Just after tea that day, Mr. Prout sent for them to say that if they
chose to ruin their future by neglecting their work, it was entirely
their own affair. He wished them, however, to understand that their
presence in the form-rooms could not be tolerated one hour longer. He
personally did not care to think of the time he must spend in
eliminating the traces of their evil influences. How far Beetle had
pandered to the baser side of youthful imagination he would ascertain
later; and Beetle might be sure that if Mr. Prout came across any
soul-corrupting consequences--

"Consequences of what, sir?" said Beetle, genuinely bewildered this
time; and McTurk quietly kicked him on the ankle for being "fetched"
by Prout. Beetle, the house-master continued, knew very well what was
intended. Evil and brief had been their careers under his eye; and
as one standing _in_loco_parentis_ to their yet uncontaminated
associates, he was bound to take his precautions. The return of the
study key closed the sermon.

"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?"