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 cook-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?"