“Come, come, Edwards, you are ill and weak, and exciting yourself too much. We will talk about this another time.”
“No, no, now; I must speak; it is killing me.”
And then he rapidly told the whole story; how Saurin and he had gambled and lost, and the peril they had brought themselves into; and how Saurin had gone that fatal Saturday afternoon to try and borrow money of Gould—all he knew, in short.
“Saurin!” said Crawley, when he had heard all. “I never thought very much of him, but I had no idea he was so bad as that. But don’t you fret, Edwards; you were put in a very queer position, and nobody could say what he would do if he suddenly found it his duty to denounce an intimate friend for a crime which was committed to get out of a scrape in which he himself was implicated. It would be an awful hole to be in! How far have you told me all this in confidence?”
“I leave that quite to you. I do not ask to be spared myself, but if you could be cleared and satisfied without Saurin being publicly tried and sent to prison, I should be very grateful.”
“All right! I think I can manage that. And now, don’t you bother yourself; you shall not get into any row, that I promise.”
“Oh, Crawley, what a good fellow you are!” cried Edwards. “I wish I had got killed, instead of only breaking a couple of ribs!”
“And let me in for being tried for manslaughter!” exclaimed Crawley, laughing. “Thank you for nothing, my boy.”
Crawley made up his mind that night what he would do. The next morning he asked Robarts, Buller, and Smith, alias “Old Algebra,” to come to his room when they came out of school at twelve. Then he made the same request of Gould, who looked surprised and flustered.
“You will condescend to speak to me at last, then?” he said, sulkily.