“Ye are, are ye? Then all I can say is that ye set them a very bad example—a dam’ bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys. I’ve not seen your boys, an’ I tell you that if there was a boy grinnin’ in every bush on the place, still ye’ve no shadow of a right here, comin’ up from the combe that way, an’ frightenin’ everything in it. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did. Ye should have come to the Lodge an’ seen me like Christians, instead of chasin’ your dam’ boys through the length and breadth of my covers. In loco parentis ye are? Well, I’ve not forgotten my Latin either, an’ I’ll say to you: ‘Quis custodiet ipsos custodes.’ If the masters trespass, how can we blame the boys?”
“But if I could speak to you privately,” said Prout.
“I’ll have nothing private with you! Ye can be as private as ye please on the other side o’ that gate an’—I wish ye a very good afternoon.”
A second time the gate clanged. They waited till Colonel Dabney had returned to the house, and fell into one another’s arms, crowing for breath.
“Oh, my Soul! Oh, my King! Oh, my Heffy! Oh, my Foxy! Zeal, all zeal, Mr. Simple.” Stalky wiped his eyes. “Oh! Oh! Oh!—‘I did boil the exciseman!’ We must get out of this or we’ll be late for tea.”
“Ge—Ge—get the badger and make little Hartopp happy. Ma—ma—make ’em all happy,” sobbed McTurk, groping for the door and kicking the prostrate Beetle before him.
They found the beast in an evil-smelling box, left two half-crowns for payment, and staggered home. Only the badger grunted most marvelous like Colonel Dabney, and they dropped him twice or thrice with shrieks of helpless laughter. They were but imperfectly recovered when Foxy met them by the Fives Court with word that they were to go up to their dormitory and wait till sent for.
“Well, take this box to Mr. Hartopp’s rooms, then. We’ve done something for the Natural History Society, at any rate,” said Beetle.
“’Fraid that won’t save you, young gen’elmen,” Foxy answered, in an awful voice. He was sorely ruffled in his mind.
“All sereno, Foxibus.” Stalky had reached the extreme stage of hiccups. “We—we’ll never desert you, Foxy. Hounds choppin’ foxes in cover is more a proof of vice, ain’t it?... No, you’re right. I’m—I’m not quite well.”