"Talking about bullying," the Reverend John resumed, "you all caught
it pretty hot when you were fags, didn't you?"

"Well, we must have been rather awful little beasts," said Beetle,
looking serenely over the gulf between eleven and sixteen. "My Hat,
what bullies they were then--Fairburn, 'Gobby' Maunsell, and all
that gang!"

"'Member when 'Gobby' called us the Three Blind Mice, and we had to
get up on the lockers and sing while he buzzed inkpots at us?" said
Stalky. "They _were_ bullies if you like!"

"But there isn't any of it now," said McTurk soothingly.

"That's where you make a mistake. We're all inclined to say that
everything is all right as long we aren't ourselves hurt. I sometimes
wonder if it is extinct--bullying."

"Fags bully each other horrid; but the upper forms are supposed to be
swottin' for exams. They've got something else to think about," said
Beetle.

"Why? What do you think?" Stalky was watching the chaplain's face.

"I have my doubts." Then, explosively, "On my word, for three
moderately intelligent boys you aren't very observant. I suppose you
were too busy making things warm for your house-master to see what
lay under your noses when you were in the form-rooms last week?"