I think my face must have turned the reddest that anger can paint faces; for now, at any rate, I had no doubts as to how I had been made game of in the private car. Yes, they had mocked me. The impudent young man had manufactured absurd spelling for my serious attention, and he and Miss Appleby had then made merry together over it, and over myself. But before I could frame a fitting rebuke to the frivolous though lovely young woman beside me, a distracting hubbub of voices was set up, and through this I heard Kibosh calling:—
"On your blackboards, gentlemen, on your blackboards."
Professor Dudelsacker.
The convention gradually heard him, too, and scholar after scholar bounded from his chair, seized a piece of chalk, and began to write. Only one was left, who stood at his place, pouring forth the most execrable sounds I have ever heard.
"Professor Dudelsacker has the floor," said Kibosh.
"Burrmeowskreeyiyiwurrburrwowwowmeow," went the professor.
"Turn that Central Pennsylvania Dutch quacker out!" shouted some one.