“Well, now we’re goin’ to bully you because we jolly well choose. We’re goin’ to be just as fair to you as you were to Clewer. He couldn’t do anything against you. You can’t do anything to us. Odd, ain’t it?” “Can’t we? You wait an’ see.” “Ah,” said Beetle reflectively, “that shows you’ve never been properly jested with. A public lickin’ ain’t in it with a gentle jape. Bet a bob you’ll weep an’ promise anything.” “Look here, young Beetle, we’ll half kill you when we get up. I’ll promise you that, at any rate.” “You’re going to be half killed first, though. Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?” “Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?” McTurk echoed. At the twentieth repetition--no boy can stand the torture of one unvarying query, which is the essence of bullying--came confession. “We did, confound you!” “Then you’ll be knuckled;” and knuckled they were, according to ancient experience. Head-knuckling is no trifle; “Molly” Fairburn of the old days could not have done better. “Did you give Clewer Brush-drill?” This time the question was answered sooner, and Brush-drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by Stalky’s watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is employed in Brush-drill. “Did you give Clewer the Key?” “No; we didn’t. I swear we didn’t!” from Campbell, rolling in agony. “Then we’ll give it to you, so you can see what it would be like if you had.” The torture of the Key--which has no key at all--hurts excessively. They endured several minutes of it, and their language necessitated the gag. “Did you give Clewer Corkscrews?” “Yes. Oh, curse your silly souls! Let us alone, you cads.” They were corkscrewed, and the torture of the Corkscrew--this has nothing to do with corkscrews--is keener than the torture of the Key. The method and silence of the attacks was breaking their nerves. Between each new torture came the pitiless, dazing rain of questions, and when they did not answer to the point, Isabella-colored handkerchiefs were thrust into their mouths. “Now are those all the things you did to Clewer? Take out the gag, Turkey, and let ’em answer.” “Yes, I swear that was all. Oh, you’re killing us, Stalky!” cried Campbell. “Pre-cisely what Clewer said to you. I heard him. Now we’re goin’ to show you what real bullyin’ is. ‘What I don’t like about you, Sefton, is, you come to the Coll. with your stick-up collars an’ patent-leather boots, an’ you think you can teach us something about bullying. _Do_ you think you can teach us anything about bullying? Take out the gag and let him answer.” “No!”--ferociously. “He says no. Rock him to sleep. Campbell can watch.” It needs three boys and two boxing-gloves to rock a boy to sleep. Again the operation has nothing to do with its name. Sefton was “rocked” till his eyes set in his head and he gasped and crowed for breath, sick and dizzy. “My Aunt!” said Campbell, appalled, from his corner, and turned white.