"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. Idon'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 Idid. 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.""They said so. 'They said it very loud and clear. They went and shouted in our ear,'" said Stalky.
"My own private impression is that all three of you will infallibly be hanged," said the Reverend John.
"Why, we didn't do anything," McTurk replied. "It was all Mr. Prout. Did you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle---he's in the Navy--gave me a beauty once.""Don't try to change the subject, Turkey."
"I'm not, sir. I'm givin' an illustration--same as a sermon. These wrestler-chaps have got sort sort of trick that lets the other chap do all the work. Than they give a little wriggle, and he upsets himself. It's called _shibbuwichee_ or _tokonoma_, or somethin'. Mr. Prout's a _shibbuwicher_. It isn't our fault.""Did you suppose we went round corruptin' the minds of the fags? "said Beetle. "They haven't any, to begin with; and if they had, they're corrupted long ago. I've been a fag, Padre.""Well, I fancied I knew the normal range of your iniquities; hut if you take so much trouble to pile up circumstantial evidence against yourselves, you can't blame any one if--""We don't blame any one, Padre. We haven't said a word against Mr. Prout, have we?"Stalky looked at the others. "We love him. He hasn't a notion how we love him.""H'm! You dissemble your love very well. Have you ever thought who got you turned out of your study in the first place?""It was Mr. Prout turned us out," said Stalky, with significance.
"Well, I was that man. I didn't mean it; but some words of mine, I'm afraid, gave Mr. Prout the impression--"Number Five laughed aloud.
"You see it's just the same thing with you, Padre," said McTurk. "He is quick to get an impression, ain't he? But you mustn't think we don't love him, 'cause we do.
There isn't an ounce of vice about him."
A double knock fell on the door.
"The Head to see Number Five study in his study at once," said the voice of Foxy, the school sergeant.
