'Oh, leave him alone. He's been taken worse with a poem.' said M'Turk. 'He'll go burbling down to the Pebbleridge and spit it all up in the study when he comes back.'
'Then why did he want the tuppence, Turkey? He's gettin' too beastly independent. Hi! There's a bunny. No, it ain't. It's a cat, by Jove! You plug first.'
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 Beadle,' 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.'
'0h 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!'
