"You were late again this morning," said Mr. Seymour, after dinner.

"Yes, sir. I overslebbed myselb, sir," replied Chapple, who was
suffering from a cold in the head.

"Two hundred lines."

"Yes, sir."

Things had now become serious. It was no good going to Brodie again
for counsel. Brodie had done for himself, proved himself a fraud, an
idiot. In fine, a rotter. He must try somebody else. Happy thought.
Spenlow. It was a cold day, when Spenlow got left behind. He would
know what to do. _There_ was a chap for you, if you liked! Young,
mind you, but what a brain! Colossal!

"What _I_ should do," said Spenlow, "is this. I should put my
watch on half an hour."

"What 'ud be the good of that?"

"Why, don't you see? You'd wake up and find it was ten to eight, say,
by your watch, so you'd shove on the pace dressing, and nip
downstairs, and then find that you'd really got tons of time. What
price that?"

"But I should remember I'd put my watch on," objected Chapple.

"Oh, no, probably not. You'd be half asleep, and you'd shoot out of