But Loman must desert if he was to keep his appointment, and he managed the proceeding with his now characteristic untruthfulness; a practice he would have scorned only a few months ago. How easy the first wrong step! What a long weary road when one, with aching heart, attempts to retrace the way! And at present Loman had made no serious effort in that direction.
On the Friday morning, greatly to the astonishment of all his class-fellows, he appeared in his place with his arm in a sling.
“Hullo, Loman!” said Wren, the first whom he encountered, “what’s the row with you?”
“Sprained my wrist,” said Loman, to whom, alas!—so easy is the downward path when once entered on—a lie had become an easy thing to utter.
“How did you manage that?” exclaimed Callonby. “Mind you get it right by to-morrow, or we shall be in a fix.”
This little piece of flattery pleased Loman, who said, “I’m afraid I shan’t be able to play.”
“What! Who’s that won’t be able to play?” said Raleigh, coming up in unwonted excitement.
“Loman; he’s sprained his wrist.”
“Have you shown it to Dr Splints?” said Raleigh.
“No,” said Loman, beginning to feel uncomfortable. “It’s hardly bad enough for that.”