'Can't you see, you blind beast?' Sefton fell over sideways, tear-tracks furrowing the dried lather. Crack came the cricket-stump on the curved latter-end of him.
'Blind, am I,' said Beetle, 'and a beast? Shut up, Stalky. I'm goin' to jape a bit with our friend, à la "Molly" Fairburn. I think I can see. Can't I see, Sefton?'
'The point is well taken,' said M'Turk, watching the stump at work. 'You'd better say that he sees, Seffy.'
'You do—you can! I swear you do!' yelled Sefton, for strong arguments were coercing him.
'Aren't my eyes lovely?' The stump rose and fell steadily throughout this catechism.
'Yes.'
'A gentle hazel, aren't they?'
'Yes—oh yes!'
'What a liar you are! They're sky-blue. Ain't they sky-blue?'
'Yes—oh yes!'
'You don't know your mind from one minute to another. You must learn—you must learn.'
'What a bait you're in!' said Stalky. 'Keep your hair on, Beetle.'
'I've had it done to me,' said Beetle. 'Now—about my being a beast.'
'Pax—oh, pax!' cried Sefton; 'make it pax. I'll give up! Let me off! I'm broke! I can't stand it!'
'Ugh! Just when we were gettin' our hand in!' grunted M'Turk. 'They didn't let Clewer off, I'll swear.'
