`My word, she is doin' herself proud,' said Stalky. `Did you ever smell anything like it? Ah, an' she isn't under White's dormitory at all yet.'
`But she will be. Give her time,' said Beetle. `She'll twine like a giddy honeysuckle. What howlin' Lazarites they are! No house is justified in makin' itself a stench in the nostrils of decent --'
`High-minded, pure-souled boys. Do you burn with remorse and regret?' said M`Turk, as they hastened to meet the house coming up from the sea. King had deserted it, so speech was unfettered. Round its front played a crowd of skirmishers -- all houses mixed -- flying, re forming, shrieking insults. On its tortured flanks marched the Hoplites, seniors hurling jests one after another -- simple and primitive jests of the Stone Age. To these the three added themselves, dispassionately, with an air of aloofness, almost sadly.
`And they look all right, too,' said Stalky. `It can't be Rattray, can it? Rattray?'
No answer.
`Rattray, dear? He seems stuffy about something or other. Look here, old man, we don't bear any malice about your sending that soap to us last week, do we? Be cheerful, Rat. You can live this down all right. I dare say it's only a few fags. Your house is so beastly slack, though.'
`You aren't going back to the house, are you?' said M`Turk. The victims desired nothing better. `You've simply no conception of the reek up there. Of course, frowzin' as you do, you wouldn't notice it; but, after this nice wash and the clean, fresh air, even you'd be upset. 'Much better camp on the Burrows. We'll get you some straw. Shall we?' The house hurried in to the tune of `John Brown's body,' sung by loving school-mates, and barricaded themselves in their form-room. Straightway Stalky chalked a large cross, with `Lord, have mercy upon us,' on the door, and left King to find it.
The wind shifted that night and wafted a carrion-reek into Macrea's dormitories; so that boys in nightgowns pounded on the locked door between the houses, entreating King's to wash. Number Five study went to second lesson with not more than half a pound of camphor apiece in their clothing; and King, too wary to ask for explanations, gibbered awhile and hurled them forth. So Beetle finished yet another poem at peace in the study.
`They're usin' carbolic now. Malpas told me, said Stalky. `King thinks it's the drains.'
`She'll need a lot o' carbolic,' said M`Turk. `No harm tryin', I suppose. It keeps King out of mischief.'
`I swear I thought he was goin' to kill me when I sniffed just now. He didn't mind Burton major sniffin' at me the other day, though. He never stopped Alexander howlin' "Stinker!" into our form-room before -- before we doctored 'em. He just grinned,' said Stalky. `What was he frothing over you for, Beetle?'
`Aha! That was my subtle jape. I had him on toast. You know he always jaws about the learned Lipsius.'
`"Who at the age of four" -- that chap?' said M`Turk.
`Yes. Whenever he hears I've written a poem. Well, just as I was sittin' down, I whispered. "How is our learned Lipsius?" to Burton major. Old Butt grinned like an owl. He didn't know what I was drivin' at; but King jolly well did. That was really why he hove us out. Ain't you grateful? Now shut up. I'm goin' to write the "Ballad of the Learned Lipsius."'
`Keep clear of anything coarse, then,' said Stalky. `I shouldn't like to be coarse on this happy occasion.'
`Not for wo-orlds. What rhymes to "stenches," some one?'