l, on his feet, on delicate matters of syntax.

"Top of page, third word, Channing--gerund or gerundive?" said The
Roman.

"Gerund, sir."

"Too bad!" said The Roman musically, and on a lower octave repeated:
"Too bad! Third line, fifth word--gerund or gerundive?"

"Gerund, sir," said the Coffee-colored Angel with more conviction.

"No luck, Channing, no luck. Tenth line, last word--gerund, Channing,
or gerundive?"

"Gerund-ive," said the Coffee-colored Angel hesitatingly.

"Poor Channing, he didn't stick to his system. The laws of
probability, Channing----"

"I meant gerund," said the Coffee-colored Angel hastily.

"Dear me! Really, Channing?"

"Yes, sir."

"Positive?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"It _was_ the gerundive, Channing."

The Coffee-colored Angel abruptly sat down.

"Don't want to speculate any more, Channing?"

"No, sir."

"No feeling of confidence--no luck to-day? Try the gerundive
to-morrow."

The discouraged began to return from the boards, having writ in water.
The Roman, without malice, passed over the rows and, from flunking
them individually, mowed them down in sections.

"Anything from the Davis House to-day? No, no? Anything from the Rouse
House combination? Nothing at all? Anything from the Jackson twins?
Alas! How about the D's this morning? Davis, Dark, Denton, Deer,
Dickson, nothing from the D's. Let's try the F's. Farr, Fenton,
Foster, Francis, Finch? Nothing from the F's--nothing from the D F's!
Nothing at all?"

Dink burst into laughter, and laughed alone. The Roman stopped. Every
one looked surprised.

"Ah, Stover has been coached--well coached," said The Roman. "But,
Stover, this is not the place to laugh. The D F's are not a joke; they
are painful, every day facts. Well, well, it has been a beautiful
recitation in the review--not exceptional, not exceptional at all. Has
any one the advance? Don't all rise at once. Strange what trying
weather it is--too sunny, not enough rain--every one rises exhausted.
Will Macnooder kindly lead the massacre?"

Macnooder disdained to rise; one or two faltered and tripped along for
brief spaces, and then sat down. The Roman, counting his dead,
hesitated and called:

"Stover."

"Me, sir?" said Dink, too astonished to rise. "Why, I'm unprepared,
sir."

"Unprepared?" said The Roman with a wicked smile. "I never thought you
would be unprepared, Stover."

The smile decided Stover.

"I'll try, sir," he said.

"Very kind of you,