turned to that still undissolved meeting, Beetle, white, icy, and aloof, at his heels.
'There seems,' he began, with laboriously crisp articulation, 'there seems to be a certain amount of uneasiness among you as to the steps we may think fit to take in regard to this last revelation of the—ah—obscene. If it is any consolation to you to know that we have decided—for the honour of the school, you understand—to keep our mouths shut as to these—ah—obscenities, you—ah—have it.'
He wheeled, his head among the stars, and strode statelily back to his study, where Stalky and M'Turk lay side by side upon the table wiping their tearful eyes—too weak to move.
•••••
The Latin prose paper was a success beyond their wildest dreams. Stalky and M'Turk were, of course, out of all examinations (they did extra-tuition with the Head), but Beetle attended with zeal.
'This, I presume, is a par-ergon on your part,' said King, as he dealt out the papers. 'One final exhibition ere you are translated to loftier spheres? A last attack on the classics? It seems to confound you already.'
Beetle studied the print with knit brows. 'I can't make head or tail of it,' he murmured. 'What does it mean?'
'No, no!' said King, with scholastic coquetry. 'We depend upon you to give us the meaning. This is an examination, Beetle mine, not a guessing-competition. You will find your associates have no difficulty in'
