nce profit him?

They were not shy of him, but Pen thought they were, and slunk from them
during his last terms at college. He was as gloomy as a death's-head at
parties, which he avoided of his own part, or to which his young friends
soon ceased to invite him. Everybody knew that Pendennis was "hard up."

At last came the Degree Examinations. Many a young man of his year, whose
hob-nailed shoes Pen had derided, and whose face or coat he had
caricatured, many a man whom he had treated with scorn in the
lecture-room or crushed with his eloquence in the debating club, many of
his own set who had not half his brains, but a little regularity and
constancy of occupation, took high places in the honours or passed within
decent credit. And where in the list was Pen, the superb; Pen, the wit
and dandy; Pen, the poet and orator? Ah, where was Pen, the widow's
darling and sole pride? Let us hide our heads and shut up the page. The
lists came out; and a dreadful rumour rushed through the University, that
Pendennis of Boniface was plucked.

During the latter part of Pen's university career the Major had become
very proud of Arthur on account of his high spirits, frank manners, and
high, gentleman-like bearing. He made more than one visit to Oxbridge and
had an almost paternal fondness for Pen, whom he bragged about at his
clubs, and introduced with pleasure into his conversation. He boasted
everywhere of the boy's great talents and of the brilliant degree he was
going to take as he wrote over and over again to Pen's mother, who for
her part was ready to believe anything that anybody chose to say in
favour of her son.

And all this pride and affection of uncle and mother had been trampled
down by Pen's wicked extravagance and idleness. I don't envy Pen's
feelings as he thought of what he had done. He had marred at its outset
what might have been a brilliant career. He had dipped ungenerously into
a generous mother's purse, and basely and recklessly spent her little
income. Poor Arthur Pendennis felt perfectly convinced that all England
would remark the absence of his name from the examination lists and talk
about his misfortune. His wounded tutor, his many duns, the
undergraduates--how could he bear to look any of them in the face now?
After receiving the news of his disgrace he rushed to his rooms and there
penned a letter to his tutor full of thanks, regards, remorse and
despair, requesting that his name might be taken off the