“Do all you can to help him and hold him back. It would be a pity for him to suffer through being rash. They might treat it all as a boy’s nonsense— No, it would mean disgrace. Keep him from it if you can.”
“I, father! He is so much older than I am, and I looked up to him.”
“Proof of what I said, Frank,” cried Sir Robert, clapping his son upon the shoulder. “He is a bright, showy lad; but you carry more ballast than he. Brag’s a good dog, you know, but Holdfast’s a better. Now, then, I think you ought to be going back. Good-bye, my boy. I look to you to be your mother’s protector more and more. Perhaps in the future I may be absent. But you must go now, for I have an important letter to write. My dear love to your mother, and come to me again whenever you have a chance.”
Sir Robert went down to the garden door with his son, and let him out that way into the Park.
“Mind,” he said at parting. “Keep away from political mobs.”
“I will,” said Frank to himself, as he turned back. “Well, it will be all right going with Drew this afternoon, as it is only to feed the ducks.”