“He was the ‘Shakespeare of novelists.’”
“King won’t stand that. He says there’s only one Shakespeare. ’Mustn’t rot about Shakespeare to King,” Howell objected.
“An’ he was ‘always delighted with his own works,’” Beetle continued.
“Like you,” Stalky pointed out.
“Shut up. Oh yes, an’——” he consulted some hieroglyphics on a scrap of paper—“the—the impassioned Diderot (dunno who he was) broke forth: ‘O Richardson, thou singular genius!’”
Howell and Stalky rose together, each clamouring that he had bagged that first.
“I must have it!” Howell shouted. “King’s never seen me breakin’ forth with the impassioned Diderot. He’s got to! Give me Diderot, you impassioned hound!”
“Don’t upset the table. There’s tons more. An’ his genius was ‘fertile and prodigal.’”
“All right! I don’t mind bein’ ‘fertile and prodigal’ for a change,” Stalky volunteered. “King’s going to enjoy this exam. If he was the Army Prelim. chap we’d score.”
“The Prelim. questions will be pretty much like King’s stuff,” Beetle assured them.