Wyndham, feeling far more uncomfortable at this civility than he had done at Gilk’s roughness, sat down.
“Nice weather,” said Silk, mockingly, after the pause had lasted some little time.
“I want to ask you a favour—a great favour,” said Wyndham, feeling that a beginning must be made.
“Very kind of you,” replied Silk, going on with his sums, and whistling softly to himself.
Wyndham did not feel encouraged. He had half a mind to back out of the venture even now, but desperation urged him on.
“You know I promised you never to say a word about Beamish’s,” he faltered, at length.
“So you did,” replied Silk, drily.
“Would you mind letting me off that promise?”
“What?” exclaimed Silk, putting down his paper and pencil and staring at the boy.
“I mean only as far as I’m concerned,” said Wyndham, hurriedly, trying to avert a storm.