Part 38

“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. But we were just the same as men there, of course. Do I know? I’ll show you.”

“Can’t I get up?” moaned Beetle, as Stalky sat on his shoulder.

“Don’t jaw, you fat piffler. You’re going to fight Seffy.”

“He’ll slay me!”

“Oh, lug ’em into our study,” said Campbell. “It’s nice an’ quiet in there. I’ll cock-fight Turkey. This is an improvement on young Clewer.”

“Right O! I move it’s shoes-off for them an’ shoes-on for us,” said Sefton joyously, and the two were flung down on the study floor. Stalky rolled them behind an arm-chair. “Now I’ll tie you two up an’ direct the bull-fight. Golly, what wrists you have, Seffy. They’re too thick for a wipe; got a box-rope?” said he.

“Lots in the corner,” Sefton replied. “Hurry up! Stop blubbin’, you brute, Beetle. We’re goin’ to have a giddy campaign. Losers have to sing for the winners--sing odes in honor of the conqueror. You call yourself a beastly poet, don’t you, Beetle? I’ll poet you.”

He wriggled into position by Campbell’s side. Swiftly and scientifically the stumps were thrust through the natural crooks, and the wrists tied with well-stretched box-ropes to an accompaniment of insults from McTurk, bound, betrayed, and voluble behind the chair. Stalky set away Campbell and Sefton, and strode over to his allies, locking the door on the way.

“And that’s all right,” said he in a changed voice.

“What the devil--?” Sefton began. Beetle’s false tears had ceased; McTurk, smiling, was on his feet. Together they bound the knees and ankles of the enemy even more straitly.

Stalky took the arm-chair and contemplated the scene with his blandest smile. A man trussed for cock-fighting is, perhaps, the most helpless thing in the world.

“‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ Oh, you frabjous asses!” He lay back and laughed till he could no more. The victims took in the situation but slowly. “We’ll give you the finest lickin’ you ever had in your young lives when we get up!” thundered Sefton from the floor. “You’ll laugh the other side of your mouth before you’ve done. What the deuce d’you mean by this?”

“You’ll see in two shakes,” said McTurk. “Don’t swear like that. What we want to know is, why you two hulkin’ swine have been bullyin’ Clewer?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“What did you bully Clewer for?” The question was repeated with maddening iteration by each in turn. They knew their work.

“Because we jolly well chose!” was the answer at last. “Let’s get up.” Even then they could not realize the game.

“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.”