"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