“But what was the baser-side-of-imagination business?” said Beetle on the stairs.
“I never knew such an ass as you are for justifyin’ yourself,” said McTurk. “I hope I jolly well skinned your ankle. Why do you let yourself be drawn by everybody?”
“Draws be blowed! I must have tickled him up in some way I didn’t know about. If I’d had a notion of that before, of course I could have rubbed it in better. It’s too late now. What a pity! ‘Baser side.’ What was he drivin’ at?”
“Never mind,” said Stalky. “I knew we could make it a happy little house. I said so, remember—but I swear I didn’t think we’d do it so soon.”
“No,” said Prout most firmly in Common-room. “I maintain that Gillett is wrong. True, I let them return to their study.”
“With your known views on cribbing, too?” purred little Hartopp. “What an immoral compromise!”
“One moment,” said the Reverend John. “I—we—all of us have exercised an absolutely heart-breaking discretion for the last ten days. Now we want to know. Confess—have you known a happy minute since—”
“As regards my house, I have not,” said Prout. “But you are entirely wrong in your estimate of those boys. In justice to the others—in self-defence—”
“Ha! I said it would come to that,” murmured the Reverend John.
“—I was forced to send them back. Their moral influence was unspeakable—simply unspeakable.”