Tempest was one of the best gymnasts in the school, and it was always worth while to watch him on the trapeze and horizontal bar. So the Philosophers and Urbans, by one consent, trooped back into the gymnasium to look on, and (what must have been particularly annoying to the master, because he had no authority to stop it) to cheer. How we did cheer, and what good it did us! Had Tempest been the meanest of performers, and done nothing but swing with his legs doubled up under him from one ring to the next, we should have applauded. But to-day his flights were terrific. No fellow was less given to show off, and he probably objected to our applause as much as Mr Jarman. But he was bound to relieve his feelings somehow, and the trapeze was just what he wanted. When finally the bell rang, and we were hoarse with cheering (which was our way of relieving our feelings) he came to earth decidedly better for his exercise. Mr Jarman evidently was impressed, and, to our surprise, even ventured on a compliment. "You did that well, Tempest." Tempest's reply was to walk away, putting on his coat as he went. It was plain to see by the angry twitch of Mr Jarman's mouth that the shaft of this public snub had gone home, and we who looked on and witnessed it all had little need to tell ourselves that civil war had already been declared. It is hardly necessary to state that the extraordinary meeting of the Conversation Club that evening was lively, and that there was no lack of a topic. Besides our own contingent, a few of the outsiders, including Muskett and Corderoy from Selkirk's house, and a few of the "paupers," dropped in. As the faggery would only conveniently hold six persons, and as at least twenty were present, it was considered advisable to adjourn to the shoe-room, where, in the dim light of a small candle, several particularly revolutionary motions were discussed, the company sitting on the floor for the purpose. The meeting opened by my calling on Langrish to read the minutes, which he accordingly did. "The inaugural picnic of the Ph.C.C. was held the other day. Present, all the usual lot and seven paupers. The president had chartered the _Sarah_ and _Firefly_, two of the vilest crocks at Jorrocks's." "He said they were the best they had got," I explained. "Shut up, or you'll be kicked out, young Sarah." "I've a right to speak." "No, you haven't--unless you hold your tongue." "If I held my tongue, I couldn't possibly speak," I explained. "Turn him out!" cried the paupers. Whereat I subsided. "The paupers," continued the minutes, "had beastly little go in them, and ought to have had a meal of hay before starting (interruption), and will be badly kicked if they don't shut up. The _Firefly_ had the best of the race up." (Here there were most indignant protests from the crew of the gallant _Sarah_; and the question was argued out with some energy on the floor of the shoe-room before Langrish could proceed.)