'Member that. I'll tickle you up with a stump. You'll have to blub, Beetle.” “Right O! I'll work up to it in half a shake,” said Beetle. “Now begin--and remember the bleatin' o' the kid.” “Shut up, you brutes! Let me up! You've nearly cut my knees off. Oh, you _are_ beastly cads! _Do_ shut up. 'Tisn't a joke!” Beetle's protest was, in tone, a work of art. “Give it to him, Turkey! Kick him! Roll him over! Kill him! Don't funk, Beetle, you brute. Kick him again, Turkey.” “He's not blubbin' really. Roll up, Beetle, or I'll kick you into the fender,” roared McTurk. They made a hideous noise among them, and the bait allured their quarry. “Hullo! What's the giddy jest?” Sefton and Campbell entered to find Beetle on his side, his head against the fender, weeping copiously, while McTurk prodded him in the back with his toes. “It's only Beetle,” Stalky explained. “He's shammin' hurt. I can't get Turkey to go for him properly.” Sefton promptly kicked both boys, and his face lighted. “All right, I'll attend to 'em. Get up an' cock-fight, you two. Give me the stump. I'll tickle 'em. Here's a giddy jest! Come on, Campbell. Let's cook 'em.” Then McTurk turned on Stalky and called him very evil names. “You said you were goin' to cock-fight too, Stalky. Come on!” “More ass you for believin' me, then!” shrieked Stalky. “Have you chaps had a row?” said Campbell. “Row?” said Stalky. “Huh! I'm only educatin' them. D'you know anythin' about cock-fighting, Seffy?” “Do I know? Why, at Maclagan's, where I was crammin' in town, we used to cock-fight in his drawing-room, and little Maclagan daren't say anything.