“In the whole course of my career as a schoolmaster,” the master said at last, with a nervous jerk to each phrase, but pronouncing each word with the deadly precision of a judge uttering a capital sentence, “I have never been met with such gratuitous insult. Every member of this form will consider himself on bounds until further notice. As for you, Wilson, you shall be reported immediately to the Head, and if my recommendation can effect it, you will receive the caning you deserve.” “We were not throwing at you—we didn’t know you were coming—” began Kit. “Silence! do not add hypocrisy to insolence. You had been told to go to your rooms.... Disperse now at once, and do not show yourselves before supper. You Wilson, Lawrence and Deering, remain behind and clean up this disgusting mess. It is not surprising, I may say, that the Head feels himself unable to trust this form in the Woods this winter.” And with this parting shot, Mr. Roylston turned and walked away, with what dignity he could command. The boys, somewhat subdued by the dispiriting announcement of bounds, marched off gloomily, and our three friends stayed behind and began to clear up the débris. “Well,” said Kit at last, turning a half-merry, half-rueful countenance to his companions, as he seated himself upon a broken chair, “what a gloomy ass it is! But, oh my dears, did you observe his beautiful pea-green, Nile blue, ultramarine phiz as the contents of the waste-basket descended upon his lean and hairless chops? Oh, my! what a home-coming! what a sweet heart to heart talk we’ve all had together!” “And a jolly good caning you’ll get, Kitty, when Gumshoe has had his talk with the Doctor.” “Jolly good,” replied Kit, rubbing his legs with a wry face. “But in the meantime, mes enfants,” he continued, “since I am to be swished, it shall not be that I suffer unjustly; we are going to make the swishing worth while. We are off to the Woods this minute. We’ll take the stuff over, stow it in the cave, put up a notice, and be back by supper. I’ll be hanged if I’ll pay any attention to Gumshoe’s twaddle about bounds or to the Doctor’s nonsense about caves. Are you with me, Jimmie, old boy?” “Well, rather,” Jimmie replied. “The experience of the last quarter of an hour has quite discouraged me with regard to the peace and quiet and healthy conversation us nice boys ought to have in form common-room.” Tony had kept silent. “Well, are you going to cut for a quitter?” asked Kit, turning upon him with an indignant glare. “Not I,” said Tony quickly. “Then help stow this truck. We’ve an hour and a half till supper, and the Gumshoe will undoubtedly think we have _disperrssed_ to our rooms.” And he gave an absurd imitation of Mr. Roylston’s manner of speaking.