''Trocious bad, Foxy. Twenty-seven cuts in the Gym before all the school, and public expulsion. "Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragin'," quoth Beetle.
'It's nothin' to make fun of, young gentlemen. I 'ave to go to the 'Ead with the charges. An'—an' you mayn't be aware, per'aps, that I was followin' you this afternoon; havin' my suspicions.'
'Did ye see the notice-boards?' croaked M'Turk, in the very brogue of Colonel Dabney.
'Ye've eyes in your head. Don't attempt to deny it. Ye did!' said Beetle.
'A Sergeant! To run about poachin' on your pension! Damnable! Oh, damnable!' said Stalky, without pity.
'Good Lord!' said the Sergeant, sitting heavily upon a bed. 'Where—where the devil was you? I might ha' known it was a do—somewhere.'
'Oh, you clever maniac!' Stalky resumed. 'We mayn't be aware you were followin' us this afternoon, mayn't we? 'Thought you were stalkin' us, eh? Why, we led you bung into it, of course. Colonel Dabney—don't you think he's a nice man, Foxy?—Colonel Dabney's our pet particular friend. We've been goin' there for weeks and weeks. He invited us. You and your duty! Curse your duty, sir! Your duty was to keep off his covers.'
'You'll never be able to hold up your head again, Foxy. The fags 'll hoot at you,' said Beetle. 'Think of your giddy prestige!'
The Sergeant was thinking—hard.
'Look 'ere, young gentlemen,' he said ear-
