"One hundred lines, Fletcher."
"Really, sir——"
"One hundred and fifty lines, Fletcher."
Fletcher collapsed. Next morning a magnificent blue envelope, sealed at every corner, arrived at Mr. Trundle's house. It contained a vast quantity of blank paper.
"But, sir, I really thought I put in the lines. Hunter, you swine, that is your fault. Sir, I believe Hunter stole them. He had a big imposition for the Chief. You dirty dog, Hunter. May I kick him, sir?"
"No; sit down, Fletcher."
The lines were never done.
One day Collins was put on to construe. Of course he had made no attempt to prepare it. This was at once evident.
"Collins, have you prepared this?"
"No, sir."