"You're jest a tantalizin' 'em!" panted the farmer. Merriwell stopped and laughed. The whole thing was too ridiculously funny for him to do otherwise.
"They're swarmin'!" shouted the boy, rattling away with the bell as if his life depended on it.
"Yes, I see they are!" howled Julian Ives. "They're swarming all over me!"
"Don't hurt 'em!" the farmer begged. He was only a few feet away, and panting on, almost breathless.
"Don't kill 'em!" whined the old woman. "They're my bees!"
Her words reached Lew Veazie. For a moment the kicking legs were stilled, though the hat was not withdrawn.
"Take 'em away then, pleathe!" he begged, from under the hat. "I don't want to hurt your beethe, but they're hurting me! Take 'em away, pleathe!"
The boy stopped his jangling bell.
"They are honey bees!" he said. Then added, as if he feared this might not be clear to the intellects of city-bred youths: "They make honey!"
"I'll tantalize them!" Skelding fiercely exclaimed, striking at the bees that were hovering round his head. "I'll treat 'em gently! Oh, yes! I'll pick them off very tenderly and put them in your lap, old lady! I don't think! Keep your old bees at home!"