"I'm not sensible?"
"Not now."
"Then, if I am not sensible, I am unconscious, and, if I am unconscious, I am not responsible for what I do."
Moore with this justification made a sudden attempt to embrace Bessie, who, always prepared for such lawlessness, evaded his outstretched arms and retaliated by pricking him with her knife, a proceeding which resulted in the instant removal of the poet's person from her desk, accompanied by an ejaculation that sounded suspiciously like profanity.
"What did you say, Tom?" asked Bessie with a gurgle of satisfaction. For once she had the better of her resourceful admirer.
"You will have to guess that, Bessie," he remarked. "Do you think that is a nice way to treat a young man?"
"Oh, it was only a joke," said Bessie, quite unrepentant.
"Your jokes are too pointed," said Moore. "After this please refrain from any that are sharp enough to go clean through doe-skin breeches and I 'll thank you."
The door opened suddenly and Dicky, still resplendent in red shirt and golden curls, appeared, carrying a book. He halted on the threshold and looked inquiringly at his teacher.
"Egad, it's the cherub!" exclaimed Moore.