“Oh, yes,” said Stephen, “I remember. I was in a regular blue funk that evening.”
“Well, the Doctor wasn’t there. I hung about a few minutes for him, and then, as he didn’t turn up, I left, and met that old booby just as I was coming out of the door.”
“And he’s gone and told everybody he saw you coming out with the paper in your pocket.”
Oliver laughed loud at this.
“Upon my word, the fellow must have sharp eyes if he could do that! Well, I was so disgusted when he came up after the examination, and began to insinuate that I knew all about the missing paper, that—Well, you know how I distinguished myself.”
“It would have served him right if you’d throttled him,” observed Wraysford. “But I say, Noll,” added he more gravely, “why on earth, old man, didn’t you say all this then? What a lot of unpleasantness it would have saved.”
“What!” exclaimed Oliver, suddenly firing up, “do you suppose, when the fellows all chose to believe that miserable idiot’s story, I was going to stir a finger or bother myself a snap about what they thought? Bah! I’m not angry now, Wray; but, upon my word, when I think of that time—”
“What a pack of curs we all were,” said Wraysford, almost as angry as his friend.
“Hear, hear!” put in Stephen, an observation which had the effect of making the whole thing ridiculous and so restoring both the friends to their composure.
“But, Noll, I say, old man,” said Wraysford, presently, “of course you didn’t intend it, but if you meant to make every one believe you did it, you couldn’t have gone on better than you did. I’m certain not half the fellows would have believed Simon if you hadn’t—”