Dallas took up the narrative. 'Well, after he'd been gone about five
minutes, and the row seemed to be getting worse than ever, we thought
we'd better go down and investigate. So we did.'

'And when we got to the fags' room,' said Vaughan, pointing the
toasting-fork at the Babe by way of emphasis, 'there was the Mutual
standing in the middle of the room gassing away with an expression on
his face a cross between a village idiot and an unintelligent fried
egg. And all round him was a seething mass of fags, half of them
playing soccer with a top-hat and the other half cheering wildly
whenever the Mutual opened his mouth.'

'What did you do?'

'We made an aggressive movement in force. Collared the hat, brained
every fag within reach, and swore we'd report them to the beak and so
on. They quieted down in about three and a quarter seconds by
stopwatch, and we retired, taking the hat as a prize of war, and
followed by the Mutual Friend.'

'He looked worried, rather,' said Vaughan. 'And, thank goodness, he let
us alone for the rest of the evening.'

'That's only a sample, though,' explained Dallas. 'That sort of thing
has been going on the whole term. If the head of a House is an abject
lunatic, there's bound to be ructions. Fags simply live for the sake of
kicking up rows. It's meat and drink to them.'

'I wish the Mutual would leave,' said Vaughan. 'Only that sort of chap
always lingers on until he dies or gets sacked.'