"Say 'ime, man! Say dock!" Edmund persisted, punching Mr. Wycherly in the chest to emphasise his wishes. "Say dock. Quit."
"I'll whisper it to you," murmured the helpful Montagu, "it goes like this—'Hickory, dickory, dock."
"Hickory, dickory, dock," Mr. Wycherly repeated dutifully and distinctly.
"The mouse ran up the clock," Montagu continued.
"The mouse ran up the clock——"
"But you didn't tickle him," Montagu interrupted.
Mr. Wycherly looked at Edmund, and Edmund looked with eager expectation at Mr. Wycherly.
Now to tickle any one appeared to Mr. Wycherly a most unwarrantable liberty. Such a mode of procedure had never entered into his scheme of life at all. He was not even sure how he ought to set about it. He decided that tickling was altogether out of his province, and he would not experiment, even upon Edmund.
He cleared his throat nervously. "Ahem," said Mr. Wycherly, "Hickory, dickory, dock, the mouse ran up the clock——"
"No! No!" shouted Edmund. "'E mouse 'an down."