as one
idiot, and Craye was another; but the greatest of all, they said, was
their house-master.

When a house is thoroughly upset, however good its conscience, it breaks
into knots and coteries--small gatherings in the twilight, box-room
committees, and groups in the corridor. And when from group to group,
with an immense affectation of secrecy, three wicked boys steal, crying
"_Cave'_" when there is no need of caution, and whispering "Don't tell!"
on the heels of trumpery confidences that instant invented, a very fine
air of plot and intrigue can be woven round such a house.

At the end of a few days, it dawned on Prout that he moved in an
atmosphere of perpetual ambush. Mysteries hedged him on all sides,
warnings ran before his heavy feet, and countersigns were muttered
behind his attentive back. McTurk and Stalky invented many absurd and
idle phrases--catch-words that swept through the house as fire through
stubble. It was a rare jest, and the only practical outcome of the Usury
Commission, that one boy should say to a friend, with awful gravity,
"Do you think there's much of it going on in the house?" The other
would reply, "Well, one can't be too careful, you know." The effect on
a house-master of humane conscience and good intent may be imagined.
Again, a man who has sincerely devoted himself to gaining the esteem of
his charges does not like to hear himself described, even at a distance,
as "Popularity Prout" by a dark and scowling Celt with a fluent tongue.
A rumor that stories--unusual stories--are told in the form-rooms,
between the lights, by a boy who does not command his confidence,
agitates such a man; and even elaborate and tender politeness--for the
courtesy wise-grown men offer to a bewildered child was the courtesy
that Stalky wrapped round Prout--restores not his peace of mind.

"The tone of the house seems changed--changed for the worse," said Prout
to Harrison and Craye. "Have you noticed it? I don't for an instant
impute--"

He never imputed anything; but, on the other hand, he never did anything
else, and, with the best intentions in the world, he had reduced the
house-prefects to a state as nearly bordering on nervous irritation
as healthy boys can know. Worst of all, they began at times to wonder
whether Stalky & Co. had not some truth in their often-repeated
assertions that Prout was a gloomy ass.

"As you know, I am not the kind of man who puts himself out for every
little thing he hear