"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.