“It’s only old Prout’s lunacy that we weren’t prefects long ago. You know that,” said McTurk. “You haven’t any tact.”
“Hold on,” said Beetle. “A prefects’ meetin’ has to be reported to the Head. I want to know if the Head backs Tulke in this business?”
“Well—well, it isn’t exactly a prefects’ meeting,” said Carson. “We only called you in to warn you.”
“But all the prefects are here,” Beetle insisted. “Where’s the difference?”
“My Gum!” said Stalky. “Do you mean to say you’ve just called us in for a jaw—after comin’ to us before the whole school at tea an’ givin’ ’em the impression it was a prefects’ meeting? ’Pon my Sam, Carson, you’ll get into trouble, you will.”
“Hole-an’-corner business—hole-an’-corner business,” said McTurk, wagging his head. “Beastly suspicious.”
The Sixth looked at each other uneasily. Tulke had called three prefects’ meetings in two terms, till the Head had informed the Sixth that they were expected to maintain discipline without the recurrent menace of his authority. Now, it seemed that they had made a blunder at the outset, but any right-minded boy would have sunk the legality and been properly impressed by the Court. Beetle’s protest was distinct “cheek.”
“Well, you chaps deserve a lickin’,” cried one Naughten incautiously. Then was Beetle filled with a noble inspiration.
“For interferin’ with Tulke’s amours, eh?” Tulke turned a rich sloe color. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Beetle went on. “You’ve had your innings. We’ve been sent up for cursing and swearing at you, and we’re goin’ to be let off with a warning! Are we? Now then, you’re going to catch it.”
“I—I—I—” Tulke began. “Don’t let that young devil start jawing.”