Lord Rawson was one of those young men who measure their own merit and felicity by the number of miles which their horses can go in a day; he undertook to drive his friend up from Marryborough to Westminster, a distance of forty miles, in five hours. The arrival of his lordship’s gig was a signal, for which several people were in waiting at Westminster school. The stage-coachman was impatiently waiting to demand his money from Holloway. Mr. Carat, the jeweller, was arrived, and eager to settle with Mr. Holloway about the lottery: he had brought the prizes in a small case, to be delivered, upon receiving from Holloway the money for all the tickets of which he had disposed. Dr. B. was waiting for the arrival of Mr. Holloway, as he had determined to collect all his pupils together, and to examine into the lottery business. Little Oliver was also watching for Holloway, to prevent mischief, and to assure him of forgiveness about the sweetmeats.
Lord Rawson’s dog-cart arrived. Holloway saw the stage-coachman as he alighted, and, abruptly turning from him, shook hands with little Oliver, saying, “You look as if you had been waiting for me.”
“Yes,” said Oliver: “but I can’t say what I want to say before every body.”
“I’ll wait upon you presently,” said Holloway, escaping from the coachman. As he crossed the hall, he descried Mr. Carat, and a crowd of boys surrounding him, crying, “Mr. Carat’s come—he has brought the prizes!—he has brought the prizes! he’ll show them all as soon as you’ve settled with him.” Holloway called to the Jew; but little Oliver insisted upon being heard first.
“You must hear me: I have something to say to you about the prizes—about the lottery.”
The words arrested Holloway’s attention: he followed Oliver; heard with surprise and consternation the history of the paper which had been found in the jar, by Dr. B. “I’ve done for myself, now, faith!” he exclaimed; “I suppose the doctor knows all about the hand I have in the lottery.”
“No,” replied Oliver, “he does not.”
“Why, you must have known it; and did not he question you and Howard?”
“Yes; but when we told him that we had nothing to do with it, he did not press us farther.”
“You are really a noble little fellow,” exclaimed Holloway, “to bear me no malice for the many ill turns I have done you: this last has fallen upon myself, as ill-luck would have it: but before we go any farther—your sweetmeats are safe in the press, in my room; I didn’t mean to steal them; only to plague you, child:—but you have your revenge now.”