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?' M'Turk 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!'
'Then you'll be knuckled'; and knuckled they were, according to ancient experience. Head-knuckling is no trifle; 'Molly' Fairburn of the old days could not have done better.
'Did you give Clewer Brush-drill?'
This time the question was answered sooner, and Brush-drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by Stalky's watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is employed in Brush-drill.
'Did you give Clewer the Key?'
'No; we didn't. I swear we didn't!' from Campbell, rolling in agony.
'Then we'll give it to you, so you can see what it would be like if you had.'
The torture of the Key—which has no key at all—hurts excessively. They endured several minutes of it, and their language necessitated the gag.
'Did you give Clewer Corkscrews?'
'Yes. Oh, curse your silly souls! Let us alone, you cads.'
They were corkscrewed, and the torture of the Corkscrew—this has nothing to do with corkscrews—is keener than the torture of the Key.
