—Flagitio additis damnum, but I think—I think I see the process. Beetle, the translation of delubris, please.'
Beetle raised his head from his shaking arm long enough to answer: 'Ruins, sir.'
There was an impressive pause while King checked off crimes on his fingers. Then to Beetle the much-enduring man addressed winged words:
'Guessing,' said he. 'Guessing, Beetle, as usual, from the look of delubris that it bore some relation to diluvium or deluge, you imparted the result of your half-baked lucubrations to Winton who seems to have been lost enough to have accepted it. Observing next, your companion's fall, from the presumed security of your undistinguished position in the rear-guard, you took another pot-shot. The turbid chaos of your mind threw up some memory of the word "dilapidations" which you have pitifully attempted to disguise under the synonym of "ruins." '
As this was precisely what Beetle had done he looked hurt but forgiving. 'We will attend to this later,' said King. 'Go on, Winton, and retrieve yourself.'
Delubris happened to be the one word which Winton had not looked out and had asked Beetle for, when they were settling into their places. He forged ahead with no further trouble. Only when he rendered scilicet as 'forsooth,' King erupted.
'Regulus,' he said, 'was not a leader-writer for the penny press, nor, for that matter, was Horace. Regulus says: "The soldier ransomed by gold
