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It began slowly at first and then went faster and faster. Boom Boom Boom Boom-Boom-Boom Boo-Boo-B-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom! It was like the long roll on a bass drum. Peter laughed right out. "That's Strutter the Stuffed Grouse!" he cried joyously. "I had forgotten all about him. I certainly must go over and pay him a call and find out where Mrs. Grouse is. My, how Strutter can drum!"
"That is just what Mrs. Grouse says," he replied. "I don't know of any better thunderer if I do say it myself." "Speaking of Mrs. Grouse, where is she?" asked Peter eagerly. "Attending to her household affairs, as a good housewife should," retorted Strutter promptly. "Do you mean she has a nest and eggs?" asked Peter. Strutter nodded. "She has twelve eggs," he added proudly.
Peter stayed a while longer to gossip, but finding Strutter more interested in thundering than in talking, he once more started for home. "I really would like to know where that nest is," said he to himself as he scampered along. "I suppose Mrs. Grouse has hidden it so cleverly that it is quite useless to look for it." On his way he passed a certain big tree.
"But you don't mean to say," said Strutter, "the Premier," "that you think any one of those fellows would do such a thing as cut our rope?" "I don't know," said Wibberly. "I don't see why they shouldn't. I don't fancy they'd stick at a trifle, the cads!" "If Gilks had been in the boat," said another, "I could have believed it of him, but he was as anxious for us to win as we were ourselves."
It had a speed of 121 miles an hour at 10,000 feet, to which height it could climb in under 10-1/2 minutes, and a ceiling of 23,000 feet. The Martinsyde F.4, embodying further improvements, was not ready in time for active service. In 1916 the "pusher" type was superseded by the Sopwith "1-1/2 Strutter" armed with a synchronized Vickers gun, which for its 130 horse-power was never surpassed.
Calvin Gray's ebullience, his dash, his magnificence of demeanor, could be nothing less than an affront to such a man; Nelson could see in him only a pompous braggart, an empty, arrogant strutter.
Strutter, Tedbury, and a few other Limpets were anxious to study geology that afternoon at the Town Museum, Pringle wanted to see how his "uncle" was getting on, etcetera, etcetera. But all to no effect. About midday the captain's study was empty, and the following notice pasted on the door told its own story. Notice. By the Doctor's order, no permits will be allowed to-morrow.
"I suppose," said Peter artfully, "her nest is somewhere near here on the ground." "It's on the ground, Peter, but as to where it is I am not saying a word. It may or it may not be near here. Do you want to hear me thunder again?" Of course Peter said he did, and that was sufficient excuse for Strutter to show off.
"No wonder; he and his friend Silk have been betting right and left on us, I hear." "Well, I suppose there's bound to be a new race," said Strutter. "I don't know," replied Wibberly. "I'd be just as well pleased if Bloomfield refused. The vile cheats!" Bloomfield, be it said to his credit, was no party to these reckless accusations.
His full breast rounded out and was buff color with black markings. He was of about the size of the little Bantam hens Peter had seen in Farmer Brown's henyard. In the most stately way you can imagine Strutter walked the length of that mossy log. He was a perfect picture of pride as he strutted very much like Tom Gobbler the big Turkey cock.
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