“Makin’ a treaty with Foxy. Didn’t you hear Stalky say: ‘That’s what we’ll do--an’ if he don’t like it he can lump it’? They’ll use Foxy for a cram. Can’t you see, you idiot? They’re goin’ up for Sandhurst or the Shop in less than a year. They’ll learn their drill an’ then they’ll drop it like a shot. D’you suppose chaps with their amount of extra-tu are takin’ up volunteerin’ for fun?” “Well, I don’t know. I thought of doin’ a poem about it--rottin’ ’em, you know--‘The Ballad of the Dogshooters’--eh?” “I don’t think you can, because King’ll be down on the corps like a cartload o’ bricks. He hasn’t been consulted, he’s sniffin’ round the notice-board now. Let’s lure him.” They strolled up carelessly towards the house-master--a most meek couple. “How’s this?” said King with a start of feigned surprise. “Methought you would be learning to fight for your country.” “I think the company’s full, sir,” said McTurk. “It’s a great pity,” sighed Beetle. “Forty valiant defenders, have we, then? How noble! What devotion! I presume that it is possible that a desire to evade their normal responsibilities may be at the bottom of this zeal. Doubtless they will be accorded special privileges, like the Choir and the Natural History Society--one must not say Bug-hunters.” “Oh, I suppose so, sir,” said McTurk, cheerily. “The Head hasn’t said anything about it yet, but he will, of course.” “Oh, sure to.” “It is just possible, my Beetle,” King wheeled on the last speaker, “that the house-masters--a necessary but somewhat neglected factor in our humble scheme of existence--may have a word to say on the matter. Life, for the young at least, is not all weapons and munitions of war. Education is incidentally one of our aims.” “What a consistent pig he is,” cooed McTurk, when they were out of earshot. “One always knows where to have him. Did you see how he rose to that draw about the Head and special privileges?” “Confound him, he might have had the decency to have backed the scheme. I could do such a lovely ballad, rottin’ it; and now I’ll have to be a giddy enthusiast. It don’t bar our pulling Stalky’s leg in the study, does it?” “Oh, no; but in the Coll. we must be pro-cadet-corps like anything. Can’t you make up a giddy epigram, _à la Catullus_, about King objectin’ to it?” Beetle was at this noble task when Stalky returned all hot from his first drill. “Hullo, my ramrod-bunger!” began McTurk. “Where’s your dead dog? Is it Defence or Defiance?” “Defiance,” said Stalky, and leaped on him at that word. “Look here, Turkey, you mustn’t rot the corps. We’ve arranged it beautifully. Foxy swears he won’t take us out into the open till we say we want to go.” “_Dis_-gustin’ exhibition of immature infants apin’ the idiosyncrasies of their elders. Snff!” “Have you drawn King, Beetle?” Stalky asked in a pause of the scuffle. “Not exactly; but that’s his genial style.”