He got confirmed last week, you know, and that's bound to go down with Winter." "Winter's pretty well bound to favour Morris, I fancy, though he's not pious," says Pledge.

"There are three young Morrises growing up, you know." Wrangham laughs languidly.
"Nice rotten state the school's in," says he.

"Thank goodness, it doesn't matter much to me; but I've once or twice thought of joining the saints, just to save trouble." "Ha, ha! I'd come and look at you, old man.

Fancy you and Mansfield looking over the same hymn-book, and turning up your eyes." "But," says Heathcote, who has been drinking in all the talk in a bewildered way, and venturing now, as he sometimes does, to join in it.
"But I always thought Mansfield was really good." His two hearers laugh till the boy blushes crimson, and wishes he had not made such an ass of himself.
"Rather," says Wrangham.

"He is one of the elect.