"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."

"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!"