“But, hang it, she kissed me!” Outside of his work, Tulke’s mind moved slowly.
“I’m not thinking of you. I’m thinking of us. I’ll go up to their study and see if I can make ’em keep quiet!”
“Tulke’s awf’ly cut up about this business,” Naughten began, ingratiatingly, when he found Beetle.
“Who’s kissed him this time?”
“—and I’ve come to ask you chaps, and especially you, Beetle, not to let the thing be known all over the school. Of course, fellows as senior as you are can easily see why.”
“Um!” said Beetle, with the cold reluctance of one who foresees an unpleasant public duty. “I suppose I must go and talk to the Sixth again.”
“Not the least need, my dear chap, I assure you,” said Naughten hastily. “I’ll take any message you care to send.”
But the chance of supplying the missing adjective was too tempting. So Naughten returned to that still undissolved meeting, Beetle, white, icy, and aloof, at his heels.
“There seems,” he began, with laboriously crisp articulation, “there seems to be a certain amount of uneasiness among you as to the steps we may think fit to take in regard to this last revelation of the—ah—obscene. If it is any consolation to you to know that we have decided—for the honor of the school, you understand—to keep our mouths shut as to these—ah—obscenities, you—ah—have it.”
He wheeled, his head among the stars, and strode statelily back to his study, where Stalky and McTurk lay side by side upon the table wiping their tearful eyes—too weak to move.