"Look here," said Harrison, hoping for instant reward. "We've
recommended Prout to let you go back to your study."

"The dooce you have! And who under the sun are _you_ to interfere
between us and our housemaster?. Upon my Sam, you two try us very
hard--you do, indeed. Of course we don't know how far you abuse your
position to prejudice us with Mr. Prout; but when you deliberately
stop me to tell me you've been makin' arrangements behind our
back--in secret--with Prout--I--I don't know really what we ought to
do."

"That's beastly unfair! "cried Craye.

"It is." McTurk had adopted a ghastly solemnity that sat well on his
long, lean face. "Hang it all! A prefect's one thing and an usher's
another; but you seem to combine 'em. You recommend this--you
recommend that! _You_ say how and when we go back to our study!"

"But--but--we thought you'd like it, Turkey. We did, indeed. You know
you'll be ever so much more comfortable there." Harrison's voice was
almost tearful.

McTurk turned away as though to hide his emotions.

"They're broke!" He hunted up Stalky and Beetle in a box-room.
"They're sick! They've been beggin' Heffy to let us go back to
Number Five. Poor devils! Poor little devils!"

"It's the olive branch," was Stalky's comment. "It's the giddy white
flag, by gum! Come to think of it, we _have_ metagrobolized 'em."