"Only in prose," retorted Dick coolly, "think how you mutilate it in poetry."
"I'm afraid you're rather severe on Priggs," said Beaumont, who was anxious to conciliate everyone, even the poet, for whom he had a profound contempt.
"You wouldn't say so if you saw his poetry," replied Pemberton laughing.
"Oh, come now, Dick," said Reginald lightly, "that's rather hard--some of Ferdinand's poetry is beautiful."
"And gruesome."
"Dick cares for nothing but music-hall songs," explained the poetic Ferdinand loftily.
"Oh yes, I do--for cake and tea, among other things, and here it comes. Make a rhyme on it, Ferdy."
"Don't call me Ferdy," said Priggs sharply.
"Then Birdie," observed Dick, in a teasing tone, "though you're more like an owl than any other bird."
"Now don't fight," said Pumpkin, who was now seated in front of a rustic table on which the tea-things were set out. "Milk and sugar, Mr. Beaumont?"