The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:
“Because every one of his carroms was a tick-it to the ball.”
“Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in Italy?” asked the Patriarch.
Here again the Class failed.
“The war-cloud’s rolling Dun,” he answered.
“And what is mulled wine made with?”
Three or four voices exclaimed at once:
“Sizzle-y Madeira!”
Here a servant entered, and said, “Luncheon-time.” The old gentlemen, who have excellent appetites, dispersed at once, one of them politely asking us if we would not stop and have a bit of bread and a little mite of cheese.
“There is one thing I have forgotten to show you,” said the Superintendent, “the cell for the confinement of violent and unmanageable Punsters.”