Stung ! 



being that I was too terrified lest they deem such 

 movement hostile and attack me forthwith. 



" You know," my host was saying, " bee-culture is 

 as interesting as electricity." 



This may be so. But in the predicament in 

 which I found myself I would have been as happy 

 groping blindfold through an entanglement of uninsu- 

 lated high-tension wires. 



I was longing fervently for a diver's suit when the 

 thing happened. It was inevitable : the law of averages; 

 anything you wish to call it. We were almost clear of 

 the danger-zone and I had been making my retreat 

 as hastily unobtrusive as possible, when a particularly 

 vicious buzz made a frontal attack. 



" Don't strike him," warned my host, suspecting my 

 intentions. 



I stood paralysed; immovable, for I felt something 

 crawling on my nose. ' What'll I do ? " I hissed 

 through clenched teeth. 



" Nothing," said my host airily. 



" What'll he do ? " I hissed again. 



" Nothing," repeated my host. 



" Is it a wasp ? " 



" No. It's a Dutch Worker." 



" It's a damned nuisance." 



" Don't get excited." 



" Who's getting excited ? " 



" Don't strike him or he'll sting you." 



" Hell's bells ! He's done it," and as a white-hot 

 knitting-needle plunged into my nose I could no longer 

 restrain myself and I struck at the bee. 



D (DI280) 



