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 enough for all practical purposes. So Stephen hauled down his colours and prepared to start. "Look sharp back," said Loman, "and don't let any one see you going out. Look here, you can get yourself some brandy-balls with this." Stephen was not philosopher enough to argue with himself why, if he had leave to go out, he ought to avoid being seen going out. He pocketed Loman's extra penny complacently, and giving one last longing look in the direction of the Fourth Junior, slipped quietly out of the school and made the best of his way down to Maltby.