It was useless resisting. Down flopped Plunger on his knees and hands, and crawled round the ring as quickly as possible three times, while the bladders showered upon his head with amazing rapidity. Then the brethren joined hands, and galloping wildly round him, repeated as before:
"Beetles of the Mystic Band
Wind we round thee, hand in hand;
Whene'er thou hear'st thy chieftain's call,
Rest not, pause not, hither crawl,
Or to the realms of Creepy-crawly,
Shivery-shaky we will haul thee."
And once again, to the strains of this extraordinary incantation, Plunger was sent whirling about the ring from side to side, as though he were an indiarubber ball. The last time two of them—Harry and himself—divided honours; but this time Plunger had it all to himself. Owing to this fact the brethren were able to give him their sole and undivided attention, and they did it with such effect that Plunger began to wonder whether he was himself or someone else.
"Dost thou like the Mystic Circle?" inquired Mellor, when they paused.
"Oh, y-y-yes," stammered Plunger, with a painful attempt to laugh, "very much." And then he added quickly, as he saw the uplifted bladders ready to descend: "But—but if you've got any more of it, you might keep it for my brother novice."
"It shall be as thou askest, Gargoyle with the eyebrows," said Mellor. "And now to business."
"To business? Do they call what I've just gone through pleasure?" thought Plunger, as he waited in fear and trembling what was to come next.
"Thou belongest to the Third Form?"
Plunger nodded.
"A wonderful scholar art thou, Gargoyle with the wiry thatch," was the cutting comment.