I turned in despair to Hawkesbury.
“Please, Hawkesbury,” I said, “promise to say nothing about it at the office. I would be so grateful if you would.”
“Then,” said Hawkesbury, asking the same question as Doubleday had just asked, “it is true?”
I dared not say “Yes,” and to say “No” would, I knew, be useless.
“Oh, please don’t ask me,” I said, only “promise—do, Hawkesbury.”
Hawkesbury smiled most sweetly.
“Really,” he said, “one would think it was such a nice subject that a fellow would like to talk about it!”
“Then you won’t!” I cried, ready to jump at the least encouragement; “oh, thanks, Hawkesbury!”
This was the only comfort I could get. Crow laughed at me when I appealed to him; and the other fellows reminded me that as they had not the pleasure of knowing my pet gaol-bird they were afraid they couldn’t tell him what I had done, much as they would like.
Flanagan alone treated it seriously.