“Corpore’s feminine, isn’t it?” asked Coxhead.
“Common gender, I fancy,” said Purkis; “depends on who the chap is.”
“You mean if it was Sarah it would be feminine, and if it was one of us it would be masculine,” said Langrish.
This was a nasty one for me, but I held my ground.
“You’d better look it up in the dictionary,” said I.
This was diplomatic; for although I knew the motto was wrong I could not quite say what it should have been.
After much labour it was decided that corpore was neuter, and that the adjective in consequence must be sanum.
A resolution to that effect was proposed and seconded, but an amendment to the effect that as the document had gone out in the name of the president and every one knew it was his work, it was no business of the present company to help him out of the mess, was carried by a large majority.
With which delightful solution of the difficulty—delightful to every one but myself—we proceeded to the order of the day, which was to arrange the details of our picnic next half-holiday.
My colleagues remained obdurate on the question of revealing the place.