"My hat!" said he, throwing himself upon the banquet. "Who stumped up
for this, Stalky?" It was within a month of term end, and blank
starvation had reigned in the studies for weeks.

"You," said Stalky, serenely.

"Confound you! You haven't been popping my Sunday bags, then?"

"Keep your hair on. It's only your watch."

"Watch! I lost it--weeks ago. Out on the Burrows, when we tried to
shoot the old ram--the day our pistol burst."

"It dropped out of your pocket (you're so beastly careless, Beetle),
and McTurk and I kept it for you. I've been wearing it for a week,
and you never noticed. Took it into Bideford after dinner to-day. Got
thirteen and sevenpence. Here's the ticket."

"Well, that's pretty average cool," said Abanazar behind a slab of
cream and jam, as Beetle, reassured upon the safety of his Sunday
trousers, showed not even surprise, much less resentment. Indeed, it
was McTurk who grew angry, saying:

"You gave him the ticket, Stalky? You pawned it? You unmitigated
beast! Why, last month you and Beetle sold mine! 'Never got a sniff
of any ticket."

"Ah, that was because you locked your trunk, and we wasted half the
afternoon hammering it open. We might have pawned it if you'd behaved
like a Christian, Turkey."