“Really,” replied Traddles, laughing, and reddening, “I can’t wholly deny that I do, my dear Copperfield. For being in one of the back rows of the King’s Bench the other day, with a pen in my hand, the fancy came into my head to try how I had preserved that accomplishment. And I am afraid there’s a skeleton⁠—in a wig⁠—on the ledge of the desk.”

After we had both laughed heartily, Traddles wound up by looking with a smile at the fire, and saying, in his forgiving way, “Old Creakle!”

“I have a letter from that old⁠—Rascal here,” said I. For I never was less disposed to forgive him the way he used to batter Traddles, than when I saw Traddles so ready to forgive him himself.

“From Creakle the schoolmaster?” exclaimed Traddles. “No!”