UT--for
instance, VOS DAMNASTIS--when he sold the boys. QUASI--as though,
DICAT--he should say, PRETAEREA NEMO--I'm a Judas! All this
produced a great effect on Old Cheeseman. He had never had much
hair; but what he had, began to get thinner and thinner every day.
He grew paler and more worn; and sometimes of an evening he was seen
sitting at his desk with a precious long snuff to his candle, and
his hands before his face, crying. But no member of the Society
could pity him, even if he felt inclined, because the President said
it was Old Cheeseman's conscience.
So Old Cheeseman went on, and didn't he lead a miserable life! Of
course the Reverend turned up his nose at him, and of course SHE
did--because both of them always do that at all the masters--but he
suffered from the fellows most, and he suffered from them
constantly. He never told about it, that the Society could find
out; but he got no credit for that, because the President said it
was Old Cheeseman's cowardice.
He had only one friend in the world, and that one was almost as
powerless as he was, for it was only Jane. Jane was a sort of
wardrobe woman to our fellows, and took care of the boxes. She had
come at first, I believe, as a kind of apprentice--some of our
fellows say from a Charity, but I don't know--and after her time was
out, had stopped at so much a year.
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