good. I might have guessed who it was. You will go back to the College and give my compliments to Mr. King and ask him to give you an extra-special licking. You will then do me five hundred lines. I shall be back to-morrow. Five hundred lines by five o'clock to-morrow. You are also gated for a week. This is not exactly the time for breaking bounds. Extra-special, please.'
He disappeared over the hedge as lightly as he had come. There was a murmur of women's voices in the deep lane.
'Oh, you Prooshian brute!' said M'Turk as the voices died away. 'Stalky, it's all your silly fault.'
'Kill him! Kill him!' gasped Beetle.
'I ca-an't. I'm going to eat again . . . I don't mind that, but King 'll gloat over us horrid. Extra-special, ooh!'
Stalky made no answer—not even a soft one. They went to College and received that for which they had been sent. King enjoyed himself most thoroughly, for by virtue of their seniority the boys were exempt from his hand, save under special order. Luckily, he was no expert in the gentle art.
'"Strange, how desire doth outrun performance,"' said Beetle irreverently, quoting from some Shakespeare play that they were cramming that term. They regained their study and settled down to the imposition.
'You're quite right, Beetle.' Stalky spoke in silky and propitiating tones. 'Now if the Head
