ou and Sefton were goin' to
give us?"

"I won't! I won't! I swear I won't!"

"He says he won't lick us. Do you esteem yourself to know anything about
bullyin'?"

"No, I don't!"

"He says he doesn't know anything about bullyin'. Haven't we taught you
a lot?"

"Yes--yes!"

"He says we've taught him a lot. Aren't you grateful?"

"Yes!"

"He says he is grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell,
what did you bully Clewer for?"

He wept anew; his nerves being raw. "Because I was a bully. I suppose
that's what you want me to say?"

"He says he is a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more
japes for Campbell. Now, Sefton!"

"You devils! You young devils!" This and much more as Sefton was punted
across the carpet by skilful knees.

"'The bleatin' of the kid excites the tiger.' We're goin' to make you
beautiful. Where does he keep his shaving things? [Campbell told.]
Beetle, get some water. Turkey, make the lather. We're goin' to shave
you, Seffy, so you'd better lie jolly still, or you'll get cut. I've
never shaved any one before."

"Don't! Oh, don't! Please don't!"

"Gettin' polite, eh? I'm only goin' to take off one ducky little
whisker--"

"I'll--I'll make it _pax_, if you don't. I swear I'll let you off your
lickin' when I get up!"

"_And_ half that mustache we're so proud of. He says he'll let us off
our lickin'. Isn't he kind?"

McTurk laughed into the nickel-plated shaving-cup, and settled Sefton's
head between Stalky's vise-like knees.

"Hold on a shake," said Beetle, "you can't shave long hairs. You've got
to cut all that mustache short first, an' then scrape him."

"Well, I'm not goin' to hunt about for scissors. Won't a match do? Chuck
us the match-box. He _is_ a hog, you know; we might as well singe him.
Lie still!" He lit a vesta, but checked his hand. "I only want to take
off half, though."

"That's all right." Beetle waved the brush. "I'll lather up to the
middle--see? and you can burn off the rest."

The thin-haired first mustache of youth fluffed off in flame to the
lather-line in the centre of the lip, and Stalky rubbed away the
burnt stumpage with his thumb. It was not a very gentle shave, but it
abundantly accomplished its purpose.

"Now the whisker on the other side. Turn him over!" Between match and
razor this, too, was removed. "Give him his shaving-glass. Take the gag
out. I want to hear what he'll say."

But there were no words. Sefton gazed at the