“My young friend, you shut up,” said the dragon severely. “Believe me, St. George,” he went on, “there's nobody in the world I'd sooner oblige than you and this young gentleman here. But the whole thing's nonsense, and conventionality, and popular thick-headedness. There's absolutely nothing to fight about, from beginning to end. And anyhow I'm not going to, so that settles it!” “But supposing I make you?” said St. George, rather nettled. “You can't,” said the dragon, triumphantly. “I should only go into my cave and retire for a time down the hole I came up. You'd soon get heartily sick of sitting outside and waiting for me to come out and fight you. And as soon as you'd really gone away, why, I'd come up again gaily, for I tell you frankly, I like this place, and I'm going to stay here!” St. George gazed for a while on the fair landscape around them. “But this would be a beautiful place for a fight,” he began again persuasively. “These great bare rolling Downs for the arena,--and me in my golden armour showing up against your big blue scaly coils! Think what a picture it would make!” “Now you're trying to get at me through my artistic sensibilities,” said the dragon. “But it won't work. Not but what it would make a very pretty picture, as you say,” he added, wavering a little. “We seem to be getting rather nearer to BUSINESS,” put in the Boy. “You must see, dragon, that there's got to be a fight of some sort, 'cos you can't want to have to go down that dirty old hole again and stop there till goodness knows when.” “It might be arranged,” said St. George, thoughtfully. “I MUST spear you somewhere, of course, but I'm not bound to hurt you very much. There's such a lot of you that there must be a few SPARE places somewhere. Here, for instance, just behind your foreleg. It couldn't hurt you much, just here!” “Now you're tickling, George,” said the dragon, coyly. “No, that place won't do at all. Even if it didn't hurt,--and I'm sure it would, awfully,--it would make me laugh, and that would spoil everything.” “Let's try somewhere else, then,” said St. George, patiently. “Under your neck, for instance,--all these folds of thick skin,--if I speared you here you'd never even know I'd done it!” “Yes, but are you sure you can hit off the right place?” asked the dragon, anxiously. “Of course I am,” said St. George, with confidence. “You leave that to me!” “It's just because I've GOT to leave it to you that I'm asking,” replied the dragon, rather testily. “No doubt you would deeply regret any error you might make in the hurry of the moment; but you wouldn't regret it half as much as I should! However, I suppose we've got to trust somebody, as we go through life, and your plan seems, on the whole, as good a one as any.”