for the--you prefer the good old Anglo-Saxon, I believe--stink in
your house. My boys arc complaining of it now."

"What can you expect? You know what boys are. Naturally they take
advantage of what to them is a heaven-sent opportunity," said little
Hartopp. "What _is_ the trouble in your dormitories, King?"

Mr. King explained that as he had made it the one rule of his life
never to interfere with another man's house, so he expected not to be
too patently interfered with. They might be interested to learn
--here the chaplain heaved a weary sigh--that he had taken all steps
that, in his poor judgment, would meet the needs of the case. Nay,
further, he had himself expended, with no thought of reimbursement,
sums, the amount of which he would not specify, on disinfectants.
This he had done because he knew by bitter--by most bitter--experience
that the management of the college was slack, dilatory, and
inefficient. He might even add, almost as slack as the administration
of certain houses which now thought fit to sit in judgment on his
actions. With a short summary of his scholastic career, and a precis
of his qualifications, including his degrees, he withdrew, slamming
the door.

"Heigho!" said the chaplain. "Ours is a dwarfing life--a belittling
life, my brethren. God help all schoolmasters! They need it."

"I don't like the boys, I own"--Prout dug viciously with his fork into
the table-cloth--"and I don't pretend to be a strong man, as you
know. But I confess I can't see any reason why I should take steps
against Stalky and the others because King happens to be annoyed
by--by--"