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Updated: May 15, 2025
"He was let off with a caution," he said; "that's rather a different thing from having your character cleared, especially when our friend Fogey's on the bench. I was sorry for the lad, so I was." This was a great deal to come from the lips of a cast-iron individual like Mr Sniff, and it explained the state of the case forcibly enough to his two hearers.
I am going to buy him a pair of gloves, number fourteen and I want a tailor for him not a young man's tailor. Fogey's tailor rather. I'd take my father's; but he has all his things made in the country all in the borough, you know he's a public man." "Is Colonel Newcome, of the Bengal Cavalry, your uncle?" asks Sir Thomas de Boots.
It seemed to me not unlike the life that lay before him, with this new shame which could not be hid, and I shall never forget the look of misery in his face. "Most likely a great exaggeration of that spiteful old fogey's," I said. "Never believe anything that you hear, is a sound axiom. Had you not better try to get on board?" "Yes; and for heaven's sake come with me, Wharncliffe!" he said.
But he heeded none, longing oh! how intensely to hear his name called and to know the worst. Presently there was a bustle near the door, and he knew the case upstairs was at an end. "Six months," some one said. Some one else whistled softly. "Whew old Fogey's in one of his tantrums, then. He'd have only got three at Dark Street."
Lady Rockminster would have been very much surprised if any protegee of hers would not "do," and wondered at Lady Fogey's impudence in judging upon the point at all. She surveyed Laura with majestic glances through her eyeglass. She was pleased with the girl's artless looks, and gay innocent manner. Her manner is very good, her ladyship thought.
It is quite characteristic of our nation to arrive at a new art-form through this practical channel. But if you want a proof of the half-heartedness of our literary battles, turn to the "Fogey's" article on "The Young Men" in a recent Contemporary Review. What a chance for a much-needed onslaught on our minor prophets! It might have been "English bards and Scotch reviewers" over again.
Sweet tea miss Kennedy having poured with milk plugged both two ears with little fingers. No, don't, she cried. I won't listen, she cried. But Bloom? Miss Douce grunted in snuffy fogey's tone: For your what? says he. Miss Kennedy unplugged her ears to hear, to speak: but said, but prayed again: Don't let me think of him or I'll expire. The hideous old wretch!
Then some one called the name "Reginald," and the policeman near him said "Coming." Then, turning to the prisoner, he said, "Fogey's on the bench to-day, and he's particular. Look alive." Reginald found himself being hurried to the door through a lane of officials and others towards the stairs. "Your turn next, Grinder," he heard some one say as he passed. "Ten- minutes will do this case."
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