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." McTurk almost howled as the
agony of the situation overcame him. "A lickin' from King, five hundred
lines, _and_ a gatin'. 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 makin' love
to Stettson major's mother. That was her in the lane--I heard her. And
so we were ordered a lickin' before a day-boy's mother. Bony old widow,
too," said McTurk. "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 McTurk. "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 explanation, 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.

"Dunno. Well?" Beetle grinned wickedly. "What am I to tell him? He's
rather wr