“Thank you, sir—and Septuagesima?”
“That,” answered the captain with great promptitude, “that is when the white ’un flowers.”
“But, sir, there’s another Sunday collick, Sexagesima. There’s no red or blue jessamine, be there?”
“Red, or blue!” The teacher looked hopelessly at Arminell, who with compressed lips observed him and shook her head.
“Sex—sex—sex,” repeated Mr. Tubb, with his mouth full of beard, “always means females. That means the female jessamine.”
“Be there any, sir? There’s a petticoat narcissus, and a lady’s smock, and a marygold, but I never heard of a she-jessamine.”
“There are none here,” answered Tubb, “but in the Holy Land—lots.”
“Really, Arminell,” said Lady Lamerton, “your class is doing nothing but play and disturb mine.”
“I am on the stool of the learner,” sneered the girl.
At that moment, through the ceiling, or rather boards above, dropped a black-handled kitchen fork within a hair’s breadth of Arminell’s head. She drew back, startled.