"That was a lucky escape for everybody.

I was horrified." "Well, old Sar--I mean Jones iv.--" "I think he understands his nickname better than his real name," said my clever parent.
"Old Sarah," said Langrish, getting rapidly at his ease, "let us in for that.

You see (cake up, please), it was this way--" And he launched forth into an account of that famous adventure, into which the company one by one cut, at my expense, of course, and highly to the diversion of my mother.
Meanwhile the teapot was kept busy, and the jam went its rounds--some of it on to Coxhead's shirt-front--and by the end of it all the Philosophers found themselves comfortably at home.
"I say," said I, when a break came, "how's the club getting on?
Anything fresh ?" Langrish glanced round at my mother.
"I've got the minute-book," he said, "would she--" "Oh, do!" said she.

"Is it an account of your meetings?
I would like to hear it immensely.

Debating societies are such capital things, I think." "It's a bit down on Sarah, though," said the secretary, dubiously.
"Why, I wasn't there," said I.
"Weren't you?
that's all." "Let's hear it," said my mother, "I dare say he deserves it." I forgave the dear traitress for giving me away like this, for I felt sure the minutes would save our evening.
"You see," said Trimble, "we try to keep it fair, so it's down on some of the others too.