"that the house-masters--a necessary but somewhat neglected factor in
our humble scheme of existence--may have a word to say on the matter.
Life, for the young at least, is not all weapons and munitions of war.
Education is incidentally one of our aims."

"What a consistent pig he is," cooed McTurk, when they were out of
earshot. "One always knows where to have him. Did you see how he rose to
that draw about the Head and special privileges?"

"Confound him, he might have had the decency to have backed the scheme.
I could do such a lovely ballad, rottin' it; and now I'll have to be a
giddy enthusiast. It don't bar our pulling Stalky's leg in the study,
does it?"

"Oh, no; but in the Coll. we must be pro-cadet-corps like anything.
Can't you make up a giddy epigram, _a' la Catullus_, about King
objectin' to it?" Beetle was at this noble task when Stalky returned all
hot from his first drill.

"Hullo, my ramrod-bunger!" began McTurk. "Where's your dead dog? Is it
Defence or Defiance?"

"Defiance," said Stalky, and leaped on him at that word. "Look here,
Turkey, you mustn't rot the corps. We've arranged it beautifully. Foxy
swears he won't take us out into the open till we say we want to go."

"_Dis_-gustin' exhibition of immature infants apin' the idiosyncrasies
of their elders. Snff!"

"Have you drawn King, Beetle?" Stalky asked in a pause of the scuffle.

"Not exactly; but that's his genial style."

"Well, listen to your Uncle Stalky--who is a great man. Moreover
and subsequently, Foxy's goin' to let us drill the corps in
turn--_privatim et seriatim_--so that we'll all know how to handle a
half company anyhow. _Ergo_, an' _propter hoc_, when we go to the Shop
we shall be dismissed drill early; thus, my beloved 'earers, combinin'
education with wholesome amusement."

"I knew you'd make a sort of extra-tu of it, you cold-blooded brute,"
said McTurk. "Don't you want to die for your giddy country?"

"Not if I can jolly well avoid it. So you mustn't rot the corps."

"We'd decided on that, years ago," said Beetle, scornfully. "King'll do
the rottin'."

"Then you've got to rot King, my giddy poet. Make up a good catchy
Limerick, and let the fags sing it."

"Look here, you stick to volunteerin', and don't jog the table."

"He won't have anything to take hold of," said Stalky, with dark
significance.

They did not know what that meant till, a few days later, they proposed
to watch the corps at drill. They foun