“Found you, Doe,” said he.  “Look here, Bramhall’s got to make the best house-team it can, which means you must give up slacking at cricket.  You’ll play at the nets this evening.”

“Heavens!  Ray,” Doe murmured in mock dismay, as he stared out of eyes that sparkled with impudence at White’s huge frame, “what on earth is this coming in?”

White smiled meaningly.

“Don’t be cheeky now, Doe,” he suggested.  “No lip, please.”

Doe’s reply was a laugh, and the question addressed to me: 

“I say, Ray, do you think it’s an Iguanodon?”

“Well,” said White, striding forward and beginning to swing his books ominously, “if you’re asking for trouble, you shall have it.”

Doe ducked down and raised his right hand to protect his head.

“I never said it, White,” he affirmed, giggling.  “Really, I didn’t.  You thought I did.  I never called you an Iguanodon—­I’ve too much respect for you.”

“Yes, you did.  Take your hand away.  I’m determined to swing these books on to your head.”

“Ray,” shouted Doe between his giggles, “take him away.  Don’t bully, Moles!  You great beast!  Ray, he’s bullying me.”

White paused.  Bullying, even in fun, was a horrible idea.  The books fell limply to his side.

“Be sensible, if you can, Doe.  You’ve got to play this evening.”

The change in White’s voice prompted Doe to raise his head and look up from under his arm at his attacker.

“Great Scott, Ray,” he blurted out.  “If it’s not an Iguanodon, it’s a prehistoric animal of some sort.”

“My hat!” exclaimed White.  “You young devil!  Put that hand down while I smite you over the head with these books.”  And he made as though to execute his threat.  Doe accordingly retired still further down into his chair, and placed his elbow to ward off the swinging books.

“I didn’t say it, White, you liar!  Shut up, will you?  You might hurt me seriously.  Go away.  I hate you!  Oh, hang it!”—­(this was when the books struck him on the elbow),—­“it hurts, Moles.  Leave off, while I rub my elbow.”

The gentle giant responded to this reasonable request; the books dropped; and Doe, looking reproachfully at his executioner, set about massaging his elbow.

“Ray,” he said, when the operation was complete, “is there any known means of removing this nightmare?”

Immediately his uplifted arm was seized in White’s huge paw.  Doe’s eyes were sparkling, his cheeks red, and his hair tumbled.  His right arm being now held, he laughed more loudly and nervously and raised his left.

“By Jove, White,” he cried, “if you rouse my ire, I’ll get up and lick you.  Let go of my hand—­it’s not yours.  Oh, shut up, you great swine!  Hang it, Ray”—­(this with a shriek, half of laughter, half of anticipation)—­“he’s got my left hand as well—­O, White, I’m sorry.”

White held both his victim’s wrists in one hand.  Too honourable to take advantage of this, he swung his books at a distance and said: