'You did when you could catch him,' said Beetle, cross-legged on the floor, dropping a stump from time to time across Sefton's instep. 'Don't I know it!'
'I—perhaps we did.'
'And you went out of your way to catch him? Don't I know it! Because he was an awful little beast, eh? Don't I know it! Now, you see you're awful beasts, and you're gettin' what he got—for bein' a beast. Just because we choose.'
'We never really bullied him like you've done us.'
'Yah!' said Beetle. 'They never really bully—"Molly" Fairburn didn't. Only knock 'em about a little bit. That's what they say. Only kick their souls out of 'em, and they go and blub in the box-rooms. Shove their heads into the ulsters an' blub. Write home three times a day—yes, you brute, I've done that—askin' to be taken away. You've never been bullied properly, Campbell. I'm sorry you made pax.'
'I'm not!' said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. 'Look out, you're slaying Sefton!'
In his excitement Beetle had used the stump unreflectingly, and Sefton was now shouting for mercy.
'An' you!' he cried, wheeling where he sat. 'You've never been bullied, either. Where were you before you came here?'
'I—I had a tutor.'
'Yah! You would. You never blubbed in your life. But you're blubbin' now, by gum. Aren't you blubbin'?'
