“Nor can I,” said Bullinger.
All this while Pembury had not spoken, but he now turned to Simon, and said, “What do you think, Simon? Did you see Greenfield stealing the examination paper this time, eh?”
“Oh, no, not this time,” promptly replied the poet; “last term it was, you know. I didn’t see him this time.”
“Oh, you didn’t even see him with it in his pocket? Now, be very careful. Are you sure he didn’t have it in his pocket a day before the exam?”
“Why,” said Simon, laughing at Pembury’s innocence, “how could I see what was in a fellow’s pocket, Pembury, you silly! I can’t tell what’s in your pocket.”
“Oh, can’t you? I thought you could, upon my honour. I thought you saw the paper in Greenfield’s pocket last term.”
“So I did. That is—”
Here the wretched poet was interrupted by a general laugh, in the midst of which he modestly retired to the background, and left the Fifth to solve the riddle in hand by themselves.
“Suppose,” began Pembury, after a pause—“suppose, when Braddy’s done playing the fool, if such a time ever comes—”
Here Braddy collapsed entirely. He would sooner be sat upon by Dr Senior himself than by Pembury.