David squealed with hideous resonance.
“Well, it wasn’t my fault,” he said. “I only jabbed it with a knife. Wow! Spare me! Have mercy upon me! Wow!”
Frank drove David to a corner and punched him heavily in the ribs, and boxed his ears, and smacked his head. Summary and effectual justice being then done, he observed David’s patent lashed pens.
“I know that trick,” he said. “What! is the virtuous Bags doing lines too?”
“Oh yes,” said Bags airily. “Some of the fourth ‘Æneid.’ ”
“For David, I suppose, eh?”
“Well, yes,” said Bags.
“How many lines is it this time?” asked Maddox. “And what for?”
“Five hundred,” said David. “At present for a good little Owlers. Gosh, I wish you wouldn’t hit so hard.”
“Do you? And what has good little Owlers done?”