"Is it possible—is it possible?" said The Roman. "Have I lived to see it! Sit down, Mr. Lentz, sit down."
He sat silent a moment, his lips twitching, his eyebrows alternately jumping, gazing from the text to P. Lentz and back.
Stover, in the front row, was radiant.
"Gee, that's a stiff one for him to swallow!" he said, chuckling inwardly. "P. Lentz, of all muts!"
As luck would have it the next boy called up, not being from the Kennedy, flunked and somewhat restored The Roman's equanimity.
"Now he feels better," thought Dink. "Wait till the next jolt comes, though!"
"Lazelle," said The Roman.
The Gutter Pup rose, translated fluently and, with his eyes on Dink's admonitory ears, grappled with the gerund and threw the gerundive.
"Mead," said The Roman, now thoroughly alert.
Lovely, with a show of insouciance, bagged three gerunds and one gerundive.