Berger?" he said.
Nobody responded for two or three minutes. At last one old man, whom I
at once recognized as a Graduate of our University (Anno 1800) held up
his hand.
"Rem _a cue_ tetigit."
"Go to the head of the class, Josselyn," said the venerable patriarch.
The successful Inmate did as he was told, but in a very rough way,
pushing against two or three of the Class.
"How is this?" said the Patriarch.
"You told me to go up _jostlin'_," he replied.
The old gentlemen who had been shoved about enjoyed the pun too much
to be angry.
Presently the Patriarch asked again:
"Why was M. Berger authorized to go to the dances given to the
Prince?"
The Class had to give up this, and he answered it himself:
"Because every one of his carroms was a _tick-it_ to the ball."
"Who collects the money to defray the expenses of the last campaign in
Italy?" asked the Patriarch.
Here again the Class failed.
"The war-cloud's rolling _Dun_," he answered.
"And what is mulled wine made with?"
Three or four voices exclaimed at once:
"_Sizzle-y_ Madeira!"
Here a servant entered, and said, "Luncheon-time.
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