"Don't mensa, mensam me when I am talking most seriously to you! What
is it you are after? What's that book you are hiding? Let me look at
it!" O'Toole blushed on every visible inch of him and handed the book to
Wogan.
"It's a Latin grammar, my friend," said he, meekly.
"And what in the world do you want to be addling your brains with a
Latin grammar for, when there's other need for your eyes?"
"Aren't we to be enrolled at the Capitol in June as Roman Senators with
all the ancient honours, cum titubis--it is so--cum titubis, which
are psalters or pshawms?"
"Well, what then?"
"You don't understand, Charles, the difficulty of my position. You have
Latin at your finger-ends. Sure, I have often admired you for your
extraordinary comprehension of Latin, but never more than I do now. It
will be no trouble in the world for you to trip off a neat little
speech, thanking the Senators kindly for the great honour they are doing
themselves in electing us into their noble body. But it will not be easy
for me," said O'Toole, with a sigh. "How can I get enough Latin through
my skull by June not to disgrace myself?" He looked so utterly miserable
and distressed that Wogan never felt less inclined to laugh. "I sit up
at nights with a lamp, but the most unaccountable thing happens. I may
come in here as lively as any cricket, but the moment I take this book
in my hands I am overpowered with sleep--"
"Oh, listen to me," cried Wogan. "I have only a fortnight--"
"And I have only till June," sighed O'Toole. "But there! I am listening.
I have no doubt, my friend, your business is more important than mine,"
he said with the simplicity of which not one of his friends could resist
the appeal. Wogan could not now.
"My business," he said, "is only more important because you have no need
of your Latin grammar at all. There's a special deputy, a learned
professor, appointed on these occasions to make a speech for us, and all
we have to do is to sit still and nod our heads wisely when he looks
towards us."
"Is that all?" cried O'Toole, jumping up. "Swear it!"
"I do," said Wogan; and "Here's to the devil with the Latin grammar!"
exclaimed O'Toole. He flung open his window and hurled the book out
across the street with the full force of his prodigious arm. There
followed a crash and then the tinkle of falling glass. O'Toole beamed
contentedly and shut the window.