEEN.
IN WHICH HEATHCOTE MOUNTS HIGH AND FALLS LOW.
George Heathcote celebrated the early hours of his holiday by "sleeping in," until the boom of the Chapel bell shot him headlong out of bed into his garments.
Coote, who had not yet mastered the art of venturing into Chapel alone, grew more and more pale as the hand of the clock crawled on, and the desperate alternative loomed before him, either of sharing his unpunctual friend's fate, or else of facing the exploit of walking unaided into his stall in the presence of gazing Templeton.
He had almost made up his heroic mind to the latter course, when a sound, as of coals being shot into a cellar, broke the stillness of the morning air; and next moment, Heathcote descended the stairs at the rate of five steps a second.
"Come on, you idiot; put it on!" he cried, as he reached Coote, and swept him forward towards the Chapel.
It was a close shave.

Swinstead was shutting the door as Heathcote got his first foot in, and, but that the usher was unprepared for the desperate assault of the two juniors, and lost a second in looking to see what was the matter, Coote would have scored his first bad mark, and Heathcote's name would have figured, for the fifth or sixth time that term, on the monitor's black list.
As the latter young gentleman had nothing but his trousers, slippers, and coat on over his nightshirt, he deemed it prudent to bolt as soon as chapel was over, so as to elude the vigilant eyes of the authorities.
He, therefore, saw nothing of Dick as he came out; and Dick, as we have seen, had too much on hand, just then, to see him.
At length, however, when the toilet was complete, and the glorious liberty from lessons began to swell our heroes' breasts, Heathcote's thoughts turned to Dick.
"Where's old Dick ?" said he to Coote; "did you see him at breakfast ?" "Yes; he was at the other table.

But I didn't see where he went afterwards." Heathcote didn't like it.

Dick had done him a bad turn yesterday over that levee business, and the least he could have done to-day would have been to find him out and make things jolly again.
But, instead of that, he had vanished, and left it to Heathcote to find him out.

"Go and see where he is," said he to Coote.
The meek Coote obeyed, and took a cursory trot round the School Fields in search of his leader.