"I'm the chairman," said Grim, in a wax, but with great relief. "Explain away, Fruity!"
"Oh, every first-class concert starts with one," he said vaguely.
"See now, Lamb?"
Lamb professed himself satisfied, but he did not appear absolutely blinded by the light either.
"Anyhow," said Wilson, "Fruity will see to that. I propose he does."
"I second it," said Lamb, viciously, whereupon Cherry kicked the seconder on the shins, for he did not exactly thirst for that honour. "I'm an ass," he said to himself; "but, anyhow, I'll look up what the blessed word does mean, and try to do it."
"I see," said Grim, "they've got a poem on 'Cock House' for number two. That seems all right, eh?"
"Oh yes; it's always done."
"Well, we'll have one too, eh? Who's got to do the poetry, though? Somebody propose somebody"—thereupon every fag proposed his chiefest enemy, and the battles raged along the line. "And you call yourselves gentlemen!" said Grim in disgust—he had been overlooked for the time being.
"I propose Sharpe," said Wilson, dusting himself. "He does no end swell construes from 'Ovid.'"