"It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience.

Now, my conscience is easy, and so I do not feel----We-e-e-ow! Murder! I'm stabbed! I'm killed! We-e-ow!" Professor Jenks shot into the air with such suddenness and vigor that he thumped his head against the low ceiling, which seemed to fling him back upon the sofa, and Frank promptly gave him a second dose of hatpin.
"Wo-o-ouch!" squealed the tall professor, bounding up again, and dancing wildly round the room, with his hands concealed beneath the tails of his coat.

"That sofa is filled with broadswords and bayonets! It is stuffed with deadly weapons!" Professor Scotch literally roared with laughter.
"Oh, there's nothing the matter with the sofa!" he laughed.

"Just go right back and sit down there.

Ha! ha! ha! It is ever the wicked man who feels the pricks of conscience.