Undoubtedly, when he rose to speak, he had an idea in his head; but it had fled, and he could not at once recall it.

In vain he scratched his head, in vain he thrust his hands into his pockets, as if in search of the lost idea; it would not come.
"You were speaking of Tim Bunker," said Frank, suggestively.
"I was; and I was about to say that--that--" Some of the boys could no longer suppress their mirth, and, in spite of the vigorous pounding which the chairman bestowed upon the innocent table, in his attempts to preserve order, they had their laugh out.

But the pleasantry of the members, and a sense of the awkwardness of his position, roused Charles to a more vigorous effort, and as he was about to speak of another topic, the lost idea came like a flood of sunshine.
"'There's a Divinity that shapes our ends.' Tim Bunker has chosen the path he will tread, and does anybody suppose he will ever abandon it?
He will certainly die in the State Prison or on the gallows--my father says so.

We all know what his habits are, and it is as easy for an Ethiopian to change his _spots_--" "Skin," said Fred.
"To change his skin, as for such a fellow to be like us.

He will lie, swear,--" "The chair thinks the member's remarks are not strictly in order," interposed Frank, who was much pained to hear his friend use such violent language.
He saw that Charles was smarting under the effects of the ridicule which his companions had cast upon him, and that, in his struggle to make a speech, and thus redeem himself from the obloquy of a failure, he had permitted his impulses to override his judgment.
"I forbear, then," continued the speaker.