put away all emotion and entrap the alien at the proper time.

So far good. King was importing himself more freely into the trial,
being vengeful where Prout was grieved. They knew the penalties of
trespassing? With a fine show of irresolution, Stalky admitted that
he had gathered some information vaguely bearing on this head, but he
thought--The sentence was dragged out to the uttermost: Stalky did
not wish to play his trump with such an opponent. Mr. King desired no
buts, nor was he interested in Stalky's evasions. They, on the other
hand, might be interested in his poor views. Boys who crept--who
sneaked--who lurked--out of bounds, even the generous bounds of the
Natural History Society, which they had falsely joined as a cloak for
their misdeeds--their vices--their villainies--their immoralities--

"He'll break cover in a minute," said Stalky to himself. "Then we'll
run into him before he gets away."

Such boys, scabrous boys, moral lepers--the current of his words was
carrying King off his feet--evil-speakers, liars, slow-bellies--yea,
incipient drunkards...

He was merely working up to a peroration, and the boys knew it; but
McTurk cut through the frothing sentence, the others echoing:

"I appeal to the Head, sir."

"I appeal to the head, sir."

"I appeal to the Head, sir."