'Now. March!'
The high Lodge-gate shut with a clang. 'My duty! A sergeant to tell me my duty!' puffed Colonel Dabney. 'Good Lard! more sergeants!'
'It's King! It's King!' gulped Stalky, his head on the horsehair pillow. M'Turk was eating the rag-carpet before the speckless hearth, and the sofa heaved to the emotions of Beetle. Through the thick glass the figures without showed blue, distorted, and menacing.
'I—I protest against this outrage.' King had evidently been running up hill. 'The man was entirely within his duty. Let—let me give you my card.'
'He's in flannels!' Stalky buried his head again.
'Unfortunately—most unfortunately—I have not one with me, but my name is King, sir, a house-master of the College, and you will find me prepared—fully prepared to answer for this man's action. We've seen three'
'Did ye see my notice-boards?'
'I admit we did; but under the circumstances'
'I stand in loco parentis.' Prout's deep voice was added to the discussion. They could hear him pant.
'F'what?' Colonel Dabney was growing more and more Irish.
'I'm responsible for the boys under my charge.'
'Ye are, are ye? Then all I can say is that ye set them a very bad example—a dam' bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys. I've
