"Oh, Prout he is a nobleman, a nobleman, a nobleman!
Our Heffy is a nobleman—
He does an awful lot,
Because his popularity—
Oh, pop-u-pop-u-larity—
His giddy popularity
Would suffer did he not!"
The study door stood ajar; and the song, borne by twenty clear voices, came faint from a form-room. The fags rather liked the tune; the words were Beetle's.
'That's a thing no sensible man objects to,' said Prout, with a lop-sided smile; 'but, you know, straws show which way the wind blows. Can you trace it to any direct influence? I am speaking to you now as heads of the house.'
'There isn't the least doubt of it,' said Harrison angrily. 'I know what you mean, sir. It all began when Number Five study came to the form-rooms. There's no use blinkin' it, Craye. You know that, too.'
'They make things rather difficult for us, sometimes,' said Craye. 'It's more their manner than anything else, that Harrison means.'
'Do they hamper you in the discharge of your duties, then?'
'Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin—and turn up their noses generally.'
'Ah,' said Prout sympathetically.
'I think, sir,' said Craye, plunging into the business boldly, 'it would be a great deal better if they were sent back to their studies—better for the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form-rooms.'
