Just at that moment a third personage arrived on the scene. This was Simon, who approached, not noticing Wren, and crying out with his usual gush, “Hullo, Loman, I say. I saw Cripps to-day. He was asking after you. He says you’ve not been down since last Sat—Hullo, Wren!”
And here the poet caught sight of the captain.
“So you’ve been down to the Cockchafer, have you?” inquired Wren.
“Well. Oh, don’t tell, Wren, I say. I don’t often go. Ask Loman if I do. He’s always there, and could easily tell if I went. Do I go often, Loman? Besides, I’ve given it up now!”
“Quick work,” observed Wren, drily, “if you were down there this morning.”
“Well,” said Simon, shifting his ground slightly, “I didn’t think there could be any harm, as Loman goes. He’s a monitor. And then I don’t owe Cripps money, do I, Loman? Or play cards and bet, like you, do I? Oh, look here, Wren, do let us off this time. Don’t report me, there’s a good fellow. I promise I won’t do it again! Oh, I say, Loman, beg us off. I never let out on you—not even when you got—”
Wren, who had allowed this burst of eloquence to proceed thus far, here turned sharply on his heel, and left the two companions in wrong in possession of the field.
Next morning, when Loman got up, he found the following note on his table:
“Wraysford takes your place as monitor. The Doctor will be told you have ‘resigned.’—C.W.”
Loman crushed the paper angrily in his hand, and muttered a curse as he flung it into the fire. He felt little enough gratitude to Wren for describing him merely as resigned, and not, as was actually the case, dismissed. Yet, even in his wretchedness, there was an atom of relief in knowing that at least a shred of his good old name remained.