had sent us up to a prefect, we'd have got something to remember!'
'Look here,' M'Turk began with cold venom, 'we aren't going to row you about this business, because it's too bad for a row; but we want you to understand you're jolly well excommunicated, Stalky. You're a plain ass.'
'How was I to know that the Head 'ud collar us? What was he doin' in those ghastly clothes, too?'
'Don't try to raise a side-issue,' Beetle grunted severely.
'Well, it was all Stettson major's fault. If he hadn't gone an' got diphtheria 'twouldn't have happened. But don't you think it rather rummy—the Head droppin' on us that way?'
'Shut up! You're dead!' said Beetle. 'We've chopped your spurs off your beastly heels. We've cocked your shield upside down, and—and I don't think you ought to be allowed to brew for a month.'
'Oh, stop jawin' at me. I want'
'Stop? Why—why, we're gated for a week.' M'Turk almost howled as the agony of the situation overcame him. 'A lickin' from King, five hundred lines, and a gating. D'you expect us to kiss you. Stalky, you beast?'
'Drop rottin' for a minute. I want to find out about the Head bein' where he was.'
'Well, you have. You found him quite well and fit. Found him making love to Stettson major's mother. That was her in the lane I—heard her. And so we were ordered a licking
