“Fred, I say, he’s bolted!” he exclaimed, in an agitated voice, as I sat up and rubbed my eyes.
“Who—the kid?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“He’s a nice amiable young specimen,” replied I. “When did he go?”
“I don’t know. When I woke up he was gone.”
“Well, it’s a good riddance,” said I, who really did not see why Jack should be so afflicted about such a graceless young ragamuffin. “Do you know Mrs Nash has given us both warning over this business?”
“I don’t care. But, I say, I wonder if he’s hiding anywhere.”
“Not he. He’s safe away, depend upon it, and if Mrs Nash had had any silver spoons they’d be safe away too.”
Jack began to dress thoughtfully, and then said, “I’m sorry he’s gone.”
“I don’t see why you should be,” I said. “The ungrateful young cad! If it hadn’t been for you he might have been killed.”