Then up rose Lady Lamerton in great agitation.
“That girl is intolerable. She shall not have a ticket for good conduct to-day. I will go—no, you run, Joan Ball, and make her return. I will have a proper school-room built. This shall not occur again.”
Then Captain Tubb rose to his full height, stood on a stool, put his mouth to the orifice in the plank, placed his hands about his mouth and roared through the hole: “Her ladyship saith Come down.”
Presently with unabashed self-satisfaction Polly Woodley reappeared.
“When I send you on an errand,” said Lady Lamerton severely, “deliver it as given. I am much displeased.”
“Yes, my lady, thank you,” answered Polly with cheerful face, and resumed her seat in class.
“Now boys,” said Captain Tubb to his class, which was composed of the senior male scholars, including Tom Metters, the rascal who had put the inscriptions in the mouths of Moses and Aaron. “Now boys, attention. The cradle and Polly Woodley are nothing to you. We will proceed with what we were about.”
“Please, sir,” said Tom Metters, thrusting forth his hand as a semaphore, “what do Quinquagesima, Septuagesima and the lot of they rummy names mean?”
“Rummy,” reproved Captain Tubb, “is an improper term to employ. Say, remarkable. Quinquagesima”—he stroked his moustache, then brightened—“it is the name of a Sunday.”
“I know, sir, but why is it so called?”