master to see what lay under your noses when you were in the form-rooms last week?'
'What, sir? I—I swear we didn't see anything,' said Beetle.
'Then I'd advise you to look. When a little chap is whimpering in a corner and wears his clothes like rags, and never does any work, and is notoriously the dirtiest little "corridor-caution" in the Coll., something's wrong somewhere.'
'That's Clewer,' said M'Turk under his breath.
'Yes, Clewer. He comes to me for his French. It's his first term, and he's almost as complete a wreck as you were, Beetle. He's not naturally clever, but he has been hammered till he's nearly an idiot.'
'Oh no. They sham silly to get off more lickings,' said Beetle. 'I know that.'
'I've never actually seen him knocked about,' said the Reverend John.
'The genuine article don't do that in public,' said Beetle. 'Fairburn never touched me when any one was looking on.'
'You needn't swagger about it, Beetle,' said M'Turk. 'We all caught it in our time.'
'But I got it worse than any one,' said Beetle. 'If you want an authority on bullyin', Padre, come to me. Corkscrews—brush-drill—keys—head-knucklin'—arm-twistin'—rockin'—Ag Ags—and all the rest of it.'
'Yes. I do want you as an authority, or rather I want your authority to stop it—all of you.'
'What about Abana and Pharpar, Padre—Harrison and Craye? They are Mr. Prout's
