"By Jove!" said Mike.

"That's simply an object-lesson, you know," said Wyatt, replacing the
bar, and pushing the screws back into their putty. "I get out at night
myself because I think my health needs it. Besides, it's my last term,
anyhow, so it doesn't matter what I do. But if I find you trying to
cut out in the small hours, there'll be trouble. See?"

"All right," said Mike, reluctantly. "But I wish you'd let me."

"Not if I know it. Promise you won't try it on."

"All right. But, I say, what do you do out there?"

"I shoot at cats with an air-pistol, the beauty of which is that even
if you hit them it doesn't hurt--simply keeps them bright and
interested in life; and if you miss you've had all the fun anyhow.
Have you ever shot at a rocketing cat? Finest mark you can have.
Society's latest craze. Buy a pistol and see life."

"I wish you'd let me come."

"I daresay you do. Not much, however. Now, if you like, I'll take you
over the rest of the school. You'll have to see it sooner or later, so
you may as well get it over at once."