“I know of a good game,” said the elder Wrotsley innocently. “The fellows leave the room and think of a word; then they come back again, and the girls have to find out what the word is.”
Rollo knew the game. He would have
suggested it himself if his faction had been in the majority.
“It doesn’t promise to be very exciting,” sniffed the superior Dolores Sneep as the boys filed out of the room. Rollo thought differently. He trusted to Providence that Wrotsley had nothing worse than knotted handkerchiefs at his disposal.
The word-choosers locked themselves in the library to ensure that their deliberations should not be interrupted. Providence turned out to be not even decently neutral; on a rack on the library wall were a dog-whip and a whalebone riding-switch. Rollo thought it criminal negligence to leave such weapons of precision lying about. He was given a choice of evils, and chose the dog-whip; the next minute or so he spent in wondering how he could have made such a stupid selection. Then they went back to the languidly expectant females.
“The word’s ‘camel,’” announced the Wrotsley cousin blunderingly.
“You stupid!” screamed the girls, “we’ve got to guess the word. Now you’ll have to go back and think of another.”
“Not for worlds,” said Rollo; “I mean, the word isn’t really camel; we were rotting.
Pretend it’s dromedary!” he whispered to the others.
“I heard them say ‘dromedary’! I heard them. I don’t care what you say; I heard them,” squealed the odious Dolores. “With ears as long as hers one would hear anything,” thought Rollo savagely.