“Oh, no, not all bets. I’ve been swindled too—by Cripps. You know Cripps.”
And here Loman, utterly miserable, threw himself down on a chair and looked beseechingly at the two friends.
“I could pay you back in a month or so,” he went on; “or at any rate before Easter. Do lend it me, please, Greenfield. I don’t know where else to go and ask, and I shall get into such an awful row if I can’t pay. Will you?”
Oliver looked at Wraysford; Wraysford looked at Oliver; and then both looked at Loman. The sight of the wretched boy there entreating money of the very fellow who had least reason in all Saint Dominic’s to like him, was strange indeed.
“Wray,” said Oliver, abruptly, after another pause, during which he had evidently made up his mind, “have you any money about you?”
“I’ve three pounds,” said Wraysford, taking out his purse.
Oliver went to his desk and took from it a five-pound note which was there, his savings for the last year. This, with Wraysford’s three sovereigns, he handed without a word to Loman. Then, not waiting to hear the thanks which the wretched boy tried to utter, he took Wraysford’s arm and walked out of the study.