slid the saloon-pistols down a trouser-leg, and hurried forth to a deep and solitary Devonshire lane in whose flanks a boy might sometimes slay a young rabbit. They threw themselves down under the rank elder bushes, and began to think aloud.
'You know,' said Stalky at last, sighting at a distant sparrow, 'we could hide our sallies in there like anything.'
'Huh!' Beetle snorted, choked, and gurgled. He had been silent since they left the dormitory.
'Did you ever read a book called The History of a House or something? I got it out of the library the other day. A Frenchwoman wrote it—Violet somebody. But it's translated, you know; and it's very interestin'. Tells you how a house is built.'
'Well, if you're in a sweat to find that out, you can go down to the new cottages they're building for the coastguard.'
'My Hat! I will.' He felt in his pockets. 'Give me tuppence, some one.'
'Rot! Stay here, and don't mess about in the sun.'
'Gi' me tuppence.'
'I say, Beetle, you aren't stuffy about anything, are you?' said M'Turk, handing over the coppers. His tone was serious, for though Stalky often, and M'Turk occasionally, manœuvred on his own account, Beetle had never been known to do so in all the history of the confederacy.
'No, I'm not. I'm thinking.'
'Well, we'll come, too,' said Stalky, with a general's suspicion of his aides.
' 'Don't want you.'
