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diff --git a/3006-h/3006-h.htm b/3006-h/3006-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e4bc24 --- /dev/null +++ b/3006-h/3006-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10753 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stalky & Co., by Rudyard Kipling + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <style type="text/css"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .pre { font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%; text-indent: 0em;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Stalky & Co., by Rudyard Kipling</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Stalky & Co.</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Rudyard Kipling</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 25, 2009 [EBook #3006]<br /> +Last Updated: March 18, 2022</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: A. Elizabeth Warren, and David Widger</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALKY & CO. ***</div> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + STALKY & CO. + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By Rudyard Kipling + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<p class="pre"> + <i>“Let us now praise famous men”—<br /> + Men of little showing—<br /> + For their work continueth,<br /> + And their work continueth,<br /> + Greater than their knowing.<br /><br /> + + Western wind and open surge<br /> + Tore us from our mothers;<br /> + Flung us on a naked shore<br /> + (Twelve bleak houses by the shore!<br /> + Seven summers by the shore!)<br /> + ’Mid two hundred brothers.<br /><br /> + + There we met with famous men<br /> + Set in office o’er us.<br /> + And they beat on us with rods—<br /> + Faithfully with many rods—<br /> + Daily beat us on with rods—<br /> + For the love they bore us!<br /><br /> + + Out of Egypt unto Troy—<br /> + Over Himalaya—<br /> + Far and sure our bands have gone—<br /> + Hy—Brasil or Babylon,<br /> + Islands of the Southern Run,<br /> + And cities of Cathaia!<br /><br /> + + And we all praise famous men—<br /> + Ancients of the College;<br /> + For they taught us common sense—-<br /> + Tried to teach us common sense—<br /> + Truth and God’s Own Common Sense<br /> + Which is more than knowledge!<br /><br /> + + Each degree of Latitude<br /> + Strung about Creation<br /> + Seeth one (or more) of us,<br /> + (Of one muster all of us—<br /> + Of one master all of us—)<br /> + Keen in his vocation.<br /><br /> + + This we learned from famous men<br /> + Knowing not its uses<br /> + When they showed in daily work<br /> + Man must finish off his work—<br /> + Right or wrong, his daily work—<br /> + And without excuses.<br /><br /> + + Servants of the staff and chain,<br /> + Mine and fuse and grapnel—<br /> + Some before the face of Kings,<br /> + Stand before the face of Kings;<br /> + Bearing gifts to divers Kings—<br /> + Gifts of Case and Shrapnel.<br /><br /> + + This we learned from famous men<br /> + Teaching in our borders.<br /> + Who declare’d it was best,<br /> + Safest, easiest and best—<br /> + Expeditious, wise and best—<br /> + To obey your orders.<br /><br /> + + Some beneath the further stars<br /> + Bear the greater burden.<br /> + Set to serve the lands they rule,<br /> + (Save he serve no man may rule)<br /> + Serve and love the lands they rule;<br /> + Seeking praise nor guerdon.<br /> + + This we learned from famous men<br /> + Knowing not we learned it.<br /> + Only, as the years went by—<br /> + Lonely, as the years went by—<br /> + Far from help as years went by<br /> + Plainer we discerned it.<br /><br /> + + Wherefore praise we famous men<br /> + From whose bays we borrow—<br /> + They that put aside Today—<br /> + All the joys of their Today—<br /> + And with toil of their Today<br /> + Bought for us Tomorrow!<br /><br /> + + Bless and praise we famous men<br /> + Men of little showing!<br /> + For their work continueth<br /> + And their work continueth<br /> + Broad and deep continueth<br /> + Great beyond their knowing!<br /><br /> + + Copyright, 1899. by Rudyard Kipling</i><br /> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> “IN AMBUSH.” </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> SLAVES OF THE LAMP—PART I.</a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> AN UNSAVORY INTERLUDE. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> THE IMPRESSIONISTS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> THE MORAL REFORMERS. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> A LITTLE PREP. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> THE FLAG OF THEIR COUNTRY. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> THE LAST TERM. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> SLAVES OF THE LAMP—PART II.</a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + “IN AMBUSH.” + </h2> + <p> + In summer all right-minded boys built huts in the furze-hill behind the + College—little lairs whittled out of the heart of the prickly + bushes, full of stumps, odd root-ends, and spikes, but, since they were + strictly forbidden, palaces of delight. And for the fifth summer in + succession, Stalky, McTurk, and Beetle (this was before they reached the + dignity of a study) had built like beavers a place of retreat and + meditation, where they smoked. + </p> + <p> + Now, there was nothing in their characters as known to Mr. Prout, their + house-master, at all commanding respect; nor did Foxy, the subtle + red-haired school Sergeant, trust them. His business was to wear + tennis-shoes, carry binoculars, and swoop hawklike upon evil boys. Had he + taken the field alone, that hut would have been raided, for