“All right. Dig, I say, pass the word down to those fellows to fill up their mugs, do you hear? And fill up Sherriff's sister’s mug too, and all those girls’ down there. Look out now, and keep your eye on me.”
Whereupon he rose and made a little speech, partially audible to those immediately round him, but supremely inaudible to the two parties specially concerned behind.
“We’re going to drink a toast,” said Arthur. “I vote we drink the health of jolly old Marky and my sister Daisy; there they are behind, going the pace like a house on fire. Gentlemen and ladies, I vote we drink their very good health, and the sooner Daisy’s the dame of Railsford’s the better larks for us.”
The toast was honoured with much enthusiasm; and there were loud cries for a speech in return. But the Master of the Shell was making speeches of quite another kind, and utterly unconscious of the flattering little demonstration which was taking place behind him; he was telling Daisy in whispers the story of the term, and feeling himself rewarded for all he had gone through by her sympathetic smile.
The dinner ended at last, and but one more ceremony remained. This was the time-honoured cheering with which speech-day at Grandcourt always came to an end.
Smedley and the prefects walked in procession to the head table and ranged themselves behind the head governor’s chair, while everyone stood up.
“Three cheers for Grandcourt!” called the captain.
And you may fancy the earthquake that ensued.
Then in regular order followed—
“Three cheers for the doctor!”