Silk looked at him in astonishment; then, relapsing into a smile, said, “Oh, indeed! a brute, am I?”
“Yes, you are!”
“And, let’s see; I forget what the little favour was you wanted the brute to do for you?”
“I want you to do no favour!” cried Wyndham, passionately.
“No? Not even to allow you to go to the doctor and tell him about Beamish’s?”
“No; not even that! I wouldn’t do it now. He may now find out what he likes.”
“It might interest him if I went and told him a few things about you?” said Silk.
“Go! as soon as you like—and tell him anything you like,” cried Wyndham. “I don’t care.”
“You wouldn’t even care to have back your three pound ten?”
“No,” said the boy, “not even if you ever thought of paying it back.”