“You have been repeating what I mentioned last night about Lady Augusta’s son getting the seniorship,” said Jenkins, coming in and closing the door. “You did say it,” retorted Mr. Ketch. “I know I did. But I did not suppose you were going to repeat it again.” “If it was a secret, why didn’t you say so?” asked Mr. Ketch. “It was not exactly a secret, or Lady Augusta would not have mentioned it before me,” remonstrated Joe. “But it is not the proper thing, for me to come out of Mr. Galloway’s office, and talk of anything I may have heard said in it by his friends, and then for it to get round to his ears again! Put it to yourself, Mr. Ketch, and say whether you would like it.” “What _did_ you talk of it for, then?” snarled Ketch, preparing to take a copious draught of ale. “Because I thought you and father were safe. You might both have known better than to speak of it out of doors. There is sure to be a commotion over it.” “Miserable beer! Brewed out of ditch-water!” “Young Mr. Huntley came to me to-day, to know the rights and the wrongs of it--as he said,” continued Joseph. “He spoke to Mr. Galloway about it afterwards--though I must say he was kind enough not to bring in my name; only said, in a general way, that he had ‘heard’ it. He is an honourable young gentleman, is that Huntley. He vows the report shall be conveyed to the dean.” “Serve ‘em right!” snapped the porter. “If the dean does his duty, he’ll order a general flogging for the school, all round. It’ll do ‘em good.” “Galloway did not say much--except that he knew what he should do, were he Huntley’s or Channing’s father. Which I took to mean that, in his opinion, there ought to be an inquiry instituted.” “And you know there ought,” said Mr. Ketch. “_I_ know! I’m sure I don’t know,” was the mild answer. “It is not my place to reflect upon my superiors, Mr. Ketch--to say they should do this, or they should do that. I like to reverence them, and to keep a civil tongue in my head.” “Which is what you don’t do. If I knowed who brewed this beer I’d enter an action again him, for putting in no malt.” “I would not have had this get about for any money!” resumed Jenkins. “Neither you nor father shall ever catch me opening my lips again.” “Keep ‘em shut then,” growled old Ketch. Mr. Ketch leisurely finished his supper, and the two continued talking until dusk came on--almost dark; for the porter, churl though he was, liked a visitor as well as any one--possibly as a vent for his temper. He did not often find one who would stand it so meekly as Joe Jenkins. At length Mr. Jenkins lifted himself off the shut-up press bedstead on which he had been perched, and prepared to depart. “Come along of me while I lock up,” said Ketch, somewhat less ungraciously than usual.