“So,” pursued Stephen, still more falteringly, “I thought I’d come up this afternoon.”
“Well, go on, can’t you?” said Oliver, losing his temper at the poor boy’s evident uneasiness.
“Cripps asked me into the cottage, and there were some fellows there, smoking and drinking and playing cards.”
“Was Loman one of them?” put in Wraysford.
“I think so,” said poor Stephen, who had evidently started his story in the hope of keeping Loman’s name quiet.
“Think so, you young cad!” cried Oliver. “Why can’t you tell the truth straight out? Was he there or not?”
“Yes, he was. I did mean to tell the truth, Noll, really, only—only there’s no need to get Loman in a row.”
“Go on,” said Oliver.
“They made fun of me because I wouldn’t smoke and play with them. You know I promised mother not to play cards, Noll. I didn’t mind that, though, but when I wanted to go away they—that is, Cripps—wouldn’t let me. I tried to get away, but he stopped me, and they said they’d make me play.”
“Who said? Did Loman?” inquired Oliver, again. “Why—yes,” said Stephen falteringly, “he and the rest. They held me down in a chair, and made me take hold of the cards, and one of them opened my mouth and shouted beastly words down into it—ugh!”