"England, my England!" cried Clarence, his face shining with a holy patriotism. "England, thou art free! Thou hast risen from the ashes of the dead self. Let the nations learn from this that it is when apparently crushed that the Briton is to more than ever be feared."
"Thad's bad grabbar," said the Prince critically.
"It isn't," said Clarence with warmth.
"It is, I tell you. Id's a splid idfididive."
Clarence's eyes flashed fire.
"I don't want any of your beastly cheek," he said. "Scout-Master Wagstaff, remove your prisoner."
"All the sabe," said the Prince, "id is a splid idfididive."
Clarence pointed silently to the door.
"And you doe id is," persisted the Prince. "And id's spoiled your big sbeech. Id—"
"Come on, can't you," interrupted Scout-Master Wagstaff.