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So I said to misel: 'I'll milk for t' King. He's turned teetotal, has t' King, sin t' war started, and I telled t' cows all about it t' neet afore. 'Ye mun do your best, cushies, to-morn', I said. 'T' King'll be wantin' a sup o' milk to his ham and eggs, and I reckon 'twill do him more gooid nor his pint o' beer, choose how. An' just you think on that gentle-fowks has tickle bellies.

"He don't have to bleed an' groan an' die in the swamps like them English boys have been doin'. It's too bad but we got to keep killin' 'em, an' when the bad news reaches the good folks over thar mebbe the King'll git spoke to proper. We got to keep a-goin'. Fer the fust time in my life I'm glad to git erway from the big bush.

If you slip up, the king'll hang you for treason. If he's the government here, he's got a right to say what the law is. I'm going back to the ship. You needn't ask me for backing, for you won't get it."

"King'll have to prove his charges up to the giddy hilt." "Too much ticklee, him bust," Beetle quoted from a book of his reading. "Didn't I say he'd go pop if we lat un bide?" "No prep., either, O ye incipient drunkards," said McTurk, "and it's trig night, too. Hullo! Here's our dear friend Foxy. More tortures, Foxibus?"

Extra-special, please." He disappeared over the hedge as lightly as he had come. There was a murmur of women's voices in the deep lane. "Oh, you Prooshan brute!" said McTurk as the voices died away. "Stalky, it's all your silly fault." "Kill him! Kill him!" gasped Beetle. "I ca-an't. I'm going to cat again... I don't mind that, but King'll gloat over us horrid. Extra-special, ooh!"

I live on high ground; I'm going to keep a sharp outlook, and if the water begins to shut off Manhattan I'll take my family up the Hudson to the Highlands. I guess old Storm King'll keep his head above. That's where I come from up that way. I used to hear people say when I was a boy that New York was bound to sink some day. I used to laugh at that then, but it looks mighty like it now, don't it?"

Look here, I don't understand what she means by stinkin' out Rattray's dormitory first. We holed in under White's, didn't we?" asked McTurk, with a wrinkled brow. "Skittish little thing. She's rompin' about all over the place, I suppose." "My Aunt! King'll be a cheerful customer at second lesson. I haven't prepared my Horace one little bit, either," said Beetle. "Come on!"

D'you suppose chaps with their amount of extra-tu are takin' up volunteerin' for fun?" "Well, I don't know. I thought of doin' a poem about it rottin' 'em, you know 'The Ballad of the Dogshooters' eh?" "I don't think you can, because King'll be down on the corps like a cartload o' bricks. He hasn't been consulted, he's sniffin' round the notice-board now. Let's lure him."

Number Five study attended, with its usual air of bland patronage. At last McTurk, of the lanthorn jaws, delivered himself: "You jabber and jaw and burble, and that's about all you can do. What's the good of it? King's house'll only gloat because they've drawn you, and King will gloat, too. Besides, that resolution of Orrin's is chock-full of bad grammar, and King'll gloat over that."

"We're an hour early," said Sapt. "We'll send word forward for your Majesty's arrival, for there'll be no one here to meet us yet. And meanwhile " "Meanwhile," said I, "the King'll be hanged if he doesn't have some breakfast." Old Sapt chuckled, and held out his hand. "You're an Elphberg, every inch of you," said he.