There was another pause, this time a long one. Neither boy seemed inclined to return to the subject. Wyndham opened his books and made a pretence of beginning his work, and Riddell fidgeted with the papers before him. In the mind of the latter a hurried debate was going on.
“What had I better do? I might send him up to the doctor and perhaps get him expelled. It might be the best thing for him too, for if those two have got hold of him he’s sure to go wrong. I can’t do anything to keep him from them. And yet, I promised old Wynd—I must try; I might help to keep him straight. God help me!”
Is the reader astonished that the captain of a great public school should so far forget himself as to utter a secret prayer in his own study about such a matter as the correction of a young scapegrace? It was an unusual thing to do, certainly; and probably if Wyndham had known what was passing in the captain’s mind he would have thought more poorly of his brother’s friend than he did. But I am not quite sure, reader, whether Riddell was committing such an absurdity as some persons might think; or whether you or I, or any other fellow in a similar position, would be any the worse for forgetting ourselves in the same way. What do you think? It is worth thinking over, when you have time.
“God help me,” said Riddell to himself, and he felt his mind wonderfully cleared already as he said it.
Clearer, that is, as to what he ought to do, but still rather embarrassed as to how to do it. But he meant to try.
“I say, Wyndham,” he said, in his quiet way. “I want to ask your advice.”
“What about?” asked Wyndham, looking up in surprise. “About those fellows?”
“Not exactly. It’s more about myself,” said the captain.
“What about you?” asked Wyndham.
“Why, there’s a fellow in the school I’m awfully anxious to do some good to,” began Riddell.