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canā€™t you three take any interest in the honor of your house?ā€

They had heard that phrase till they were wearied. The ā€œhonor of the houseā€ was Proutā€™s weak point, and they knew well how to flick him on the raw.

ā€œIf you order us to go down, sir, of course weā€™ll go,ā€ said Stalky, with maddening politeness. But Prout knew better than that. He had tried the experiment once at a big match, when the three, self-isolated, stood to attention for half an hour in full view of all the visitors, to whom fags, subsidized for that end, pointed them out as victims of Proutā€™s tyranny. And Prout was a sensitive man.

In the infinitely petty confederacies of the Common-room, King and Macrea, fellow housemasters, had borne it in upon him that by games, and games alone, was salvation wrought. Boys neglected were boys lost. They must be disciplined. Left to himself, Prout would have made a sympathetic housemaster; but he was never so left, and with the devilish insight of youth, the boys knew to whom they were indebted for his zeal.

ā€œMust we go down, sir?ā€™ said McTurk.

ā€œI donā€™t want to order you to do what a right-thinking boy should do gladly. Iā€™m sorry.ā€ And he lurched out with some hazy impression that he had sown good seed on poor ground.

ā€œNow what does he suppose is the use of that?ā€ said Beetle.

ā€œOh, heā€™s cracked. King jaws him in Common-room about not keepinā€™ us up to the mark, anā€™ Macrea burbles about ā€˜dithcipline,ā€™ anā€™ old Heffy sits between ā€˜em sweatinā€™ big drops. I heard Oke (the Common-room butler) talking to Richards (Proutā€™s house-servant) about it down in the basement the other day when I went down to bag some bread,ā€ said Stalky.

ā€œWhat did Oke say?ā€ demanded McTurk, throwing ā€œEricā€ into a corner.

ā€œOh, he said, ā€˜They make more nise nor a nest full oā€™ jackdaws, anā€™ half of it like weā€™d no ears to our heads that waited on ā€˜em. They talks over old Proutā€”what heā€™ve done anā€™ left undone about his boys. Anā€™ how their boys be fine boys, anā€™ hisā€™n be dom bad.ā€™ Well, Oke talked like that, you know, and Richards got awfā€™ly wrathy. He has a down on King for something or other. Wonder why?ā€

ā€œWhy, King talks about Prout in form-roomā€”makes allusions, anā€™ all thatā€”only half the chaps are such asses they canā€™t see what heā€™s drivinā€™ at. And dā€™you remember what he said about the ā€˜Casual Houseā€™ last Tuesday? He meant us. They say he says perfectly beastly things to his own house, making fun of Proutā€™s,ā€ said Beetle.

ā€œWell, we didnā€™t come here to mix up in their rows,ā€ McTurk said wrathfully. ā€œWhoā€™ll bathe after callover? Kingā€™s takinā€™ it in the cricket-field. Come on.ā€ Turkey seized his straw and led the way.

They reached the sun-blistered pavilion over against the gray Pebbleridge just before roll-call, and, asking no questions, gathered from Kingā€™s voice and manner that his house was on the road to victory.

ā€œAh, ha!ā€ said he, turning to show the light of his countenance. ā€œHere we have the ornaments of the Casual House at last. You consider cricket beneath you, I believe ā€œā€”the crowd, flannelled, sniggered ā€œand from what I have seen this afternoon, I fancy many others of your house hold the same view. And may I ask what you purpose to do with your noble selves till tea-time?ā€

ā€œGoing down to bathe, sir,ā€ said Stalky.

ā€œAnd whence this sudden zeal for cleanliness? There is nothing about you that particularly suggests it. Indeed, so far as I rememberā€”I may be at faultā€”but a short time agoā€”ā€

ā€œFive years, sir,ā€ said Beetle hotly.

King scowled. ā€œOne of you was that thing called a water-funk. Yes, a water-funk. So now you wish to wash? It is well. Cleanliness never injured a boy orā€”a house. We will proceed to business,ā€ and he addressed himself to the callover board.

ā€œWhat the deuce did you say anything to him for, Beetle?ā€ said McTurk angrily, as they strolled towards the big, open sea-baths.

