In the infinitely petty confederacies of the Common-room, King and
Macrea, fellow house-masters, had borne it in upon him that by games,
and games alone, was salvation wrought. Boys neglected were boys
lost. They must be disciplined. Left to himself, Prout would have
made a sympathetic house-master; but he was never so left, and with
the devilish insight of youth, the boys knew to whom they were
indebted for his zeal.

"Must we go down, sir?' said McTurk.

"I don't want to order you to do what a right-thinking boy should do
gladly. I'm sorry." And he lurched out with some hazy impression that
he had sown good seed on poor ground.

"Now what does he suppose is the use of that?" said Beetle.

"Oh, he's cracked. King jaws him in Common-room about not keepin' us
up to the mark, an' Macrea burbles about 'dithcipline,' an' old Heffy
sits between 'em sweatin' big drops. I heard Oke (the Common-room
butler) talking to Richards (Prout's house-servant) about it down in
the basement the other day when I went down to bag some bread," said
Stalky.

"What did Oke say?" demanded McTurk, throwing "Eric" into a corner.

"Oh, he said, 'They make more nise nor a nest full o' jackdaws, an'
half of it like we'd no ears to our heads that waited on 'em. They
talks over old Prout--what he've done an' left undone about his boys.
An' how their boys be fine boys, an' his'n be dom bad.' Well, Oke