It's none of your business."

"What did you bully Clewer for?" The question was repeated with
maddening iteration by each in turn. They knew their work.

"Because we jolly well chose!" was the answer at last. "Let's get up."
Even then they could not realize the game.

"Well, now we're goin' to bully you because we jolly well choose. We're
goin' to be just as fair to you as you were to Clewer. He couldn't do
anything against you. You can't do anything to us. Odd, ain't it?"

"Can't we? You wait an' see."

"Ah," said Beetle reflectively, "that shows you've never been properly
jested with. A public lickin' ain't in it with a gentle jape. Bet a bob
you'll weep an' promise anything."

"Look here, young Beetle, we'll half kill you 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?" McTurk 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.

The method and silence of the attacks was breaking their nerves. Between
each new torture came the pitiless, dazing rain of questions, and when
they did not answer to the point, Isabella-colored handkerchiefs were
thrust into their mouths.

"Now are those all the things you did to Clewer? Take out the gag,
Turkey, and let 'em answer."

"Yes, I swear that was all. Oh, you're ki