The boys came nearer, shouting an opprobrious word. At last they moved
to windward, ostentatiously holding their noses.

"That's pretty," said Beetle. "They'll be sayin' our house stinks
next."

When they returned from the baths, damp-headed, languid, at peace with
the world, Beetle's forecast came only too true. They were met in the
corridor by a fag--a common, Lower-Second fag--who at arm's length
handed them a carefully wrapped piece of soap "with the compliments
of King's House."

"Hold on," said Stalky, checking immediate attack. "Who put you up to
this, Nixon? Rattray and White? (Those were two leaders in King's
house.) Thank you. There's no answer."

"Oh, it's too sickening to have this kind o' rot shoved on to a chap.
What's the sense of it? What's the fun of it?" said McTurk.

"It will go on to the end of the term, though," Beetle wagged his head
sorrowfully. He had worn many jests threadbare on his own account.

In a few days it became an established legend of the school that
Prout's house did not wash and were therefore noisome. Mr. King was
pleased to smile succulently in form when one of his boys drew aside
from Beetle with certain gestures.

"There seems to be some disability attaching to you, my Beetle, or
else why should Burton major withdraw, so to speak, the hem of his
garments? I confess I am still in the dark. Will some one be good