"I wonder how many good chaps have gone to the devil through fear of not being thought 'sportsmen,'" he said. "No, Link, old man, I won't join in. I have my vices, but whiskey-punch in tooth-mugs at 2 A.M. isn't one of them." "Very well," said Linklater ungraciously. "Sorry to have disturbed your slumbers. I'll tell the chaps to meet in the East Dormitory tonight. Sure Maxwell will be pleased to see us!" Pip stood up and sighed heavily. He knew he was dealing what would probably be its deathblow to one of the few friendships he really valued, but this was no time for ignoble compromises. He leaned rather dejectedly against the mantelpiece, this David, and looked down upon the unworthy Jonathan before him. "Link, the whole business has got to be dropped--absolutely. Surely you've got the sense to see that." He spoke almost appealingly, still clutching at the fast receding hope that his friend would pull himself together yet. But he saw in a moment that the hope was a vain one. Linklater's teeth shut with a snap, and his eyes blazed. "Drop it, must I? Indeed? And who is going to stop me? You, I suppose, you--you swab!" Pip put his last regrets from him, and answered briskly-- "Correct!" "And why?" "Because--well, because I happen to be rather fond of this old house,--we've both had a good time in it, Link,--and I don't want to see it turned into a fully-licensed pub. Also, because I don't like to see my friends make asses of themselves. Also, because--I suppose I ought to have mentioned this first--because it happens to be what I was made a monitor for." "O lor!" said Linklater, turning up his eyes; "talking about his 'duty' now. We shall have a prayer next!" "Yes, horrid word, 'duty,' isn't it?" said Pip. "I know no sportsman would ever use it. But I'm going to do mine for all that, my lad." "May I venture to inquire how?" "Well, there you rather have me. But I shall begin by going round the house with a stick and making myself deuced unpleasant." "How the house will love you!" "They'll thank me in the end," said Pip stoutly. "What else will you do?" "Well, if I can't stiffen up the other monitors enough to get things right again, I shall have to make Maxwell report some of the worst people to Chilly." "Maxwell? He'd never dare." "Then I'll do it myself." "Go and blab! That's right. Great Scott! you must have got religious mania, or something." "But of course," said Pip reassuringly, "I should only do that as a last resource. I should try the other way first. To begin with--but, by the bye, where do you get your whiskey?" "What the devil has that got to do with you?" roared Linklater. "Lots. I'm going to cut off the supply." "Find out where it comes from first." "I'm going to. Do you get it from the butler?" "Find out."