“I don’t know, sir—but should think for some time.”
“What makes you think so?”
“Because,” replied Oliver—and there was no help for it—“because at the time I spoke to you about the scrape my young brother got into at the lock, last autumn, Loman was very thick with Cripps.”
“Indeed? That was just before the Nightingale examination, was it not?”
“Yes, sir,” said Oliver, beginning to feel the ground very uncomfortable all round. Here he was telling tales right and left, and no help for it. Surely the Doctor was carrying it a little too far.
“Do you suppose Loman was in debt at that time?”
“I have no idea,” replied the boy, wondering whatever that had to do with Loman’s disappearance now.
“You wonder why I ask this question,” said the Doctor, apparently reading the boy’s thoughts. “This letter will explain. I will read it to you, as you may be able to throw some light on it. I received it just now. It is from Cripps.”
“Hon. Sir,—I take the liberty of informing you that one of your young gents, which his name is Mister Loman, is a prig. He’s been a regular down at my shop this twelve month, and never paid a farthing for his liquor. More than that, he’s been a-drawing money from me up to thirty-five pounds, which I’ve got his promissory note due last Micklemas. He said he was a-going to get a Nightingale or something then that would pay it all off, and I was flat enough to believe him. If that ain’t enough, he’s a-been and played me nicely over a rod I sold him. I might have persecuted him over that job but I didn’t. He cracked it to rights, and then tries to pass it back on me for same as when he got it, and if I hadn’t a-been a bit sharper nor some folk I should have been clean done. This is to tell you I ain’t a-going to stand it no longer, and if I don’t get my money there’ll be a rumpus up at the school which won’t be pleasant for none of you. So the shortest cut is to send on the money sharp to your humble servant, Ben Cripps.
“P.S.—I’ve wrote and told the young swell I’ve put you on the job.”