“Confound it!” roared Naughten. “You aren’t head-prefect here, McTurk.” “Oh, well,” returned the Irishman, “you know Tulke better than we do. I am only speaking for ourselves. _We_ accept Tulke’s word. But all I can say is that if I’d been collared in a similarly disgustin’ situation, and had offered the same explanation Tulke has, I--I wonder what you’d have said. However, it seems on Tulke’s word of honor--” “And Tulkus--beg pardon--_kiss_, of course---Tulkiss is an honorable man,” put in Stalky. “--that the Sixth can’t protect ’emselves from bein’ kissed when they go for a walk!” cried Beetle, taking up the running with a rush. “Sweet business, isn’t it? Cheerful thing to tell the fags, ain’t it? We aren’t prefects, of course, but we aren’t kissed very much. Don’t think that sort of thing ever enters our heads; does it, Stalky?” “Oh, no!” said Stalky, turning aside to hide his emotions. McTurk’s face merely expressed lofty contempt and a little weariness. “Well, you seem to know a lot about it,” interposed a prefect. “Can’t help it--when you chaps shove it under our noses.” Beetle dropped into a drawling parody of King’s most biting colloquial style--the gentle rain after the thunder-storm. “Well, it’s all very sufficiently vile and disgraceful, isn’t it? I don’t know who comes out of it worst: Tulke, who happens to have been caught; or the other fellows who haven’t. And we--” here he wheeled fiercely on the other two--“we’ve got to stand up and be jawed by them because we’ve disturbed their intrigues.” “Hang it! I only wanted to give you a word of warning,” said Carson, thereby handing himself bound to the enemy. “Warn? You?” This with the air of one who finds loathsome gifts in his locker. “Carson, _would_ you be good enough to tell us what conceivable thing there is that you are entitled to warn us about after this exposure? Warn? Oh, it’s a little too much! Let’s go somewhere where it’s clean.” The door banged behind their outraged innocence. “Oh, Beetle! Beetle! Beetle! Golden Beetle!” sobbed Stalky, hurling himself on Beetle’s panting bosom as soon as they reached the study. “However did you do it?” “Dear-r man” said McTurk, embracing Beetle’s head with both arms, while he swayed it to and fro on the neck, in time to this ancient burden-- “Pretty lips--sweeter than--cherry or plum. Always look--jolly and--never look glum; Seem to say--Come away. Kissy!--come, come! Yummy-yum! Yummy-yum! Yummy-yum-yum!” “Look out. You’ll smash my gig-lamps,” puffed Beetle, emerging. “Wasn’t it glorious? Didn’t I ‘Eric’ ’em splendidly? Did you spot my cribs from King? Oh, blow!” His countenance clouded. “There’s one adjective I didn’t use--obscene. Don’t know how I forgot that. It’s one of King’s pet ones, too.” “Never mind. They’ll be sendin’ ambassadors round in half a shake to beg us not to tell the school. It’s a deuced serious business for them,” said McTurk. “Poor Sixth--poor old Sixth!”