"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 McTurk 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 tickings,'' 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 McTurk. "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."