“Yah!” said Beetle. “They never really bully--‘Molly’ Fairburn didn’t. Only knock ’em about a little bit. That’s what they say. Only kick their souls out of ’em, and they go and blub in the box-rooms. Shove their heads into the ulsters an’ blub. Write home three times a day--yes, you brute, I’ve done that--askin’ to be taken away. You’ve never been bullied properly, Campbell. I’m sorry you made _pax_.” “I’m not!” said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. “Look out, you’re slaying Sefton!” In his excitement Beetle had used the stump unreflectingly, and Sefton was now shouting for mercy. “An’ you!” he cried, wheeling where he sat. “You’ve never been bullied, either. Where were you before you came here?” “I--I had a tutor.” “Yah! You would. You never blubbed in your life. But you’re blubbin’ now, by gum. Aren’t you blubbin’?” “Can’t you see, you blind beast?” Sefton fell over sideways, tear-tracks furrowing the dried lather. Crack came the cricket-stump on the curved latter-end of him. “Blind, am I,” said Beetle, “and a beast? Shut up, Stalky. I’m goin’ to jape a bit with our friend, _à la_ ‘Molly’ Fairburn. _I_ think I can see. Can’t I see, Sefton?” “The point is well taken,” said McTurk, watching the strap at work. “You’d better say that he sees, Seffy.” “You do--you can! I swear you do!” yelled Sefton, for strong arguments were coercing him. “Aren’t my eyes lovely?” The stump rose and fell steadily throughout this catechism. “Yes.” “A gentle hazel, aren’t they?” “Yes--oh, yes!” “What a liar you are! They’re sky-blue. Ain’t they sky-blue?” “Yes--oh, yes!” “You don’t know your mind from one minute to another. You must learn--you must learn.” “What a bait you’re in!” said Stalky. “Keep your hair on, Beetle.” “I’ve had it done to me,” said Beetle. “Now--about my being a beast.” “_Pax_--oh, _pax_!” cried Sefton; “make it _pax_. I’ll give up! Let me off! I’m broke! I can’t stand it!” “Ugh! Just when we were gettin’ our hand in!” grunted McTurk. “They didn’t let Clewer off, I’ll swear.” “Confess--apologize--quick!” said Stalky. From the floor Sefton made unconditional surrender, more abjectly even than Campbell. He would never touch any one again. He would go softly all the days of his life. “We’ve got to take it, I suppose?” said Stalky. “All right, Sefton. You’re broke? Very good. Shut up, Beetle! But before we let you up, you an’ Campbell will kindly oblige us with ‘Kitty of Coleraine’--_à la_ Clewer.” “That’s not fair,” said Campbell; “we’ve surrendered.” “’Course you have. Now you’re goin’ to do what we tell you--same as Clewer would. If you hadn’t surrendered you’d ha’ been really bullied. Havin’ surrendered--do you follow, Seffy?--you sing odes in honor of the conquerors. Hurry up!” They dropped into chairs luxuriously. Campbell and Sefton looked at each other, and, neither taking comfort from that view, struck up “Kitty of Coleraine.”