Was it peace, or war, or what? Loman’s miserable face and strange manner quickly answered the question.
“Oh, Greenfield,” he said, “excuse me. I want to speak to you;” and here he glanced at Wraysford, who rose to go.
“Stay where you are, Wray,” said Oliver. “What is it, Loman?”
Loman, quite cowed, hardly knew how to go on.
“I was glad to hear you got the Waterston,” he said. “I—I thought you would.”
What was the fellow at?
After a long pause, which seemed to drive Loman almost to despair, he said, “You’ll wonder what I have come here for. I know we’ve not been friends. But—but, Greenfield, I’m in awful trouble.”
“What is it?” again asked Oliver.
“Why, the fact is,” said Loman, gaining courage, as he found neither Oliver nor Wraysford disposed to resent his visit—“the fact is, Greenfield, I’m in debt. I’ve been very foolish, you know, betting and all that. I say, Greenfield, could you possibly—would you lend me—eight pounds? I don’t know why I ask you, but unless I can pay the money to-day, I shall—”
“What!” exclaimed Oliver, “eight pounds to pay your bets?”