“Well, we won’t. Yell couldn’t make us cry that way,” said McTurk. “Try.”
Whereupon Mary cuffed them all round.
As they went out with tingling ears, said Stalky generally, “Don’t think there’ll be much of a prefects’ meeting.”
“Won’t there, just!” said Beetle. “Look here. If he kissed her—which is our tack—he is a cynically immoral hog, and his conduct is blatant indecency. Confer orationes Regis furiosissimi, when he collared me readin’ ‘Don Juan.’”
“’Course he kissed her,” said McTurk. “In the middle of the street. With his house-cap on!”
“Time, 3.57 p.m. Make a note o’ that. What d’you mean, Beetle?” said Stalky.
“Well! He’s a truthful little beast. He may say he was kissed.”
“And then?”
“Why, then!” Beetle capered at the mere thought of it. “Don’t you see? The corollary to the giddy proposition is that the Sixth can’t protect ’emselves from outrages an’ ravishin’s. Want nursemaids to look after ’em! We’ve only got to whisper that to the Coll. Jam for the Sixth! Jam for us! Either way it’s jammy!”
“By Gum!” said Stalky. “Our last term’s endin’ well. Now you cut along an’ finish up your old rag, and Turkey and me will help. We’ll go in the back way. No need to bother Randall.”