Radical. He rowed the driver about the fare. I heard him.'
'That was his giddy patriotism,' Beetle explained.
After tea they joined the rush for seats, secured a private and invisible corner, and began to criticise. Every gas-jet was lit. On the little dais at the far end stood the Head's official desk, whence Mr. Martin would discourse, and a ring of chairs for the masters.
Entered then Foxy, with official port, and leaned something like a cloth rolled round a stick against the desk. No one in authority was yet present, so the school applauded, crying: 'What's that, Foxy? What are you stealin' the gentleman's brolly for?—We don't birch here. We cane! Take away that bauble!—Number off from the right'—and so forth, till the entry of the Head and the masters ended all demonstrations.
'One good job—the Common-room hate this as much as we do. Watch King wrigglin' to get out of the draught.'
'Where's the Raymondiferous Martin? Punctuality, my beloved 'earers, is the image o' war'
'Shut up. Here's the giddy Duke. Golly, what a dewlap!' Mr. Martin, in evening dress, was undeniably throaty a tall, generously-designed, pink-and-white man. Still, Beetle need not have been coarse.
'Look at his back while he's talkin' to the Head. Vile bad form to turn your back on the audience! He's a Philistine—a Bopper—a
