“You remember Mrs. Oliphant’s ‘Beleaguered City’ that you lent me last term?” said Beetle.
The Padre nodded.
“I got the notion out of that. Only, instead of a city, I made it the Coll. in a fog—besieged by ghosts of dead boys, who hauled chaps out of their beds in the dormitory. All the names are quite real. You tell it in a whisper, you know with the names. Orrin didn’t like it one little bit. None of ’em have ever let me finish it. It gets just awful at the end part.”
“But why in the world didn’t you explain to Mr. Prout, instead of leaving him under the impression—?”
“Padre Sahib,” said McTurk, “it isn’t the least good explainin’ to Mr. Prout. If he hasn’t one impression, he’s bound to have another.”
“He’d do it with the best o’ motives. He’s in loco parentis,” purred Stalky.
“You young demons!” the Reverend John replied. “And am I to understand that the—-the usury business was another of your house-master’s impressions?”
“Well—we helped a little in that,” said Stalky. “I did owe Beetle two and fourpence at least, Beetle says I did, but I never intended to pay him. Then we started a bit of an argument on the stairs, and—and Mr. Prout dropped into it accidental. That was how it was, Padre. He paid me cash down like a giddy Dook (stopped it out of my pocket-money just the same), and Beetle gave him my note-of-hand all correct. I don’t know what happened after that.”
“I was too truthful,” said Beetle. “I always am. You see, he was under an impression, Padre, and I suppose I ought to have corrected that impression; but of course I couldn’t be quite certain that his house wasn’t given over to money-lendin’, could I? I thought the house-prefects might know more about it than I did. They ought to. They’re giddy palladiums of public schools.”
“They did, too—by the time they’d finished,” said McTurk. “As nice a pair of conscientious, well-meanin’, upright, pure-souled boys as you’d ever want to meet, Padre. They turned the house upside down—Harrison and Craye—-with the best motives in the world.”