(“Old Rat is more of a diplomat than I thought. So far he is strictly within the truth,” said little Hartopp. “Observe the ethics of it, Prout.”) “Oh, you were sporting with them, were you? I must say I do not envy you your choice of associates. I fancied they might have been engaged in some of the prurient discourse with which they have been so disgustingly free of late. I should strongly advise you to direct your steps most carefully in the future. Pick up those golf-balls.” He passed on. * * * * * Next day Richards, who had been a carpenter in the Navy, and to whom odd jobs were confided, was ordered to take up a dormitory floor; for Mr. King held that something must have died there. “We need not neglect all our work for a trumpery incident of this nature; though I am quite aware that little things please little minds. Yes, I have decreed the boards to be taken up after lunch under Richards’s auspices. I have no doubt it will be vastly interesting to a certain type of so-called intellect; but any boy of my house or another’s found on the dormitory stairs will _ipso facto_ render himself liable to three hundred lines.” The boys did not collect on the stairs, but most of them waited outside King’s. Richards had been bound to cry the news from the attic window, and, if possible, to exhibit the corpse. “’Tis a cat, a dead cat!” Richards’s face showed purple at the window. He had been in the chamber of death and on his knees for some time. “Cat be blowed!” cried McTurk. “It’s a dead fag left over from last term. Three cheers for King’s dead fag!” They cheered lustily. “Show it, show it! Let’s have a squint at it!” yelled the juniors. “Give her to the Bug-hunters.” (This was the Natural History Society). “The cat looked at the King--and died of it! Hoosh! Yai! Yaow! Maiow! Ftzz!” were some of the cries that followed. Again Richards appeared. “She’ve been”--he checked himself suddenly--“dead a long taime.” The school roared. “Well, come on out for a walk,” said Stalky in a well-chosen pause. “It’s all very disgustin’, and I do hope the Lazar-house won’t do it again.” “Do what?” a King’s boy cried furiously. “Kill a poor innocent cat every time you want to get off washing. It’s awfully hard to distinguish between you as it is. I prefer the cat, I must say. She isn’t quite so whiff. What are you goin’ to do, Beetle?” “_Je vais gloater. Je vais gloater tout le_ blessed afternoon. _Jamais j’ai gloaté comme je gloaterai aujourd’hui. Nous bunkerons aux_ bunkers.” And it seemed good to them so to do. * * * * * Down in the basement, where the gas flickers and the boots stand in racks, Richards, amid his blacking-brushes, held forth to Oke of the Common-room, Gumbly of the dining-halls, and fair Lena of the laundry.