The word was passed, “They begin with C this week.”
They did.
“Clisson!”
Clisson jumped like a flash and marked his name on the floor in chalk before a front seat.
“Caron!”
Caron galloped away to secure his place. Bang! went an easel. “Nom de Dieu!” in French,—“Where in h———l are you goin’!” in English. Crash! a paint box fell with brushes and all on board. “Dieu de Dieu de———” spat! A blow, ashort rush, a clinch and scuffle, and the voice of the massier, stern and reproachful:
“Cochon!”
Then the roll-call was resumed.
“Clifford!”
The massier paused and looked up, one finger between the leaves of the ledger.
“Clifford!”
Clifford was not there. He was about three miles away in a direct line and every instant increased the distance. Not that he was walking fast,—on the contrary, he was strolling with that leisurely gait peculiar to himself. Elliott was beside him and two bulldogs covered the rear. Elliott was reading the “Gil Blas” from which he seemed to extract amusement, but deeming boisterous mirth unsuitable to Clifford’s state of mind, subdued his amusement to a series of discreet smiles. The latter, moodily aware of this, said nothing, but leading the way into the Luxembourg Gardens installed himself upon a bench by the northern terrace and surveyed the landscape with disfavor. Elliott, according to the Luxembourg regulations, tied the two dogs and then with
