it accidental-done-a-purpose. Well, I'm glad you're
better, because we owe you something. You and your membranes got us into
a sweet mess, young man."

"I heard of that," said the boy, giggling. "The Head told me."

"Dooce he did! When?"

"Oh, come on up to Coll. My shin'll stiffen if we stay jawin' here."

"Shut up, Turkey. I want to find out about this. Well?"

"He was stayin' at our house all the time I was ill."

"What for? Neglectin' the Coll. that way? 'Thought he was in town."

"I was off my head, you know, and they said I kept on callin' for him."

"Cheek! You're only a day-boy."

"He came just the same, and he about saved my life. I was all bunged up
one night--just goin' to croak, the doctor said--and they stuck a tube
or somethin' in my throat, and the Head sucked out the stuff."

"Ugh! 'Shot if _I_ would!"

"He ought to have got diphtheria himself, the doctor said. So he stayed
on at our house instead of going back. I'd ha' croaked in another twenty
minutes, the doctor says."

Here the coachman, being under orders, whipped up and nearly ran over
the three.

"My Hat!" said Beetle. "That's pretty average heroic."

"Pretty average!" McTurk's knee in the small of his back cannoned him
into Stalky, who punted him back. "You ought to be hung!"

"And the Head ought to get the V.C.," said Stalky. "Why, he might have
been dead _and_ buried by now. But he wasn't. But he didn't. Ho! ho! He
just nipped through the hedge like a lusty old blackbird. Extra-special,
five hundred lines, an' gated for a week--all sereno!"

"I've read o' somethin' like that in a book," said Beetle. "Gummy, what
a chap! Just think of it!"

"I'm thinking," said McTurk; and he delivered a wild Irish yell that
made the team turn round.

"Shut your fat mouth," said Stalky, dancing with impatience. "Leave it
to your Uncle Stalky, and he'll have the Head on toast. If you say
a word, Beetle, till I give you leave, I swear I'll slay you.
_Habeo Capitem crinibus minimis._ I've got him by the short hairs! Now
look as if nothing had happened."

There was no need of guile. The school was too busy cheering the drawn
match. It hung round the lavatories regardless of muddy boots while the
team washed. It cheered Crandall minor whenever it caught sight of him,
and it cheered more wildly than ever after prayers, because the Old Boys
in evening dress, openly twirling their mustaches, attended, and
instead of standing with the masters, rang