Then Wardlaw came sorrowfully to Penfold, and said to him, "I must have been awfully cut, for I don't remember all that; I had been wining at Christchurch.

I do remember slanging the fellows, but how can I tell what I said?
I say, old fellow, it will be a bad job for me if they expel me, or even rusticate me; my father will never forgive me; I shall be his clerk, but never his partner; and then he will find out what a lot I owe down here.

I'm done for! I'm done for!" Penfold uttered not a word, but grasped his hand, and went off to the president, and said his pupil had wined at Christchurch, and could not be expected to remember minutely.

Mimicry was, unfortunately, a habit with him.

He then pleaded for the milder construction with such zeal and eloquence that the high-minded scholar he was addressing admitted that construction was _possible,_ and therefore must be received.