udmore to dig among Greek roots,
and chew over the cud of his misfortune. Punctual to the time and place,
that same evening beheld the injured Cudmore resume his wonted corner,
pretty much with the feeling with which a forlorn hope stands match in
hand to ignite the train destined to explode with ruin to thousands
--himself perhaps amongst the number: there he sat with a brain as
burning, and a heart as excited, as though, instead of sipping his bohea
beside a sea-coal fire, he was that instant trembling beneath the frown
of Dr. Elrington, for the blunders in his Latin theme, and what terror
to the mind of a "Jib" can equal that one?

As luck would have it, this was a company night in the boarding-house.
Various young ladies in long blue sashes, and very broad ribbon sandals,
paraded the rooms, chatting gaily with very distinguished looking young
gentlemen, with gold brooches, and party-coloured inside waistcoats;
sundry elderly ladies sat at card-tables, discussing the "lost honour by
an odd trick they played," with heads as large as those of Jack or Jill
in the pantomime; spruce clerks in public offices, (whose vocation the
expansive tendency of the right ear, from long pen-carrying, betokened)
discussed fashion, "and the musical glasses" to some very over-dressed
married ladies, who preferred flirting to five-and-ten. The tea-table,
over which the amiable hostess presided, had also its standing votaries:
mostly grave parliamentary-looking gentlemen, with powdered heads,
and very long-waisted black coats, among whom the Sir Oracle was a
functionary of his Majesty's High Court of Chancery, though I have reason
to believe, not, Lord Manners: meanwhile, in all parts of the room might
be seen Blue Peter, distributing tea, coffee, and biscuit, and
occasionally interchanging a joke with the dwellers in the house. While
all these pleasing occupations proceeded, the hour of Cudmore's trial was
approaching. The tea-pot which had stood the attack of fourteen cups
without flinching, at last began to fail, and discovered to the prying
eyes of Mrs. Clanfrizzle, nothing but an olive-coloured deposit of soft
matter, closely analogous in appearance and chemical property to the
residuary precipitate in a drained fish-pond; she put down the lid with
a gentle sigh and turning towards the fire bestowed one of her very
blandest and most captivating looks on Mr. Cudmore, saying--as plainly
as looks could say--"Cudmore, you're wanting."