"I second that," said Rogers. "He has long hair. Poets always have. Milton had."
"That bit is side," said the chairman, judicially. "Those who are in favour of Sharpe doing the poetry hold—Carried, nem. con."
"Nem. con. is side too, Grim," said Rogers.
"Shut up, you mule! Sharpe, you'll have to do the poem."
"I say, you fellows, it will be horse work," said Sharpe, disconsolately. "There isn't a rhyme to Biffen's."
"Oh! isn't there? What about 'spiffing'?"
Sharpe choked.
"Griffin."
"Tiffin."
Lamb squeaked out "stiff 'un," and some one gently led him out—even Biffen's fags caved in at that.