“Excellent. After all, it’s only a few pounds to make up. I’ll slip it in under our recent--er--barrack damages. And what do _We_ think of it all, Gillette?” “_We_ do not think at all--any of us,” said the Reverend John. “Youth is its own prophylactic, thank Heaven.” And the Head, not usually devout, echoed, “Thank Heaven!” * * * * * “It was worth it,” Dick Four pronounced on review of the profit-and-loss account with Number Five in his study. “Heap-plenty-_bong-assez_,” Stalky assented. “But why didn’t King ra’ar up an’ cuss Tar Baby?” Beetle asked. “You preter-pluperfect, fat-ended fool!” Stalky began-- “Keep your hair on! We _all_ know the Idolaters wasn’t our Uncle Stalky’s idea. But why didn’t King----” “Because Dick took care to paint Brer Terrapin King’s House-colours. You can always conciliate King by soothin’ his putrid _esprit-de-maisong_. Ain’t that true, Dick?” Dick Four, with the smile of modest worth unmasked, said it was so. “An’ now,” Turkey yawned. “King an’ Macrea’ll jaw for the rest of the term how he ran his house when Macrea was trying to marry fat widows in Switzerland. Mountaineerin’! ’Bet Macrea never went near a mountain.” “’One good job, though. I go back to Macrea for Maths. He _does_ know something,” said Stalky. “Why? Didn’t ‘Mister’ know anythin’?” Beetle asked. “’Bout as much as _you_,” was Stalky’s reply. “_I_ don’t go about pretending to. What was he like?” “‘Mister’? Oh, rather like King--King and water.” Only water was not precisely the fluid that Stalky thought fit to mention. [1] See “Slaves of the Lamp”--_Stalky and Co._ THE CENTAURS Up came the young Centaur-colts from the plains they were fathered in-- Curious, awkward, afraid. Burrs in their hocks and their tails, they were gathered in Mobs and run up to the yard to be made. Starting and shying at straws, with sidelings and plungings, Buckings and whirlings and bolts; Greener than grass, but full-ripe for their bridlings and lungings, Up to the yards and to Chiron they bustled the colts.... First the light web and the cavesson; then the linked keys To jingle and turn on the tongue. Then, with cocked ears, The hour of watching and envy, while comrades at ease Passaged and backed, making naught of these terrible gears. Next, over-pride and its price at the low-seeming fence, Too oft and too easily taken--the world-beheld fall! And none in the yard except Chiron to doubt the immense, Irretrievable shame of it all!... Last, the trained squadron, full-charge--the sound of a going Through dust and spun clods, and strong kicks, pelted in as they went, And repaid at top-speed; till the order to halt without slowing Brought every colt on his haunches--and Chiron content!