"See now, Lamb?"

Lamb professed himself satisfied, but he did not appear absolutely blinded
by the light either.

"Anyhow," said Wilson, "Fruity will see to that. I propose he does."

"I second it," said Lamb, viciously, whereupon Cherry kicked the seconder
on the shins, for he did not exactly thirst for that honour. "I'm an
ass," he said to himself; "but, anyhow, I'll look up what the blessed word
does mean, and try to do it."

"I see," said Grim, "they've got a poem on 'Cock House' for number two.
That seems all right, eh?"

"Oh yes; it's always done."

"Well, we'll have one too, eh? Who's got to do the poetry, though?
Somebody propose somebody"--thereupon every fag proposed his chiefest
enemy, and the battles raged along the line. "And you call yourselves
gentlemen!" said Grim in disgust--he had been overlooked for the time
being.

"I propose Sharpe," said Wilson, dusting himself. "He does no end swell
construes from 'Ovid.'"

"I second that," said Rogers. "He has long hair. Poets always have. Milton
had."

"That bit is _side,_" said the chairman, judicially. "Those who are