'You ought to know him. That's the kind of boy you should cultivate. Evidently an unusual sort. A wonderful sight. Five-and-twenty boys, who, I dare say, would much sooner be playing cricket—' (it was the depth of winter; but grown people, especially those who have lived long in foreign parts, make these little errors, and M'Turk did not correct him)—'drilling for the sheer love of it. A shame to waste so much good stuff; but I think I can carry my point.'
'An' who's your friend with the white whiskers?' demanded Stalky, on M'Turk's return to the study.
'General Collinson. He comes over to shoot with my father sometimes. Rather a decent old bargee, too. He said I ought to cultivate your acquaintance, Stalky.'
'Did he tip you?'
M'Turk exhibited a blessed whole sovereign.
'Ah,' said Stalky, annexing it, for he was treasurer. 'We'll have a hefty brew. You'd pretty average cool cheek, Turkey, to jaw about our keenness an' punctuality.'
'Didn't the old boy know we were defaulters?' said Beetle.
'Not him. He came down to lunch with the Head. I found him pokin' about the place on his own hook afterwards, an' I thought I'd show him the giddy drill. When I found he was so pleased, I wasn't goin' to damp his giddy ardour. He mightn't ha' given me the quid if I had.'
'Wasn't old Foxy pleased? Did you see him get pink behind the ears?' said Beetle. 'It was
