The door of their study was open, and at the moment Plugs, the wholesale cribber, came whistling by. His real name was Gregson, and he was freckled. He put his head in and said “Frowsy beasts,” for no particular reason except that he felt cheerful.
“I say, Plugs, come in a minute,” said David. “Have—have one of Bags’s oranges?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” said Plugs politely, “that is, if Bags doesn’t mind. What’s the row?”
“Oh nothing, but we’re just jawing about cribbing. Thought you might help.”
“Not much to jaw about,” remarked Plugs. “It’s a dead cert that nobody ever got out of Tovey’s without, if you mean that. Why?”
“That’s your mistake,” said Bags. “If nobody cribbed, fellows would get out of Tovey’s just the same.”
“Didn’t say that,” said Plugs, “and the mistake’s yours. I said nobody ever had got out of Tovey’s without cribbing. No more they have. What would happen if nobody cribbed, ain’t the question. Every one always has cribbed in Tovey’s since the year one. You can’t help it with an owl like Tovey. Blazes cribs, and he’s three-quarters way down. Where’d you be without it, Blazes?”
“Bim,” said David promptly.
“There you are, then! Can’t think why you don’t crib more, and get higher.”
“But it’s such silly rot,” said Bags. “You’ll crib yourself into the lower-fifth some time. Nobody cribs in lower fifth. Where’ll you be then?”