ā€œā€˜Twasnā€™t fairā€”remindinā€™ one of beinā€™ a water-funk. My first term, too. Heaps of chaps areā€”when they canā€™t swim.ā€

ā€œYes, you ass; but he saw heā€™d fetched you. You ought never to answer King.ā€

ā€œBut it wasnā€™t fair, Stalky.ā€

ā€œMy Hat! Youā€™ve been here six years, and you expect fairness. Well, you are a dithering idiot.ā€

A knot of Kingā€™s boys, also bound for the baths, hailed them, beseeching them to washā€”for the honor of their house.

ā€œThatā€™s what comes of Kingā€™s jawinā€™ and messinā€™. Those young animals wouldnā€™t have thought of it unless heā€™d put it into their heads. Now theyā€™ll be funny about it for weeks,ā€ said Stalky. ā€œDonā€™t take any notice.ā€

The boys came nearer, shouting an opprobrious word. At last they moved to windward, ostentatiously holding their noses.

ā€œThatā€™s pretty,ā€ said Beetle. ā€œTheyā€™ll be sayinā€™ our house stinks next.ā€

When they returned from the baths, damp-headed, languid, at peace with the world, Beetleā€™s forecast came only too true. They were met in the corridor by a fagā€”a common, Lower-Second fagā€”who at armā€™s length handed them a carefully wrapped piece of soap ā€œwith the compliments of Kingā€™s House.ā€

ā€œHold on,ā€ said Stalky, checking immediate attack. ā€œWho put you up to this, Nixon? Rattray and White? (Those were two leaders in Kingā€™s house.) Thank you. Thereā€™s no answer.ā€

ā€œOh, itā€™s too sickening to have this kind oā€™ rot shoved on to a chap. Whatā€™s the sense of it? Whatā€™s the fun of it?ā€ said McTurk.

ā€œIt will go on to the end of the term, though,ā€ Beetle wagged his head sorrowfully. He had worn many jests threadbare on his own account.

In a few days it became an established legend of the school that Proutā€™s house did not wash and were therefore noisome. Mr. King was pleased to smile succulently in form when one of his boys drew aside from Beetle with certain gestures.

ā€œThere seems to be some disability attaching to you, my Beetle, or else why should Burton major withdraw, so to speak, the hem of his garments? I confess I am still in the dark. Will some one be good enough to enlighten me?ā€

Naturally, he was enlightened by half the form.

ā€œExtraordinary! Most extraordinary! However, each house has its traditions, with which I would not for the world interfere. We have a prejudice in favor of washing. Go on, Beetleā€”from ā€˜jugurthatamen_ā€™ā€”and, if you can, avoid the more flagrant forms of guessing.ā€

Proutā€™s house was furious because Macreaā€™s and Hartoppā€™s houses joined Kingā€™s to insult them. They called a house-meeting after dinnerā€”an excited and angry meeting of all save the prefects, whose dignity, though they sympathized, did not allow them to attend. They read ungrammatical resolutions, and made speeches beginning, ā€œGentlemen, we have met on this occasion,ā€ and ending with, ā€œItā€™s a beastly shame,ā€ precisely as houses have done since time and schools began.

Number Five study attended, with its usual air of bland patronage. At last McTurk, of the lanthorn jaws, delivered himself:

ā€œYou jabber and jaw and burble, and thatā€™s about all you can do. Whatā€™s the good of it? Kingā€™s houseā€™ll only gloat because theyā€™ve drawn you, and King will gloat, too. Besides, that resolution of Orrinā€™s is chock-full of bad grammar, and Kingā€™ll gloat over that.ā€

ā€œI thought you anā€™ Beetle would put it right, anā€™ā€”anā€™ weā€™d post it in the corridor,ā€ said the composer meekly.

ā€œParsi_je_le_connai_. Iā€™m not goinā€™ to meddle with the biznai,ā€ said Beetle. ā€œItā€™s a gloat for Kingā€™s house. Turkeyā€™s quite right.ā€

ā€œWell, wonā€™t Stalky, then?ā€

But Stalky puffed out his cheeks and squinted down his nose in the style of Panurge, and all he said was, ā€œOh, you abject burblers!ā€

ā€œYouā€™re three beastly scabs!ā€ was the instant retort of the democracy, and they went out amid execrations.

