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.