As they sat about the Editor’s table, shivering, their coats buttoned high about their throats, Richard Cory, Bukis, Ahaseurus, and Mr. Benson resembled those Russian students we hear of, with their thin red hands and noses, their visible frosty breaths clouding the printed page, their chattering teeth interrupting speech.
But Russian students can usually read their own language. This was more than Richard Cory, Bukis, Ahaseurus, and Mr. Benson could do. There was evidently more of a turn than usual in the University towards an individual modern style.
Trying to read it had evidently affected the conversation somewhat. Mr. Benson, remembering Boswell in a vague way, had been for some moments attempting to imitate the bark of a sea-lion, expecting applause.
“Have you ever heard sea-lions at feeding time?” he asked Ahaseurus.
“What time?” said Ahaseurus. He simply did not understand.
Then Richard Cory’s contribution was an outburst of lyric profanity which proved that our language can at least compete with the Russian in that respect. He really should have watched his language.
Ahaseurus, steeped as usual in Einstein Theories, awoke from a trance to remark sadly, with watery eye, that his feet were too large to allow him to join in all this levity. This was a rum go!
But Bukis said: “This is a hell of a night! Let’s go to the Royal!”
This was agreed upon, although Bukis was severely rebuked by the poor old goat upon whom the task of compiling a last-minute Editor’s Table is becoming too habitually thrust:—to wit,