ā€œThis is piffling,ā€ said McTurk. ā€œLetā€™s get our sallies, and go and shoot bunnies.ā€

Three saloon-pistols, with a supply of bulleted breech-caps, were stored in Stalkyā€™s trunk, and this trunk was in their dormitory, and their dormitory was a three-bed attic one, opening out of a ten-bed establishment, which, in turn, communicated with the great range of dormitories that ran practically from one end of the College to the other. Macreaā€™s house lay next to Proutā€™s, Kingā€™s next to Macreaā€™s, and Hartoppā€™s beyond that again. Carefully locked doors divided house from house, but each house, in its internal arrangementsā€”the College had originally been a terrace of twelve large housesā€”was a replica of the next; one straight roof covering all.

They found Stalkyā€™s bed drawn out from the wall to the left of the dormer window, and the latter end of Richards protruding from a two-foot-square cupboard in the wall.

ā€œWhatā€™s all this? Iā€™ve never noticed it before. What are you tryinā€™ to do, Fatty?ā€

ā€œFillinā€™ basins, Muster Corkran.ā€ Richardsā€™s voice was hollow and muffled. ā€œTheyā€™ve been savinā€™ me trouble. Yiss.ā€

ā€œā€˜Looks like it,ā€ said McTurk. ā€œHi! Youā€™ll stick if you donā€™t take care.ā€

Richards backed puffing.

ā€œI canā€™t rache un. Yiss, ā€˜tess a turncock, Muster McTurk. Theyā€™ve took anā€™ runned all the watter-pipes a storey higher in the housesā€”runned ā€˜em all along under the ā€˜ang of the heaves, like. Runned ā€˜em in last holidays. I canā€™t rache the turncock.ā€

ā€œLet me try,ā€ said Stalky, diving into the aperture.

ā€œSlip ā€˜ee to the left, then, Muster Corkran. Slip ā€˜ee to the left, anā€™ feel in the dark.ā€

To the left Stalky wriggled, and saw a long line of lead pipe disappearing up a triangular tunnel, whose roof was the rafters and boarding of the college roof, whose floor was sharp-edged joists, and whose side was the rough studding of the lath and plaster wall under the dormer.

ā€œRummy show. How far does it go?ā€

ā€œRight along, Muster Corkranā€”right along from end to end. Her runs under the ā€˜ang of the heaves. Have ā€˜ee rached the stopcock yet? Mr. King got un put in to save us carryinā€™ watter from down-stairs to fill the basins. No place for a lusty man like old Richards. Iā€™m tu thickabout to go ferritinā€™. Thank ā€˜ee, Muster Corkran.ā€

The water squirted through the tap just inside the cupboard, and, having filled the basins, the grateful Richards waddled away.

The boys sat round-eyed on their beds considering the possibilities of this trove. Two floors below them they could hear the hum of the angry house; for nothing is so still as a dormitory in mid-afternoon of a midsummer term.

ā€œIt has been papered over till now.ā€ McTurk examined the little door. ā€œIf weā€™d only known before!ā€

ā€œI vote we go down and explore. No one will come up this time oā€™ day. We neednā€™t keep caveā€™.ā€

They crawled in, Stalky leading, drew the door behind them, and on all fours embarked on a dark and dirty road full of plaster, odd shavings, and all the raffle that builders leave in the waste room of a house. The passage was perhaps three feet wide, and, except for the struggling light round the edges of the cupboards (there was one to each dormer), almost pitchy dark.

ā€œHereā€™s Macreaā€™s house,ā€ said Stalky, his eye at the crack of the third cupboard. ā€œI can see Barnesā€™s name on his trunk. Donā€™t make such a row, Beetle! We can get right to the end of the Coll. Come on!ā€¦ Weā€™re in Kingā€™s house nowā€”I can see a bit of Rattrayā€™s trunk. How these beastly boards hurt oneā€™s knees!ā€ They heard his nails scraping, on plaster.

ā€œThatā€™s the ceiling below. Look out! If we smashed that the plaster ā€˜ud fall down in the lower dormitory,ā€ said Beetle.

ā€œLetā€™s,ā€ whispered McTurk.

ā€œAnā€™ be collared first thing? Not much. Why, I can shove my hand ever so far up between these boards.ā€

Stalky thrust an arm to the elbow between the joists.

ā€œNo good stayinā€™ here. I vote we go back and talk it over. Itā€™s

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