"No!" said McTurk firmly. "He's a dirty little brute, and he'd mess up
everything. Besides, we ain't goin' to have any beastly Erickin'.
D'you want to walk about with your arm round his neck?"

"He'd clean out the jam-pots, anyhow; an' the burnt-porridge
saucepan--it's filthy now."

"Not good enough," said Stalky, bringing up both heels with a crash on
the table. "If we find the merry jester who's been bullyin' him an'
make him happy, that'll be all right. Why didn't we spot him when we
were in the form-rooms, though?"

"Maybe a lot of fags have made a dead set at Clewer. They do that
sometimes."

"Then we'll have to kick the whole of the lower school in our
house--on spec. Come on," said McTurk.

"Keep your hair on! We mustn't make a fuss about the biznai. Whoever
it is he's kept quiet or we'd have seen him," said Stalky. "We'll
walk round and sniff about till we're sure."

They drew the house form-rooms, accounting for every junior and senior
against whom they had suspicions; investigated, at Beetle's
suggestion, the lavatories and box-rooms, but without result.
Everybody seemed to be present save Clewer.

"Rum!" said Stalky, pausing outside a study door. "Golly!"