“I wouldn’t say a word about it,” cried the boy, eagerly, “if only you’d let me off the promise!”
“And suppose I told you I consider the promise worth just double what you do?”
Wyndham’s face fell for a moment; he had not dared to write home about the loss of his last pocket-money, and saw very little chance of raising the wind for so large an amount again. Yet it seemed his only hope.
“Would that make it all right?” he asked.
“I might think about it,” said Silk, with a sweet smile—“under conditions.”
“I don’t know how I can manage it,” said Wyndham; “but I’ll try. And you won’t mind, then, my going to the doctor?”
“What! do you suppose I’m fool enough to let you do it before I have the money?” exclaimed Silk. “You must have a nice opinion of me!”
It was no use urging further; Wyndham saw he had got all he could hope for. It was little better than nothing, for before he could get the money—if he got it at all—the explosion might have come, and he would be expelled. If only Riddell, now, would wait a little longer!
As the thought crossed his mind he became aware that the captain was slowly approaching the bench on which he and Silk were sitting. It was anything but pleasant for the boy, after all that had happened, to be discovered thus, in close companionship with the very fellow he had promised to avoid, and whom he had all along acknowledged to be the cause of his troubles.
His instinct was to spring from his place and either escape or meet Riddell. But Silk saw the intention in time and forbade it.