“We’re admiring you, Tulke,” said Stalky. “We think you’re no end of a fine chap, don’t we?” “We do! We do!” A dog-cart with some girls in it swept round the corner, and Stalky promptly kneeled before Tulke in the attitude of prayer; so Tulke turned a color. “I’ve reason to believe--” he began. “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” shouted Beetle, after the manner of Bideford’s town crier, “Tulke has reason to believe! Three cheers for Tulke!” They were given. “It’s all our giddy admiration,” said Stalky. “You know how we love you, Tulke. We love you so much we think you ought to go home and die. You’re too good to live, Tulke.” “Yes,” said McTurk. “_Do_ oblige us by dyin’. Think how lovely you’d look stuffed!” Tulke swept up the road with an unpleasant glare in his eye. “That means a prefects’ meeting--sure pop,” said Stalky. “Honor of the Sixth involved, and all the rest of it. Tulke’ll write notes all this afternoon, and Carson will call us up after tea. They daren’t overlook that.” “Bet you a bob he follows us!” said McTurk. “He’s King’s pet, and it’s scalps to both of ’em if we’re caught out. We must be virtuous.” “Then I move we go to Mother Yeo’s for a last gorge. We owe her about ten bob, and Mary’ll weep sore when she knows we’re leaving,” said Beetle. “She gave me an awful wipe on the head last time--Mary,” said Stalky. “She does if you don’t duck,” said McTurk. “But she generally kisses one back. Let’s try Mother Yeo.” They sought a little bottle-windowed half dairy, half restaurant, a dark-brewed, two-hundred-year-old house, at the head of a narrow side street. They had patronized it from the days of their fagdom, and were very much friends at home. “We’ve come to pay our debts, mother,” said Stalky, sliding his arm round the fifty-six-inch waist of the mistress of the establishment. “To pay our debts and say good-by--and--and we’re awf’ly hungry.” “Aie!” said Mother Yeo, “makkin’ love to me! I’m shaamed of ’ee.” “’Rackon us wouldn’t du no such thing if Mary was here,” said McTurk, lapsing into the broad North Devon that the boys used on their campaigns. “Who’m takin’ my name in vain?” The inner door opened, and Mary, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and apple-checked, entered with a bowl of cream in her hands. McTurk kissed her. Beetle followed suit, with exemplary calm. Both boys were promptly cuffed. “Niver kiss the maid when ’e can kiss the mistress,” said Stalky, shamelessly winking at Mother Yeo, as he investigated a shelf of jams. “Glad to see one of ’ee don’t want his head slapped no more?” said Mary invitingly, in that direction. “Neu! Reckon I can get ’em give me,” said Stalky, his back turned. “Not by me--yeou little masterpiece!” “Niver asked ’ee. There’s maids to Northam. Yiss--an’ Appledore.” An unreproducible sniff, half contempt, half reminiscence, rounded the retort. “Aie! Yeou won’t niver come to no good end. Whutt be ’baout, smellin’ the cream?” “’Tees bad,” said Stalky. “Zmell ’un.”