“I should like to know who can, if you can’t?” said Wyndham.
“I think we both know,” said Riddell, gravely.
The conversation ended here. For an hour and a half after that each boy was busy over his work, and neither spoke a word. Their thoughts may not all have been in the books before them; in fact it may safely be said they were not. But they were thoughts that did not require words. Only when Wyndham rose to go, and wished his friend good-night, Riddell indirectly referred to the subject of their talk.
“By the way, Wyndham, Isaacs has given up the school librarianship; I suppose you know. How would you like to take it?”
“What has a fellow got to do?” asked Wyndham.
“You have to issue the new books every Monday and collect the old ones every Saturday. There are about one hundred boys subscribe, and they order the new book when they give up the old, so it’s simple enough.”
“Takes a lot of time, doesn’t it?” said Wyndham.
“No, not very much, I believe. Isaacs shirked it a good deal, and you’d have to keep the lists rather better than he did. But I fancy you’d enjoy it rather; and,” he added, “it will be an excuse for seeing less of some not very nice friends.”
Wyndham said he would take the post, and went off happier in his own mind than he had been for a long time, and leaving Riddell happier too, despite all his failures and vexations elsewhere, than he had been since he became captain of Willoughby.
But, though happy, he could hardly be elated. His effort that evening had certainly been a success, but how long would its effects last?