“Just you wait till we’re out in the field, Jalap, and I’ll serve you out for this.”
“Burr junior,” said a rich, deep, unctuous voice, which seemed to roll through the school, and there was a dead silence.
“Here, you!—get up. Go on.”
“Burr junior!” came in a louder, deeper voice.
“He means you,” whispered my neighbour.
“Say Adsum,” whispered the tall, thin boy, and, on the impulse given, I repeated the Latin word feebly.
“Go up to him,” whispered my neighbour, and, pulling my legs out from between the form and the desk, I walked up through the centre opening between the two rows of desks, conscious of tittering and whispering, two or three words reaching my ears, such as “cane,” “pickle,” “catch it certain.”
Then, feeling hot and confused, I found myself on the daïs in front of the desk, where the Doctor was looking searchingly at me through his gold-rimmed spectacles. Then, turning himself round, he slowly and ponderously crossed one leg over the other, and waved his hand.
“Come to the side,” he said, and feeling more conscious up there on the daïs, I moved round, and he took my hand.
“I am glad to welcome you among us, Frank, to join in our curriculum of study, and I hope you will do us all credit. Er—rum! Let me see. Burr—Frank Burr. We have another Burr here, who has stuck among us for some years.”