`"Strange, how desire both outrun performance,"' said Beetle irreverently, quoting from some Shakespeare play that they were cramming that term. They regained their study and settled down to the imposition.

`You're quite right, Beetle.' Stalky spoke in silky and propitiating tones. `Now if the Head 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 before a day-boy's mother. Bony old window, too,' said M`Turk. `Anything else you'd like to find out?'

`I don't care. I swear I'll get even with him some day,' Stalky growled.

`'Looks like it,' said M`Turk. `Extra-special, week's gatin' and five hundred . . . and now you're goin' to row about it! 'Help scrag him, Beetle!' Stalky had thrown his Virgil at them.

The Head returned next day without explantion, to find the lines waiting for him and the school a little relaxed under Mr. King's viceroyalty. Mr. King had been talking at and round and over the boys' heads, in a lofty and promiscuous style, of public-school spirit and the traditions of ancient seats; for he always improved an occasion. Beyond waking in two hundred and fifty young hearts a lively hatred of all other foundations, he accomplished little--so little, indeed, that when, two days after the Head's return, he chanced to come across Stalky & Co., gated but ever resourceful, playing marbles in the corridor, he said that he was not surprised--not in the least surprised. This was what he had expected from persons of their morale.

`But there isn't any rule against marbles, sir. Very interestin' game,' said Beetle, his knees white with chalk and dust. Then he received two hundred lines for insolence, besides an order to go to the nearest prefect for judgment and slaughter.

This is what happened behind the closed doors of Flint's study, and Flint was then Head of the Games:--

`Oh, I say, Flint. King has sent me to you for playin' marbles in the corridor an' shoutin' "alley tor" an' "knuckle down."'

`What does he suppose I have to do with that?' was the answer.