The latter began to examine him at once. By this time, Gaston was a quaking jelly.
“Hm,” pronounced the ogre, “he’ll do fairly well, provided he’s eaten at once. Cook, come here and take my orders.”
Then, as Gaston fought and struggled with all his might, the ogre remarked, “Now, no struggling, if you please. Don’t you know that over-exertion on your part will spoil your flavour, and make you horribly tough? Jack, my caterer, I fear we shall have to chastise this small object before cooking him, as an example to others, you know.”
“Yes, indeed,” said Jack, “a nice chance of dinner we should have, if all the legs of mutton took to kicking us, and all the calves’ heads began to butt at us.”
“Well, make up your mind, Mr. Ogre,” said Phil, “are you prepared to take over this little porker, or not?”
“I am,” was the reply, “and as he persists in showing fight, we’ll see what a little beating will do for him. It answers admirably in the case of beefsteaks, you know. Take charge of him, Jack.”
“All right,” said that official; then, with a wink at Phil, “just hold him down a minute, while I tie his pettitoes together. Mr. Ogre, kindly assist us.”
“Don’t be afraid,” whispered Hubert in Gaston’s ear, as he lay on the ground, “they won’t really hurt you, Phil won’t let them.”
But playing at bullying is a dangerous game with the best intentioned of schoolboys, and Andrew was the prince of bullies when he was secure from any risk to his own precious person. With such a tiny victim as poor Gaston, he felt perfectly safe. But he had reckoned without his host, or at any rate, without his host’s teeth.
For as soon as he came within biting range of Gaston, the latter, who, as we said, had long ago forgotten that he was supposed to be playing, caught Andrew’s hand between his teeth, and hung on to his fingers for dear life.