his companions up the steep path of the furze-clad hill behind the College.
They were throwing pebbles on the top of the gasometer, and the grimy gas-man in charge bade them desist. They watched him oil a turncock sunk in the ground between two furze-bushes.
'Cokey, what's that for?' said Stalky.
'To turn the gas on to the kitchens,' said Cokey. 'If so be I didn't turn her on, yeou young gen'lemen 'ud be larnin' your book by candlelight.'
'Um!' said Stalky, and was silent for at least a minute.
'Hullo! Where are you chaps going?'
A bend of the lane brought them face to face with Tulke, senior prefect of King's house—a smallish, white-haired boy, of the type that must be promoted on account of its intellect, and ever afterwards appeals to the Head to support its authority when zeal has outrun discretion.
The three took no sort of notice. They were on lawful pass. Tulke repeated his question hotly, for he had suffered many slights from Number Five study, and fancied that he had at last caught them tripping.
'What the devil is that to you?' Stalky replied, with his sweetest smile.
'Look here, I'm not goin'—I'm not goin' to be sworn at by the Fifth!' sputtered Tulke.
'Then cut along and call a prefects' meeting,' said M'Turk, knowing Tulke's weakness.
