Silk sneered. “I’m under great obligations to you, I know,” he said.
“Well,” said Gilks, who winced visibly under the satire, “however could I help it? It wasn’t my fault, I tell you. I’m awfully sorry you lost on the race, but—”
“But you’d better look alive and do what I tell you,” said Silk, viciously.
It was curious, to say the least of it, that in so short a time the Welcher should have so completely got the upper hand of his confederate that the latter departed meekly without another word on his errand.
He found Wyndham, as he had expected, in the library, busy getting together the books for distribution next day.
“Hullo!” said Gilks, with a show of cordiality; “here you are again. You seem to live here.”
“No, I don’t,” said Wyndham, looking not very pleased to be interrupted; “but I always have to get ready an evening before the day, or the fellows kick up such a jolly row when they’re kept waiting.”
“How long shall you be?” asked Gilks.
“I don’t know. Why?” asked Wyndham.
“Only Silk wants to speak to you.”