He pulled off his cap and rubbed furiously, expecting to feel the blood come away on his fingers, for he also fancied he had been shot.
"Goodness!" he gasped.

"Whoever is shooting this way ought to be jailed.
We will all be killed in five minutes.

That tore a hole in my scalp, sure!" Rupert Chickering, who was beginning to look grave and anxious, next jumped up into the air, forgetting his dignity; while Willis Paulding sat down with a suddenness that jarred the ground, and began to declaim in a quick, nervous way and without the slightest imitation of an English accent.
Then Lew Veazie, who had been rubbing his injured leg and looking surprisedly and dubiously about, leaped to his feet with another howl and went dancing off from his friends.
"Felloth, it ith hornets!" he shrieked, beginning to fight and slap with his cap and his hands.

"Ow! wow! They're thtinging me to death! Help me, thomebody!" "Hornets!" shrieked Ollie Lord, leaping up and following his chum.
"Fellows, the air is full of them!" Tilton Hull began to dig fiercely at his high collar.
"There is one down my neck!" he screeched.
He recklessly tore the collar away and began to dig with his nails in a wild search for the thing that had stung him, and which he fancied he felt boring its way still farther down his back.

Julian Ives took his hand from his hip and slapped it against his breast, where a red-hot lance seemed to have been driven with torturing suddenness.