“Only a grass eggar. Fama, fame; volat, flies; Idomoeea ducem, that Idomaeeus the leader; pulsum, expelled. Get out, I say, you foolish beggar” (to the moth).
“Never mind catching him,” said Bobus, “we’ve got dozens.”
“Yes, but I don’t want him frizzling alive in my candle.”
“Don’t kick up such a shindy,” broke out Johnny, as a much stained handkerchief came flapping about.
“You’ve blotted my sum. Thunder and ages!” as the candlestick toppled over, ink and all. “That is a go!”
“I say, Bobus, lend us your Guy Fawkes to pick up the pieces.”
“Not if I know it,” said Bobus. “You always smash things.”
“There’s a specimen of the way we learn our lessons,” said Caroline, in a low voice, still unseen, as Bobus wiped, sheathed, and pocketed his favourite pen, then proceeded to turn down the lamp, but allowed the others to relight their candle at the expiring wick.
“The results are fair,” said Mr. Ogilvie.
“I think of your carpet,” said Mary, quaintly.