'It leads to all sorts of bullyin', too, a chap told me,' said Beetle.
'Well, you do need most of a single man's time, I must say.' The Reverend John considered his hosts critically. 'But do you never feel that the world—the Common-room—is too much with you sometimes?'
'Not exactly—in summer, anyhow.' Stalky's eye roved contentedly to the window. 'Our bounds are pretty big, too, and they leave us to ourselves a good deal.'
'For example, here am I sitting in your study, very much in your way, eh?'
'Indeed you aren't, Padre. Sit down. Don't go, sir. You know we're glad whenever you come.'
There was no doubting the sincerity of the voices. The Reverend John flushed a little with pleasure and refilled his briar.
'And we generally know where the Common-room are,' said Beetle triumphantly. 'Didn't you come through our lower dormitories last night after ten, sir?'
'I went to smoke a pipe with your house-master. No, I didn't give him any impressions. I took a short cut through your dormitories.'
'I sniffed a whiff of 'baccy this mornin'. Yours is stronger than Mr. Prout's. I knew,' said Beetle, wagging his head.
'Good heavens!' said the Reverend John absently. It was some years before Beetle perceived that this was rather a tribute to innocence than observation. The long, light, blindless dor-
