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"And how do we know," he shouted "how do we know how many of the Sixth are mixed up in this abominable affair?" "Yes, that's what we want to know," said McTurk, with simple dignity. "We meant to come to you about it quietly, Carson, but you would have the meeting," said Stalky sympathetically. The Sixth were too taken aback to reply.

Stalky christened it the "Swillingford Patriot," in pious memory of Sponge and McTurk compared the output unfavorably with Ruskin and De Quincey. Only the Head took an interest in the publication, and his methods were peculiar. He gave Beetle the run of his brown-bound, tobacco-scented library; prohibiting nothing, recommending nothing.

He's not naturally clever, but he has been hammered till he's nearly an idiot." "Oh, no. They sham silly to get off more tickings," said Beetle. "I know that." "I've never actually seen him knocked about," said the Reverend John. "The genuine article don't do that in public," said Beetle. "Fairburn never touched me when any one was looking on." "You needn't swagger about it, Beetle," said McTurk.

"And the worst of it," he explained in a loud voice over his soup, "is that I waste such gems of sarcasm on their thick heads. It's miles above them, I'm certain." "We-ell," said the school chaplain slowly, "I don't know what Corkran's appreciation of your style may be, but young McTurk reads Ruskin for his amusement." "Nonsense! He does it to show off. I mistrust the dark Celt."

He was merely working up to a peroration, and the boys knew it; but McTurk cut through the frothing sentence, the others echoing: "I appeal to the Head, sir." "I appeal to the head, sir." "I appeal to the Head, sir." It was their unquestioned right. Drunkenness meant expulsion after a public flogging. They had been accused of it. The case was the Head's, and the Head's alone.

Left to himself, Prout would have made a sympathetic house-master; but he was never so left, and with the devilish insight of youth, the boys knew to whom they were indebted for his zeal. "Must we go down, sir? said McTurk. "I don't want to order you to do what a right-thinking boy should do gladly. I'm sorry."

"I want I'd like some of the Old Brigade the defaulters to stiffen 'em a bit." "Don't be ungrateful, Sergeant. They're nearly as big as you get 'em in the Army now." McTurk read the papers of those years and could be trusted for general information, which he used as he used his "tweaker." Yet he did not know that Wake minor would be a bimbashi of the Egyptian Army ere his thirtieth year.

"You seemed certain enough just now." "I think it's two and fourpence," said McTurk, with a glance of cold scorn at Beetle. In the hopelessly involved finances of the study there was just that sum to which both McTurk and Beetle laid claim, as their share in the pledging of Stalky's second-best Sunday trousers.

Golden Beetle!" sobbed Stalky, hurling himself on Beetle's panting bosom as soon as they reached the study. "However did you do it?" "Dear-r man" said McTurk, embracing Beetle's head with both arms, while he swayed it to and fro on the neck, in time to this ancient burden "Pretty lips sweeter than cherry or plum. Always look jolly and never look glum; Seem to say Come away. Kissy! come, come!

I'll tickle 'em. Here's a giddy jest! Come on, Campbell. Let's cook 'em." Then McTurk turned on Stalky and called him very evil names. "You said you were goin' to cock-fight too, Stalky. Come on!" "More ass you for believin' me, then!" shrieked Stalky. "Have you chaps had a row?" said Campbell. "Row?" said Stalky. "Huh! I'm only educatin' them. D'you know anythin' about cock-fighting, Seffy?"