“Respectful and reposeful and happy and good, Mrs. de Vere Carter,” came the chant.
“GO IT, MEN! CATCH ’EM, BEAT ’EM, KNIFE ’EM, KILL ’EM!” THE TAMER ROARED.
She was away about a quarter of an hour. When she returned the game was in full swing, but it was not “Here we go round the mulberry-bush.” There was a screaming, struggling crowd of children in the Village Hall. Benches were overturned and several chairs broken. With yells and whoops, and blows and struggles, the Tamers tried to tame; with growls and snarls and bites and struggles the animals tried not to be tamed. Gone was all listlessness and all boredom. And William, his tie hanging in shreds, his coat torn, his head cut, and his voice hoarse, led the fray as a Tamer.
“Come on, you!”
“I’ll get you!”
“Gr-r-r-r-r!”
“Go it, men! Catch ’em, beat ’em, knife ’em, kill ’em.”
The spirited roarings and bellowing of the animals was almost blood-curdling.
Above it all Mrs. de Vere Carter coaxed and expostulated and wrung her hands.