ly Anthony had put a great deal of venom into his pen. Still,
by taking all the poison and none of the humour to himself Loman made a
great mistake, and displayed a most unfortunate amount of weakness.

He shut himself up in his study in a fume; he boxed Stephen's ears for
nothing at all, and would see no one for the rest of the evening. He
knew well he could not have given his enemies a greater crow over him
than such conduct, and yet he could not command his vanity to act
otherwise.

But that evening, just before tea-time, something happened which gave
Loman more to think about than the _Dominican_. A letter marked
"Immediate" came to him by the post. It was from Cripps, to say that,
after all, Sir Patrick _had_ won the Derby!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

COMPANY AT THE COCKCHAFER.

Cripps's letter was as follows:

"Hon. Sir,--This comes hoping you are well. You may like to know Sir
Patrick won. The tip was all out. Honourable Sir,--My friend would
like his ten pounds sharp, as he's a poor man. Please call in on
Saturday afternoon. Your very humble servant, Ben Cripps."

This letter was startling enough to drive fifty _Dominicans_ out of
Loman's head, and for a long time he could hardly realise how bad the
news it contained was.

He had reckoned to a dead certainty on winning the bet which Cripps had
advised him to make with his friend. Not that Loman knew anything about
racing matters, but Cripps had been so confident, and it seemed so safe
to bet against this one particular horse, that the idea of events
turning out otherwise had never once entered his head.

He went to the door and shouted for Stephen, who presently appeared with
a paper dart in his hand.

"Greenfield," said Loman, "cut down at once to Maltby and bring me a
newspaper."

Stephen stared.

"I've got my lessons to do," he said.

"Leave them here, I'll do them," replied Loman; "look sharp."

Still Stephen hesitated.

"We aren't allowed out after seven without leave," he faltered, longing
to get back to the war preparations in the Fourth Junior.

"I know that, and I give you leave--there!" said Loman, with all the
monitorial dignity he could assume. This quite disarmed Stephen. Of
course a monitor could do no wrong, and it was no use objecting on that
score.

Still he was fain to find some other excuse.

"I say, will it do in the morning?" he began.

Loman's only reply was a book shied at his fag's head--quite explicit
en