'_Sub rege Medo_, under a Median King--_Marsus et Apulus_, he being a Marsian and an Apulian.'
'No, sir. The soldier of Crassus. _Oblittus_ agrees with _milesne Crassi_, sir,' volunteered too-hasty Beetle.
'_Oh-blight-us_,' Beetle corrected hastily, 'forgetful--_anciliorum_, of the shields, or trophies--_et nominis_, and the--his name--_et togae_, and the toga--_eternaeque Vestae_, and eternal Vesta--_incolumi Jove_, Jove being safe--_et urbe Roma_, and the Roman city.' With an air of hardly restrained zeal--'Shall I go on, sir?'
Mr. King winced. 'No, thank you. You have indeed given us a translation! May I ask if it conveys any meaning whatever to your so-called mind?'
'Oh, I think so, sir.' This with gentle toleration for Horace and all his works.
Beetle sat down relieved, well knowing that a reef of uncharted genitives stretched ahead of him, on which in spite of M'Turk's sailing-directions he would infallibly have been wrecked.
Rattray, who took up the task, steered neatly through them and came unscathed to port.
'Here we require drama,' said King. 'Regulus himself is speaking now. Who shall represent the provident-minded Regulus? Winton, will you kindly oblige?'
Winton of King's House, a long, heavy, tow-headed Second Fifteen forward, overdue for his First Fifteen colours, and in aspect like an earnest, elderly horse, rose up, and announced, among other things, that he had seen 'signs affixed to Punic deluges.' Half the Form shouted for joy, and the other half for joy that there was something to shout about.
Mr. King opened and shut his eyes with great swiftness. '_Signa adfixa delubris_,' he gasped. 'So _delubris_ is "deluges" is it? Winton, in all our dealings, have I ever suspected you of a jest?'
'No, sir,' said the rigid and angular Winton, while the Form rocked about him.
'And yet you assert _delubris_ means "deluges." Whether I am a fit subject for such a jape is, of course, a matter of opinion, but.... Winton, you are normally conscientious. May we assume you looked out _delubris_?'
'No, sir.' Winton was privileged to speak that truth dangerous to all who stand before Kings.
Every line of Winton's body showed he had done nothing of the sort. Indeed, the very idea that 'Pater' Winton (and a boy is not called 'Pater' by companions for his frivolity) would make a shot at anything was beyond belief. But he replied, 'Yes,' and all the while worked with his right heel as though he were heeling a ball at punt-about.