sked! Look round you and see.
That's the sort of lot I let in. It won't wash, though. Fancy having a
lot of outsiders who can't translate a Latin motto, and make 'corpore' a
feminine genitive! Now old Warminster's a nailer at Latin, and can put
one or two of us to bed at Euclid. He'll keep us out of blunders of
that sort, that make all the school grin at us. I therefore propose,
fifth, fourth, third, and second, that Tip. Warminster is the president
of the Philosophers, and that the secretary, treasurer, auditor,
registrar, and all that lot, get a month's notice to jack it up unless
they're on the front desk. There you are! Of course they won't like
it--can't help that. No back-deskers for us. Front desk or nothing!"

This oration, the longest I ever delivered so far, and in all
probability the longest I ever shall deliver, was listened to with a
curious mixture of discomfort and attention. At first it was nearly
howled down, but it took as it went on. Warminster, for whom I really
did not feel quite so much admiration as my words seemed to imply, but
who yet was the hard-working man of our lot--Warminster was wonderfully
pleased with it. The others, one by one, dropped their noisy protests,
and looked out of the window. Trimble attempted a little bravado, by
sticking his tongue in his cheek; but my peroration was listened to with
marked attention.

"Cuts down the club a bit," said Coxhead, who occupied a desk in class
on the third row, "if it's only to be top-deskers."

"Cuts old Sal out, to begin with," said Langrish, who was just on the
bench of honour.

"It'll cut you out next week, old hoss," said I.

"Me! What are you talking about?"

"You wait till the week's order is up: you'll see."

Langrish glared indignantly.

"If you think an idiot like you is going to--"

"Look here," said Warminster, "I vote we go easy at first, and make it
any one who's not gone down in order in a month."

"I say, nobody who's not gone up one in the term," suggested Langrish,
glancing defiantly at me.

"All serene," said I, "that'll suit my book. It'll be roughish on you,
though."

"Will it? See how you'll feel when you're chucked out neck and crop, my
beauty!"

My main object had been to get out of being president. But, somehow, in
doing it I had struck a note which made the Philosophers sit up. It was
no credit to me it happened so, but it was one of those lucky flukes
which sometimes turn out well