Doe ducked down and raised his right hand to protect his head.
"I never said it, White," he affirmed, giggling. "Really, I didn't. You thought I did. I never called you an Iguanodon—I've too much respect for you."
"Yes, you did. Take your hand away. I'm determined to swing these books on to your head."
"Ray," shouted Doe between his giggles, "take him away. Don't bully, Moles! You great beast! Ray, he's bullying me."
White paused. Bullying, even in fun, was a horrible idea. The books fell limply to his side.
"Be sensible, if you can, Doe. You've got to play this evening."
The change in White's voice prompted Doe to raise his head and look up from under his arm at his attacker.
"Great Scott, Ray," he blurted out. "If it's not an Iguanodon, it's a prehistoric animal of some sort."
"My hat!" exclaimed White. "You young devil! Put that hand down while I smite you over the head with these books." And he made as though to execute his threat. Doe accordingly retired still further down into his chair, and placed his elbow to ward off the swinging books.
"I didn't say it, White, you liar! Shut up, will you? You might hurt me seriously. Go away. I hate you! Oh, hang it!"—(this was when the books struck him on the elbow),—"it hurts, Moles. Leave off, while I rub my elbow."