"Scarlet!"
"Carrot color!"
"Solferino!"
"Magenta!"
"Pea-green!"
"Sky-blue!"
"Brick-red!" (This last from Turner, who makes a bolt for a place above Bagshot, and can only be driven back and convinced of the inadequacy of his answer by liberal cuttings of ten to twenty marks.) Then, at last, Beach turns to Carey, at the far head of the class, and that gifted young gentleman drawls,—
"Fl-a-a-me color."
"Right!" says the master, whereupon half a dozen contestants from below spring to their feet, with indignation in their eyes:
"Well, what did I say, sir?"