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But Stalky puffed out his cheeks and squinted down his nose in the style of Panurge, and all he said was, "Oh, you abject burblers!" "You're three beastly scabs!" was the instant retort of the democracy, and they went out amid execrations. "This is piffling," said McTurk. "Let's get our sallies, and go and shoot bunnies."
Why, I do not profess to say. Why the great thinkers and the vaporising burblers between them should not have hit on some method of training character which would have produced equally good results to those produced by what they are still pleased to call "militarism," I do not know. All that I do know is that they did not. Let us leave it at that. I have digressed; our Reginald is calling.
"Your Uncle Beetle" with an attempt to imitate Stalky's war-voice "is a great man." "Oh, 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!"