Mr. King explained that as he had made it the one rule of his life never to interfere with another man’s house, so he expected not to be too patently interfered with. They might be interested to learn—here the chaplain heaved a weary sigh—that he had taken all steps that, in his poor judgment, would meet the needs of the case. Nay, further, he had himself expended, with no thought of reimbursement, sums, the amount of which he would not specify, on disinfectants. This he had done because he knew by bitter—by most bitter—experience that the management of the college was slack, dilatory, and inefficient. He might even add, almost as slack as the administration of certain houses which now thought fit to sit in judgment on his actions. With a short summary of his scholastic career, and a precis of his qualifications, including his degrees, he withdrew, slamming the door.
“Heigho!” said the chaplain. “Ours is a dwarfing life—a belittling life, my brethren. God help all schoolmasters! They need it.”
“I don’t like the boys, I own”—Prout dug viciously with his fork into the table-cloth—“and I don’t pretend to be a strong man, as you know. But I confess I can’t see any reason why I should take steps against Stalky and the others because King happens to be annoyed by—by—”
“Falling into the pit he has digged,” said little Hartopp. “Certainly not, Prout. No one accuses you of setting one house against another through sheer idleness.”
“A belittling life—a belittling life.” The chaplain rose. “I go to correct French exercises. By dinner King will have scored off some unlucky child of thirteen; he will repeat to us every word of his brilliant repartees, and all will be well.”
“But about those three. Are they so prurient-minded?”
“Nonsense,” said little Hartopp. “If you thought for a minute, Prout, you would see that the ‘precocious flow of fetid imagery,’ that King complains of, is borrowed wholesale from King. He ’nursed the pinion that impelled the steel.’ Naturally he does not approve. Come into the smoking-room for a minute. It isn’t fair to listen to boys; but they should be now rubbing it into King’s house outside. Little things please little minds.”
The dingy den off the Common-room was never used for anything except gowns. Its windows were ground glass; one could not see out of it, but one could hear almost every word on the gravel outside. A light and wary footstep came up from Number Five.
“Rattray!” in a subdued voice—Rattray’s study fronted that way. “D’you know if Mr. King’s anywhere about? I’ve got a—” McTurk discreetly left the end of the sentence open.
“No, he’s gone out,” said Rattray unguardedly.