"Please, Mr. Dater," he said with simulated regret, "I chose the same piece."
Delighted, he settled down, confident that the fortunate coincidence would at least postpone his appearance.
"Indeed," said Mr. Dater with a merciless smile, "isn't that extraordinary! Well, Hicks, try and lend it a new charm."
Hickey hesitated with a calculating glance at the already snickering class. Then forced to carry through the bravado, he climbed over the legs of his seat-mates and up to the platform, made Mr. Dater a deep bow, and gave the class a quick bob of his head, accompanied by a confidential wink from that eye which happened to be out of the master's scrutiny. He glanced down, shook the wrinkles from his trousers, buttoned his coat, shot his cuffs and assumed the recognised Websterian attitude. Twice he cleared his throat while the class waited expectantly for the eloquence that did not surge. Next he frowned, took one step forward and two back, sunk his hands in his trousers and searched for the missing sentences on the moulding that ran around the edge of the ceiling.
"Well, Hicks, what's wrong?" said the master with difficult seriousness. "Haven't learned it?"
"Oh, yes, sir," said Hickey with dignity.
"What's the matter then?"
"Please, sir," said Hickey, with innocent frankness, "I'm afraid I'm a little embarrassed."
The class guffawed loud and long. The idea of Hickey succumbing to such an emotion was irresistible. Shrimp Davis sobbed hysterically and gratefully.
Hickey alone remained solemn, grieved and misunderstood.