Twenty-one years in the army had left their mark on Foxy. He obeyed. “Now. March!” The high Lodge gate shut with a clang. “My duty! A sergeant to tell me my duty!” puffed Colonel Dabney. “Good Lard! more sergeants!” “It’s King! It’s King!” gulped Stalky, his head on the horsehair pillow. McTurk was eating the rag-carpet before the speckless hearth, and the sofa heaved to the emotions of Beetle. Through the thick glass the figures without showed blue, distorted, and menacing. “I--I protest against this outrage.” King had evidently been running up hill. “The man was entirely within his duty. Let--let me give you my card.” “He’s in flannels!” Stalky buried his head again. “Unfortunately--_most_ unfortunately--I have not one with me, but my name is King, sir, a house-master of the College, and you will find me prepared--fully prepared--to answer for this man’s action. We’ve seen three--” “_Did_ ye see my notice-boards?” “I admit we did; but under the circumstances--” “I stand _in loco parentis_.” Prout’s deep voice was added to the discussion. They could hear him pant. “F’what?” Colonel Dabney was growing more and more Irish. “I’m responsible for the boys under my charge.” “Ye are, are ye? Then all I can say is that ye set them a very bad example--a dam’ bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys. I’ve not seen your boys, an’ I tell you that if there was a boy grinnin’ in every bush on the place, _still_ ye’ve no shadow of a right here, comin’ up from the combe that way, an’ frightenin’ everything in it. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did. Ye should have come to the Lodge an’ seen me like Christians, instead of chasin’ your dam’ boys through the length and breadth of my covers. _In loco parentis_ ye are? Well, I’ve not forgotten my Latin either, an’ I’ll say to you: ‘_Quis custodiet ipsos custodes_.’ If the masters trespass, how can we blame the boys?” “But if I could speak to you privately,” said Prout. “I’ll have nothing private with you! Ye can be as private as ye please on the other side o’ that gate an’--I wish ye a very good afternoon.” A second time the gate clanged. They waited till Colonel Dabney had returned to the house, and fell into one another’s arms, crowing for breath. “Oh, my Soul! Oh, my King! Oh, my Heffy! Oh, my Foxy! Zeal, all zeal, Mr. Simple.” Stalky wiped his eyes. “Oh! Oh! Oh!--‘I _did_ boil the exciseman!’ We must get out of this or we’ll be late for tea.” “Ge--Ge--get the badger and make little Hartopp happy. Ma--ma--make ’em all happy,” sobbed McTurk, groping for the door and kicking the prostrate Beetle before him. They found the beast in an evil-smelling box, left two half-crowns for payment, and staggered home. Only the badger grunted most marvelous like Colonel Dabney, and they dropped him twice or thrice with shrieks of helpless laughter. They were but imperfectly recovered when Foxy met them by the Fives Court with word that they were to go up to their dormitory and wait till sent for.