Now the president insisted, that eight o'clock being the established hour for "permitting to smoke" in _that_ room, he, as president of _that_ company, sitting there as he did, could not grant permission to smoke, since it was but just seven. And then arose the irritable little gentleman who talked so politely about "mangling" when Diggory spoilt the fowl. He really felt that he _must_ claim the indulgence of the company: but he would appeal to every gentleman in the room, and he, most conscientiously, felt that he _could_ safely and confidently appeal to them, and he was sure they would bear testimony that no one was more observant than himself of the rules of _that_ room, (and then there was a general "Hear, hear!" though Diggory, in spite of his timidity, could not forbear saying "Hem!")--and he would feel it beneath him to infringe on the necessary regulations for the preservation of comfort in good society; but yet,--but yet, on the present occasion,--feeling as they all did, that warmth of esteem, and union of sentiment and feeling, and--(we omit a page here)--he thought the president of that company might take it upon him to dispense with the peculiar rule relative to smoking on _that_ occasion. _Pro_ and _con_--the arguments were equally laborious, equally long, and equally senseless; and the president, being one of the oldest "gentlemen on the road," and though very bland in his nature, yet a stickler for custom, stuck to his point to the last, and was only worsted by the clock. Truly, Diggory Lawson, during the smoke discussion, was "the lad who felt like a fish out of water." Much more did he resemble the said unlucky fish when the smoking began, insomuch that he was compelled to seize an early opportunity of retiring to bed. Diggory Lawson completed his journey, but returned to London with a complete mental nausea of the cockney's plan for making him into a gentleman. Torn entirely from his beloved books, he was infinitely more miserable than when their only companionship subjected him to weariness. His mind hurried with anxiety, dissipated by the unintellectual nature of his engagement, annoyed and disgusted with the manners of those he was compelled to regard as the proper associates of his leisure, he wrote home to his father entreating permission to return. One paragraph will show the character of his letter:-- "Not a single thought or habit of my short life has prepared me for such an engagement as that procured me by your friend. It was misery enough to listen to the prattle of 'unidea'd girls,' as Dr. Johnson expressed himself on a similar occasion; but of all the tortures in the world, deliver me from the company of empty, conceit-blown mortals, who have such large notions of their own importance as these 'highly respectable commercial gentlemen.' I entreat your permission to return home, for I am 'like a fish out of water.'"