“Look out, you fellows! Hold on!”
This last remark was caused by a rush upon the devoted band, with a view to carry out the edict of the chairman.
Parson went on with his oration till he was secured, hand and foot, and carried forcibly to the door, and even then continued to address the house, struggling and kicking between every syllable. His backers, equally determined, clung on to the forms and desks, and continued to shout and scream and caterwaul till they were one by one ejected.
Even then they maintained their noble stand for freedom of speech by howling through the key-hole and kicking at the door, till finally a select band of volunteers was dispatched “to clear the approaches to the House” and drive the Skyrockets to their own distant studies, where they organised a few brawls on their own account, and ended the afternoon very hoarse, very tired, but by no means cast down.
“Jolly spree, wasn’t it?” said Parson, when it was all over, fanning himself with a copybook and readjusting his collar.
“Stunning!” said Telson; “never thought they’d stand it so long. No end of a speech, that of yours!”
“Yes,” said Parson, complacently; “most of it impromptu, too! Managed to spin it out, I fancy!”
“Rather,” said King, admiringly. “I began to make mine after you’d got kicked out, but couldn’t get out much of it.”
“Well, all I can say is it was a jolly lark. I feel quite hungry after it,” said Telson. “Any of that jam left, old man?”
And so these heroes appropriately celebrated their glorious field-day with a no less glorious banquet, which amply compensated for all the little inconveniences they had had to endure in the course of the afternoon’s entertainment.