“Suppose I resigned,” said I, feeling I must support my dignity.
“Resign away. We’ve got your subscription.”
“I don’t mean I shall,” said I; “but—”
“Shut up, and don’t disturb the committee meeting.”
“If I’m president, I suppose I’ve a right to speak.”
“Not till you’re asked.”
“All right,” said I, playing my trump card desperately. “When you do ask me what’s wrong with the grammar of your Latin motto, I sha’n’t tell you. Ha, ha!—corpore sanae. You should hear the fellows yell.”
The effect of this announcement was electrical, Langrish turned white, and Trimble turned red. The others bit their nails in silence. It was a season of delicious triumph to me. I was master of the situation for once, and resolved to remain so as long as possible.
“Why, what’s wrong with it?” said Warminster, presently.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” said I.