Twenty minutes later a boy with a straw hat at the back of his head,
and his hands in his pockets, was staring at workmen as they moved
about a half-finished cottage. He produced some ferocious tobacco,
and was passed from the forecourt into the interior, where he asked
many questions.

"Well, let's have your beastly epic," said Turkey, as they burst into
the study, to find Beetle deep in Viollet-le-Duc and some drawings.
"We've had no end of a lark."

"Epic? What epic? I've been down to the coastguard."

"No epic? Then we will slay you, O Beetle," said Stalky, moving to the
attack. "You've got something up your sleeve. _I_ know, when you
talk in that tone!"

"Your Uncle Beetle"--with an attempt to imitate Stalky's
war-voice--"is a great man."

"Oh, no; he jolly well isn't anything of the kind. You deceive
yourself, Beetle. Scrag him, Turkey!"

"A great man," Beetle gurgled from the floor. "_You_ are futile--look
out for my tie!--futile burblers. I am the Great Man. I gloat. Ouch!
Hear me!"

"Beetle, de-ah"--Stalky dropped unreservedly on Beetle's chest--" we
love you, an' you're a poet. If I ever said you were a doggaroo, I
apologize; but you know as well as we do that you can't do anything