And they dropped him; and he's falling yet." "I don't believe that sort of a man ever would do that sort of thing," repeated Plank obstinately, his Delft-blue eyes partly closing, so that all the Dutch shrewdness and stubbornness in his face disturbed its highly coloured placidity.

And he walked away toward the wash-room to cleanse his ponderous pink hands of chalk-dust.
"That's what's the matter with Plank," observed O'Hara to Fleetwood as Plank disappeared.

"It isn't that he's a bounder; but he doesn't know things; he doesn't know enough, for instance, to wait until he's a member of a club before he criticises the judgment of its governors.

Yet you can't help tolerating the fellow.

I think I'll write a letter for him, or put down my name.