'I was only thinking that it would be a lark to go and put a booby-trap on his door.'
The headmaster's eyes glistened.
'Yes, wouldn't it!' he said.
They mused for a while. Then the headmaster uttered a deep chuckle.
'What are you giggling about?' asked the bishop.
'I was only thinking what a priceless ass you looked this afternoon, talking all that rot about old Fatty.'
In spite of his cheerfulness, a frown passed over the bishop's fine forehead.
'It went very much against the grain to speak in terms of eulogy—yes, fulsome eulogy—of one whom we both know to have been a blighter of the worst description. Where does Fatty get off, having statues put up to him?'
'Oh well, he's an Empire builder, I suppose,' said the headmaster, who was a fair-minded man.
'Just the sort of thing he would be,' grumbled the bishop. 'Shoving himself forward! If ever there was a chap I barred, it was Fatty.'