“I wish I knew how. I see no chance whatever, unless—” and here a brilliant idea suddenly struck him—“unless I get the Nightingale. Of course; I say, Cripps, will you wait till September?”
“What! Three months! And how do you suppose I’m to find bread to eat till then?” exclaimed Mr Cripps.
“Oh, do!” said Loman. “I’m certain to be able to pay then. I forgot all about the Nightingale.”
“The Nightingale? It must be an uncommon spicy bird to fetch in thirty pound!”
“It’s not a bird,” said Loman, laughing; “it’s a scholarship.”
“A what?”
“A scholarship. I’m in for an exam, you know, and whoever’s first gets fifty-pounds a year for three years.”
“But suppose you ain’t first? what then?”
“Oh, but I’m sure to be. I’ve only got Fifth Form fellows against me, and I’m certain to beat them!”
“Well,” said Mr Cripps, “I don’t so much care about your nightingales and cock-sparrows and scholarships, and all them traps, but I’d like to oblige you.”