ompositor.

The school paper in its locked formes lay on a stone-topped table, a
proof by the side; but not for worlds would Beetle have corrected from
the mere proof. With a mallet and a pair of tweezers, he knocked out
mysterious wedges of wood that released the forme, picked a letter here
and inserted a letter there, reading as he went along and stopping much
to chuckle over his own contributions.

"You won't show off like that," said McTurk, "when you've got to do it
for your living. Upside down and backwards, isn't it? Let's see if I can
read it."

"Get out!" said Beetle. "Go and read those formes in the rack there, if
you think you know so much."

"Formes in a rack! What's that? Don't be so beastly professional."

McTurk drew off with Stalky to prowl about the office. They left little
unturned.

"Come here a shake, Beetle. What's this thing?" aid Stalky, in a few
minutes. "Looks familiar."

Said Beetle, after a glance: "It's King's Latin prose exam. paper.
_In--In Varrem: actio prima_. What a lark!"

"Think o' the pure-souled, high-minded boys who'd give their eyes for a
squint at it!" said McTurk.

"No, Willie dear," said Stalky; "that would be wrong and painful to our
kind teachers. You wouldn't crib, Willie, would you?"

"Can't read the beastly stuff, anyhow," was the reply. "Besides, we're
leavin' at the end o' the term, so it makes no difference to us."

"'Member what the Considerate Bloomer did to Spraggon's account of the
Puffin'ton Hounds? We must sugar Mr. King's milk for him," said Stalky,
all lighted from within by a devilish joy. "Let's see what Beetle can do
with those forceps he's so proud of."

"Don't see now you can make Latin prose much more cock-eye than it is,
but we'll try," said Beetle, transposing an _aliud_ and _Asiae_ from two
sentences. "Let's see! We'll put that full-stop a little further on,
and begin the sentence with the next capital. Hurrah! Here's three lines
that can move up all in a lump."

"'One of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so
justly celebrated.'" Stalky knew the Puffington run by heart.

"Hold on! Here's a _vol_--_voluntate quidnam_ all by itself," said
McTurk.

"I'll attend to her in a shake. _Quidnam_ goes after _Dolabella_."

"Good old Dolabella," murmured Stalky. "Don't break him. Vile prose
Cicero wrote, didn't he? He ought to be grateful for--"

"Hullo!" said McTurk, over another forme. "What price a giddy ode?
_Qui_--_q