“Round and round,” said Bevis. “Boom and splash and rumble,”—swinging his arm—“round and round, and never get any farther.”
“Not an inch,” said Mark. “Stop; there’s Tom’s gun.” He meant the bird-keeper’s.
“Pooh!” said Bevis, “that’s rotten old rusty rubbish. Isn’t there anybody we could borrow one of?”
“Nobody,” said Mark; “they’re all so stupid and afraid.”
“Donks.”
“Awful donks! Let’s sell our watches, and buy one,” said Mark. “Only they would ask what we had done with our watches.”
“I know,” said Bevis, suddenly kicking up his heels, then standing on one foot and spinning round—“I know!”
“What is it! Quick! Tell me!”
“Make one,” said Bevis.
“Make one?”