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Updated: June 6, 2025
''Myes, I suppose you are right, Mrs Tresize assented with a little sigh, and forthwith shifted the conversation. 'But taste your brandy, please, and tell me how you like it though, to be sure, it won't compare with Squire Peneluna's. It was, nevertheless, good sound brandy, genuine juice of the grape, soft and well-matured. The doctor after a sip nodded his approval.
"My good lunatic," said Clowes, "don't you think you've done almost enough for one term?" "Well, 'myes," replied O'Hara thoughtfully, "perhaps we have, I suppose." The term wore on. Donaldson's won the final house-match by a matter of twenty-six points. It was, as they had expected, one of the easiest games they had had to play in the competition.
He seemed impressed by my eloquence. Couldn't have helped himself, of course. The fire faded from behind his horn-rimmed spectacles, and in its place appeared the old fish-like goggle. "Myes," he said meditatively. "Have you ever made a speech, Bertie?" "Dozens of times. It's pie. Nothing to it. Why, I once addressed a girls' school." "You weren't nervous?" "Not a bit." "How did you go?"
"Ah! H'm! Just so. 'Myes. Ah." "Is it bad?" asked Drummond, awed by these mystic utterances. "My dear boy," replied the doctor, breezily, "it is always bad when one twists one's ankle." "How long will it do me out of footer?" asked Barry. "How long? How long? How long? Why, fortnight. Fortnight," said the doctor. "Then I shan't be able to play next Saturday?" "Next Saturday? Next Saturday?
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