"I think," said St. George, in his frank, pleasant way, "that we'd really better take the advice of our young friend here, and try to come to some understanding, on a business footing, about this little affair of ours. Now don't you think that after all the simplest plan would be just to fight it out, according to the rules, and let the best man win? They re betting on you, I may tell you, down in the village, but I don't mind that!" "Oh, yes, _do_, dragon," said the Boy, delightedly; "it'll save such a lot of bother!" "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!"