“Scalp,” said Beetle. “Foxy’s a giddy Chingangook.” “Poor Foxy,” said Stalky. “He’s goin’ to catch us one of these days. ’Said to me in the Gym last night, ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Mister Corkran. I’m only warning you for your good.’ Then I said: ‘Well, you jolly well take it off again, or you’ll get into trouble. I’m only warnin’ you for your good.’ Foxy was wrath.” “Yes, but it’s only fair sport for Foxy,” said Beetle. “It’s Hefflelinga that has the evil mind. ’Shouldn’t wonder if he thought we got tight.” “I never got squiffy but once--that was in the holidays,” said Stalky, reflectively; “an’ it made me horrid sick. ’Pon my sacred Sam, though, it’s enough to drive a man to drink, havin’ an animal like Hoof for house-master.” “If we attended the matches an’ yelled, ‘Well hit, sir,’ an’ stood on one leg an’ grinned every time Heffy said, ‘So ho, my sons. Is it thus?’ an’ said, ‘Yes, sir,’ an’ ‘No, sir,’ an’ ‘O, sir,’ an’ ‘Please, sir,’ like a lot o’ filthy fa-ags, Heffy ’ud think no end of us,” said McTurk with a sneer. “Too late to begin that.” “It’s all right. The Hefflelinga means well. _But_ he is an ass. _And_ we show him that we think he’s an ass. An’ _so_ Heffy don’t love us. ’Told me last night after prayers that he was _in loco parentis_,” Beetle grunted. “The deuce he did!” cried Stalky. “That means he’s maturin’ something unusual dam’ mean. Last time he told me that he gave me three hundred lines for dancin’ the cachuca in Number Ten dormitory. _Loco parentis_, by gum! But what’s the odds as long as you’re ’appy? _We’re_ all right.” They were, and their very rightness puzzled Prout, King, and the Sergeant. Boys with bad consciences show it. They slink out past the Fives Court in haste, and smile nervously when questioned. They return, disordered, in bare time to save a call-over. They nod and wink and giggle one to the other, scattering at the approach of a master. But Stalky and his allies had long out-lived these manifestations of youth. They strolled forth unconcernedly, and returned in excellent shape after a light refreshment of strawberries and cream at the Lodge. The Lodge-keeper had been promoted to keeper, _vice_ the murderous fisherman, and his wife made much of the boys. The man, too, gave them a squirrel, which they presented to the Natural History Society; thereby checkmating little Hartopp, who wished to know what they were doing for Science. Foxy faithfully worked some deep Devon lanes behind a lonely cross-roads inn; and it was curious that Prout and King, members of Common-room seldom friendly, walked together in the same direction--that is to say, northeast. Now, the Pleasant Isle of Aves lay due southwest. “They’re deep--day-vilish deep,” said Stalky. “Why are they drawin’ those covers?”