While this was at its height, Tom stooped behind my chair, and whispered gently-- "This is good--isn't it, eh ?--life in a boarding-house--quite new to you; but they are civilized now compared to what you'll find them in the drawing-room.

When short whist for five-penny points sets in--then Greek meets Greek, and we'll have it." During all this melee tournament, I perceived that the worthy jib as he would be called in the parlance of Trinity, Mr.Cudmore, remained perfectly silent, and apparently terrified.

The noise, the din of voices, and the laughing, so completely addled him, that he was like one in a very horrid dream.

The attention with which I had observed him, having been remarked by my friend O'Flaherty, he informed me that the scholar, as he was called there, was then under a kind of cloud--an adventure which occurred only two nights before, being too fresh in his memory to permit him enjoying himself even to the limited extent it had been his wont to do.

As illustrative, not only of Mr.Cudmore, but the life I have been speaking of, I may as well relate it.
Soon after Mr.Cudmore's enlistment under the banners of the Clanfrizzle, he had sought and found an asylum in the drawing-room of the establishment, which promised, from its geographical relations, to expose him less to the molestations of conversation than most other parts of the room.