“Well-meanin’ man. Did it all for the best.” Stalky curled gracefully round the stair-rail. “Head in a drain-pipe. Full confession in the left boot. Bad for the honor of the house—very.”
“Shut up,” said Harrison. “You chaps always behave as if you were jawin’ us when we come to jaw you.”
“You’re a lot too cheeky,” said Craye.
“I don’t quite see where the cheek comes in, except on your part, in interferin’ with a private matter between me an’ Beetle after it has been settled by Prout.” Stalky winked cheerfully at the others.
“That’s the worst of clever little swots,” said McTurk, addressing the gas. “They get made prefects before they have any tact, and then they annoy chaps who could really help ’em to look after the honor of the house.”
“We won’t trouble you to do that!” said Craye hotly.
“Then what are you badgerin’ us for?” said Beetle. “On your own showing, you’ve been so beastly slack, looking after the house, that Prout believes it’s a nest of money-lenders. I’ve told him that I’ve lent money to Stalky, and no one else. I don’t know whether he believes me, but that finishes my case. The rest is your business.”
“Now we find out,” Stalky’s voice rose, “that there is apparently an organized conspiracy throughout the house. For aught we know, the fags may be lendin’ and borrowin’ far beyond their means. We aren’t responsible for it. We’re only the rank and file.”
“Are you surprised we don’t wish to associate with the house?” said McTurk, with dignity. “We’ve kept ourselves to ourselves in our study till we were turned out, and now we find ourselves let in for for this sort of thing. It’s simply disgraceful.”
“Then you hector and bullyrag us on the stairs,” said Stalky, “about matters that are your business entirely. You know we aren’t prefects.”