CHAPTER THIRTY THREE. A STARTLING DISCOVERY. It is now time to return to Loman, whom we left two chapters ago, with his usual luck, standing in Greenfield's study with the 8 pounds in his hand which was finally to clear him of all his troubles, set him once for all on his feet again, and take such a weight off his mind as ought to leave him the lightest-hearted boy in all Saint Dominic's. He stood there for a minute or two after Oliver and Wraysford had left the room, too bewildered to collect his thoughts or realise one-half of his good fortune, for he had come to Oliver in his extremity as a desperate chance, fully expecting an angry rebuff--or, at best, a chilling snub. But to get through the interview like this, and find the money in his hand within three minutes of his entering the room--why, it quite took his breath away. Oliver Greenfield _was_ a queer, unaccountable fellow, and no mistake! Yet, strange to say, when Loman did come to himself he did not burst out into a rapture of delight and gratitude. On the contrary, he suddenly felt himself growing to such a pitch of misery and low spirits as even in the worst of his troubles he had never experienced. He repented bitterly of ever bringing himself to come and ask such a favour of his worst enemy, and, stranger than all, he felt his dislike for Greenfield increased rather than swept away by this abrupt, startling piece of generosity. Strange the whims that seize us! Loman would almost have been happier in his old suspense about Cripps than to feel he owed such a debt to such a creditor. However, the thought of Cripps, his other creditor, flashed suddenly through his mind at that moment, so, closing his hand over the money, he turned moodily and left the room. At any rate, he would get clear of Cripps now he had the chance. As soon as ever morning school was over he took his hat and traversed once more the familiar road between Saint Dominic's and the Cockchafer. "Is Cripps at home?" he inquired of the potboy. "Yas," said the boy. "Who wants him?" "I do, you young blockhead!" "You do? Oh, all right! I'll tell him, mister. Don't you collar no mugs while I'm gone, mind!" The very potboys despised and ridiculed him! Loman waited patiently for a quarter of an hour, when the boy returned. "Oh!" said he, "the governor can't see you, he says. He's a-smoking his pipe, he says, and he ain't a-goin' to put himself about, he says, for the likes of you. That's what he says! Ti ridde tol rol ro!" and here the youth indulged in a spitefully cheerful carol as he resumed the polishing of the mugs. "Look here!" said Loman, miserable and half frightened, "tell him I _must_ see him; I've got some money for him, tell him." "No! have you?" said the boy. "Well, wait till I've done this here job--I'm dead on this here job, I am! You can keep, you can."