"I see here," he said, "the name of Beckmesser McGillicuddy. The name is a promising one. Wagner ever desired the Celt to be represented in his scheme of the universe."
"Obliging of him," insinuated Mr. Tile of the Daily Bulge.
"Gentlemen, gentlemen," groaned poor Quelson; "think of the effect on the class if this spirit of irreverent repartee is maintained."
"Mr. Beckmesser McGillicuddy, will you please stand up?" requested Mr. Blink.
"Stand up, Gilly! Stand up Gilly, and show him what you are. Don't be afraid, Gilly! We will see you through," chanted the class with an amazing volume of tone and in lively rhythm.
The young man arose. He was 6 feet 8, with a 17 waist, and a 12-1/2 neck. Yet he looked intelligent. The class watched him eagerly, and the Missouri member, now thoroughly recovered, whistled the Fate-motif from Carmen, and McGillicuddy looked grateful.
"You wish to become a music critic, do you not?" inquired Mr. Blink, patronizingly.
"What do you think I'm here for?" asked the student, in firm, cool tones.
"Tell me, then, did Wagner ever wear paper collars?"
"Celluloid," was the quick answer, and the class cheered. Mr. Quelson looked unhappy, and Tile sneered in a minor but audible key.