warnin' you for your good.' Foxy was wrath."

"Yes, but it's only fair sport for Foxy," said Beetle. "It's
Hefflelinga that has the evil mind. 'Shouldn't wonder if he thought
we got tight."

"I never got squiffy but once--that was in the holidays," said Stalky,
reflectively; "an' it made me horrid sick. 'Pon my sacred Sam,
though, it's enough to drive a man to drink, havin' an animal like
Hoof for house-master."

"If we attended the matches an' yelled, 'Well hit, sir,' an' stood on
one leg an' grinned every time Heffy said, 'So ho, my sons. Is it
thus?' an' said, 'Yes, sir,' an' 'No, sir,' an' 'O, sir,' an'
'Please, sir,' like a lot o' filthy fa-ags, Heffy 'ud think no end of
us," said McTurk with a sneer.

"Too late to begin that."

"It's all right. The Hefflelinga means well. _But_ he is an ass. _And_
we show him that we think he's an ass. An' _so_ Heffy don't love us.
'Told me last night after prayers that he was _in_loco_parentis_,"
Beetle grunted.

"The deuce he did!" cried Stalky. "That means he's maturin' something
unusual dam' mean. Last time he told me that he gave me three hundred
lines for dancin' the cachuca in Number Ten dormitory.
_Loco_parentis_, by gum! But what's the odds as long as you're 'appy?
_We're_ all right."