"But I can't understand them doing it to Trevor at all."

"They'll do it to anybody they choose till they're caught at it."

"If they are caught, there'll be a row."

"We must catch 'em," said Moriarty. Like O'Hara, he revelled in the
prospect of a disturbance. O'Hara and he were going up to Aldershot at
the end of the term, to try and bring back the light and middle-weight
medals respectively. Moriarty had won the light-weight in the previous
year, but, by reason of putting on a stone since the competition, was
now no longer eligible for that class. O'Hara had not been up before,
but the Wrykyn instructor, a good judge of pugilistic form, was of
opinion that he ought to stand an excellent chance. As the prize-fighter
in _Rodney Stone_ says, "When you get a good Irishman, you can't
better 'em, but they're dreadful 'asty." O'Hara was attending the
gymnasium every night, in order to learn to curb his "dreadful
'astiness", and acquire skill in its place.

"I wonder if Trevor would be any good in a row," said Moriarty.

"He can't box," said O'Hara, "but he'd go on till he was killed
entirely. I say, I'm getting rather tired of sitting here, aren't you?
Let's go to the other end of the passage and have some cricket."

So, having unearthed a piece of wood from the debris at the top of the
cupboard, and rolled a handkerchief into a ball, they adjourned.

Recalling the stirring events of six years back, when the League had
first been started, O'Hara remembered that the members of that