“I wish you’d look after him now and then, Riddell,” he said; “he’s not a bad fellow, I fancy, but he’s not got quite enough ballast on board, and unless there’s some one to look after him he’s very likely to get into bad hands.”
Riddell promised he would do his best, and the elder brother was most grateful.
“I shall be ever so much easier now,” he said, “and it’s awfully good of you, Riddell. I wouldn’t care for the young ’un to go wrong, you know. Thanks very much, old man.”
And so it came to pass that among the legacies which the old captain left behind him at Willoughby, the one which fell to Riddell was a young brother, slightly rickety in character and short of ballast.
A parting request like Wyndham’s would have been very hard for any friend to refuse; but to Riddell the promise “to look after young Wyndham” meant a great deal more than it would have done to many other fellows. It was not enough for him to make occasional inquiries as to his young protégé, or even to try to shield him when he fell into scrapes. Riddell’s idea of looking after a rickety youngster included a good deal more than this, and from the moment the old captain had left, amid all his own tribulations and adversities, the thought of young Wyndham had saddled itself on Riddell’s conscience with an uncomfortable weight.
This was the reason why he made the boy free of his study, and gave up a good deal of his own time in helping him with his work. And it was the same reason which prompted him on the afternoon spoken of in the last chapter, much against his inclination, to accost the three truants in Shellport, and request Wyndham to come to his study.
“You’re in for a nice sermon, my boy,” said Gilks, as the three walked home.
“I wish he hadn’t seen us,” said Wyndham, feeling uncomfortable.
“Why, you don’t suppose he’ll lick you?” said Silk, laughing.
“No, but he’ll be awfully vexed.”