"If we had a queen at all, it should be Queen Elizabeth," said Mr. Churchward.
"Why?" asked Weekes.
"To walk along with Sir Francis Drake," answered the postmaster promptly. "That's sound history and sound sense."
"Don't have no queens," urged Mr. Prout. "Mark me, they'll spoil all with their giggling and nonsense."
"How be the heroes going to travel?" inquired Taverner. "For my part I think a hay-wain would be best. They'll get in a jakes of a mess if they go afoot down to Little Lydford. You know what the road is, even in dry weather."
"C[oe]teris paribus," answered Mr. Churchward thoughtfully.
"Very likely," admitted Taverner, "but, all the same, a hay-wain will be best."
Then it was that Jarratt Weekes allowed his gathering anger to bubble forth in a very acute explosion.
"Why the hell can't you talk English?" he asked the chairman. "I'm sick to death of your bumbling noise. Whenever you don't know what the deuce to answer a man, you fall back on some jargon, that may be Latin, or may be gibberish more likely. You don't know any more than us what your twaddle signifies; but you know we can't laugh at you, and so you're safe to pretend a lot of larning you haven't got. What does c[oe]teris paribus mean, anyway?—I ask you that afore this committee, and I will be answered!"
The chairman grew red and blew a heavy blast through his nostrils. Mr. Spry cried out "Shame—shame!"; Mr. Huggins was frightened.