“As far as you are concerned! What on earth are you talking about?” exclaimed the other.
“I want to confess to the doctor that I went those two times,” said the boy. “I wouldn’t mention your name or Gilk’s. I only want to tell him about myself.”
“Have you gone mad, or what?” cried Silk, utterly perplexed, as Gilks had been, to understand the boy’s meaning.
Wyndham explained to him as best he could how the matter stood. How Riddell appeared to have discovered his delinquencies, and was resolved to report him. Of the certain result of such an exposure, and of the one hope he had, by voluntarily confessing all to the doctor, of averting his expulsion.
Silk listened to it all with a sneer, and when it was done, replied, “And you mean to say you’ve got the impudence to come to me to help to get you out of a scrape?”
“Please, Silk,” said the boy, “I would be so grateful.”
“Bah!” snarled Silk, “have you forgotten, then, the nice row you kicked up in my study a week ago? and the way you’ve treated me all this term? because if you have, I haven’t.”
“I know it’s a lot to ask,” pleaded the boy.
“It’s a precious lot too much,” said Silk; “and no one who hadn’t got your cheek would do it!”
And he took up his paper and pencil again, and turned his back on the boy.