She found the Gate in a sulky uproar. The youngsters told off to
the pillars had refused to chew scrap-wax because it made their
jaws ache, and were clamouring for virgin stuff.

"Anything to finish the job!" said the badgered Guards. "Hang up,
some of you, and make wax for these slack-jawed sisters."

Before a bee can make wax she must fill herself with honey. Then
she climbs to safe foothold and hangs, while other gorged bees
hang on to her in a cluster. There they wait in silence till the
wax comes. The scales are either taken out of the maker's pockets
by the workers, or tinkle down on the workers while they wait.
The workers chew them (they are useless unchewed) into the
all-supporting, all-embracing Wax of the Hive.

But now, no sooner was the wax-cluster in position than the
workers below broke out again.

"Come down!" they cried. "Come down and work! Come on, you
Levantine parasites! Don't think to enjoy yourselves up there
while we're sweating down here!"

The cluster shivered, as from hooked fore-foot to hooked
hind-foot it telegraphed uneasiness. At last a worker sprang up,
grabbed the lowest waxmaker, and swung, kicking above her
companions.

"I can make wax too!" she bawled. "Give me a full gorge and I'll
make tons of it."