Then he went downstairs to look at the notice on the school-door.

It read precisely like the other, the imitation being perhaps better.

He stayed only to tear this down, and proceeded to the other landing, where the same insult confronted him.
Who the author might be he was free to guess.
As he lay awake that night, tossing and turning, he racked his brain to devise some retribution.
And yet, his more sensible self told him, hadn't he been leading up to this all the term?
What had he done to make the fellows respect, much more like, him?
He had bullied, and swaggered, and set himself against the good of the School.

The fellows who followed him only did so in the hope of getting something--either fun or advantage--out of the agitation.

They didn't care twopence about Clapperton, and were ready enough to drop him as soon as ever it suited their turn.