"Oh! So that is the reason for the letter you received just now?"
Jack nodded his head and flushed.
"Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Cyril, aghast. "Let me hear the whole business," he continued. "I can't lend you the money, but I may be able to suggest something."
It was the same old story of betting and cards. Cyril had heard it all before, in the same stumbling phraseology of contrition. "And the brute gives me only three days—three days, or he will write to the governor," concluded Jack, turning suddenly savage.
"Then forestall him," replied Cyril, "for as far as I can see there is no remedy but to ask your father to help you out of the mire once more."
"Ask the governor? You can just bet I sha'n't do that," said Jack, sullenly. He thrust his hands deep into his pockets and stared hard at the ground.
"Then, no money-lenders," replied Cyril. "It will only make bad worse. Come!" He caught Jack by the arm. "Make a clean breast of it to your father. He has much more than the sum you require in the house at present, and you may not find him so difficult as you imagine."
Jack started. More money than he required for his wants in the house! So near him! Oh, if he only had it! He shook his arm free with impatience.
"No, no, I sha'n't do that," said he.
"Very well," said Cyril. "But you will do nothing without consulting me? Is that understood?"