“Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin—and turn up their noses generally.”
“Ah,” said Prout sympathetically.
“I think, sir,” said Craye, plunging into the business boldly, “it would be a great deal better if they were sent back to their study—better for the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form-rooms.”
“They are younger than Orrin, or Flint, and a dozen others that I can think of.”
“Yes, sir; but that’s different, somehow. They’re rather influential. They have a knack of upsettin’ things in a quiet way that one can’t take hold of. At least, if one does—”
“And you think they would be better in their own study again?”
Emphatically Harrison and Craye were of that opinion. As Harrison said to Craye, afterwards, “They’ve weakened our authority. They’re too big to lick; they’ve made an exhibition of us over this usury business, and we’re a laughing-stock to the rest of the school. I’m going up (for Sandhurst, understood) next term. They’ve managed to knock me out of half my work already with their—their lunacy. If they go back to their study we may have a little peace.”
“Hullo, Harrison.” McTurk ambled round the corner, with a roving eye on all possible horizons. “Bearin’ up, old man? That’s right. Live it down! Live it down!”
“What d’you mean?”
“You look a little pensive,” said McTurk. “Exhaustin’ job superintendin’ the honor of the house, ain’t it? By the way, how are you off for mares’-nests?”