uis_--oh, it's _Quis multa gracilis_, o' course."

"Bring it along. We've sugared the milk here," said Stalky, after a few
minutes' zealous toil. "Never thrash your hounds unnecessarily."

"_Quis munditiis_? I swear that's not bad," began Beetle, plying the
tweezers. "Don't that interrogation look pretty? _Heu quoties fidem_!
That sounds as if the chap were anxious an' excited. _Cui flavam religas
in rosa_--Whose flavor is relegated to a rose. _Mutatosque Deos flebit
in antro_."

"Mute gods weepin' in a cave," suggested Stalky. "'Pon my Sam, Horace
needs as much lookin' after as--Tulke."

They edited him faithfully till it was too dark to see.

"'Aha! Elucescebat, quoth our friend.' Ulpian serves my need, does it?
If King can make anything out of _that_, I'm a blue-eyed squatteroo,"
said Beetle, as they slid out of the loft window into a back alley of
old acquaintance and started on a three-mile trot to the College. But
the revision of the classics had detained them too long. They halted,
blown and breathless, in the furze at the back of the gasometer, the
College lights twinkling below, ten minutes at least late for tea and
lock-up.

"It's no good," puffed McTurk. "Bet a bob Foxy is waiting for defaulters
under the lamp by the Fives Court. It's a nuisance, too, because the
Head gave us long leave, and one doesn't like to break it."

"'Let me now from the bonded ware'ouse of my knowledge,'" began Stalky.

"Oh, rot! Don't Jorrock. Can we make a run for it?" snapped McTurk.

"'Bishops' boots Mr. Radcliffe also condemned, an' spoke 'ighly in favor
of tops cleaned with champagne an' abricot jam.' Where's that thing
Cokey was twiddlin' this afternoon?"

They heard him groping in the wet, and presently beheld a great miracle.
The lights of the Coastguard cottages near the sea went out; the
brilliantly illuminated windows of the Golf-club disappeared, and were
followed by the frontages of the two hotels. Scattered villas dulled,
twinkled, and vanished. Last of all, the College lights died also. They
were left in the pitchy darkness of a windy winter's night.

"'Blister my kidneys. It _is_ a frost. The dahlias are dead!'" said
Stalky. "Bunk!"

They squattered through the dripping gorse as the College hummed like
an angry hive and the dining-rooms chorused, "Gas! gas! gas!" till they
came to the edge of the sunk path that divided them from their study.
Dropping that ha-ha like bullets, and rebounding like boys, th