"
"Bobus, is it pulco, pulxi, pulsum?"
"Pulco-—I make an ass of myself," muttered Bobus.
"O murder," groaned Johnny, "it has come out 213."
"Not half so much murder as this pulsum. Why it will go in them
both. I can see with half an eye."
"Isn't it pello—-pulsum?"
"Pello, to drive out. Hurrah! That fits it."
"Look out, Skipjack, there's a moth."
"Anything worth having?" demanded Bobus.
"Only a grass eggar. Fama, fame; volat, flies; Idomoeea ducem, that
Idomaeeus the leader; pulsum, expelled. Get out, I say, you foolish
beggar" (to the moth).
"Never mind catching him," said Bobus, "we've got dozens."
"Yes, but I don't want him frizzling alive in my candle."
"Don't kick up such a shindy," broke out Johnny, as a much stained
handkerchief came flapping about.
"You've blotted my sum. Thunder and ages!" as the candlestick
toppled over, ink and all. "That is a go!"
"I say, Bobus, lend us your Guy Fawkes to pick up the pieces."
"Not if I know it," said Bobus. "You always smash things."
"There's a specimen of the way we learn our lessons," said Caroline,
in a low voice, still unseen, as Bobus wiped, sheathed, and pocketed
his favourite pen, then proceeded to turn down the lamp, but allowed
the others to relight their candle at the expiring wick.
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