For when literature had to be judged, who could be so grim a critic as this usually lenient toper?
He could forgive much, could Pym.

You had run away without paying your rent, was it?
Well, well, come in and have a drink.

Broken your wife's heart, have you?
Poor chap, but you will soon get over it.

But if it was a split infinitive, "Go to the devil, sir." "Into a cocked hat," was the verdict of Pym, meaning thereby that thus did Tommy's second work beat his first.

Tommy broke down and wept.
Presently Pym waxed sentimental and confided to Tommy that he, too, had once loved in vain.