“They’re usin’ carbolic now. Malpas told me,” said Stalky. “King thinks it’s the drains.”
“She’ll need a lot o’ carbolic,” said McTurk. “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 McTurk.
“Yes. Whenever he hears I’ve written a poem. Well, just as I was sittin’ down, I whispered, ‘How is our learned Lepsius?’ 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,’ someone?”
In Common-room at lunch King discoursed acridly to Prout of boys with prurient minds, who perverted their few and baleful talents to sap discipline and corrupt their equals, to deal in foul imagery and destroy reverence.
“But you didn’t seem to consider this when your house called us—ah—stinkers. If you hadn’t assured me that you never interfere with another man’s house, I should almost believe that it was a few casual remarks of yours that started all this nonsense.”