Foxy knew the + manners of his quarry; but Providence moved Mr. Prout, whose school-name, + derived from the size of his feet, was Hoofer, to investigate on his own + account; and it was the cautious Stalky who found the track of his pugs on + the very floor of their lair one peaceful afternoon when Stalky would fain + have forgotten Prout and his works in a volume of Surtees and a new + briar-wood pipe. Crusoe, at sight of the footprint, did not act more + swiftly than Stalky. He removed the pipes, swept up all loose match-ends, + and departed to warn Beetle and McTurk. + </p> + <p> + But it was characteristic of the boy that he did not approach his allies + till he had met and conferred with little Hartopp, President of the + Natural History Society, an institution which Stalky held in contempt. + Hartopp was more than surprised when the boy meekly, as he knew how, + begged to propose himself, Beetle, and McTurk as candidates; confessed to + a long-smothered interest in first-flowerings, early butterflies, and new + arrivals, and volunteered, if Mr. Hartopp saw fit, to enter on the new + life at once. Being a master, Hartopp was suspicious; but he was also an + enthusiast, and his gentle little soul had been galled by chance-heard + remarks from the three, and specially Beetle. So he was gracious to that + repentant sinner, and entered the three names in his book. + </p> + <p> + Then, and not till then, did Stalky seek Beetle and McTurk in their house + form-room. They were stowing away books for a quiet afternoon in the + furze, which they called the “wuzzy.” + </p> + <p> + “All up,” said Stalky, serenely. “I spotted Heffy’s fairy feet round our + hut after dinner. ’Blessing they’re so big.” + </p> + <p> + “Con-found! Did you hide our pipes?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. Left ’em in the middle of the hut, of course. What a blind ass + you are, Beetle! D’you think nobody thinks but yourself? Well, we can’t + use the hut any more. Hoofer will be watchin’ it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Bother! Likewise blow!’” said McTurk thoughtfully, unpacking the volumes + with which his chest was cased. The boys carried their libraries between + their belt and their collar. “Nice job! This means we’re under suspicion + for the rest of the term.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? All that Heffy has found is a hut. He and Foxy will watch it. It’s + nothing to do with us; only we mustn’t be seen that way for a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and where else are we to go?” said Beetle. “You chose that place, + too—an’—an’ I wanted to read this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Stalky sat on a desk drumming his heels on the form. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a despondin’ brute, Beetle. Sometimes I think I shall have to drop + you altogether. Did you ever know your Uncle Stalky forget you yet? <i>His + rebus infectis</i>—after I’d seen Heffy’s man-tracks marchin’ round + our hut, I found little Hartopp—<i>destricto ense</i>—wavin’ a + butterfly-net. I conciliated Hartopp. ’Told him that you’d read papers to + the Bug-hunters if he’d let you join, Beetle. ’Told him you liked + butterflies, Turkey. Anyhow, I soothed the Hartoffles, and we’re + Bug-hunters now.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good of that?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Turkey, kick him!” + </p> + <p> + In the interests of science bounds were largely relaxed for the members of + the Natural History Society. They could wander, if they kept clear of all + houses, practically where they chose; Mr. Hartopp holding himself + responsible for their good conduct. + </p> + <p> + Beetle began to see this as McTurk began the kicking. + </p> + <p> + “I’m an ass, Stalky!” he said, guarding the afflicted part. “<i>Pax</i>, + Turkey. I’m an ass.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stop, Turkey. Isn’t your Uncle Stalky a great man?” + </p> + <p> + “Great man,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “All the same bug-huntin’s a filthy business,” said McTurk. “How the deuce + does one begin?” + </p> + <p> + “This way,” said Stalky, turning to some fags’ lockers behind him. “Fags + are dabs at Natural History. Here’s young Braybrooke’s botany-case.” He + flung out a tangle of decayed roots and adjusted the slide. “’Gives one no + end of a professional air, I think. Here’s Clay Minor’s geological hammer. + Beetle can carry that. Turkey, you’d better covet a butterfly-net from + somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m blowed if I do,” said McTurk, simply, with immense feeling. “Beetle, + give me the hammer.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. <em>I</em>’m not proud. Chuck us down that net on top of the lockers, + Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right. It’s a collapsible jamboree, too. Beastly luxurious + dogs these fags are. Built like a fishin’-rod. ’Pon my sainted Sam, but we + look the complete Bug-hunters! Now, listen to your Uncle Stalky! We’re + goin’ along the cliffs after butterflies. Very few chaps come there. We’re + goin’ to leg it, too. You’d better leave your book behind.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much!” said Beetle, firmly. “I’m not goin’ to be done out of my fun + for a lot of filthy butterflies.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll sweat horrid. You’d better carry my Jorrocks. ’Twon’t make + you any hotter.” + </p> + <p> + They all sweated; for Stalky led them at a smart trot west away along the + cliffs under the furze-hills, crossing combe after gorzy combe. They took + no heed to flying rabbits or fluttering fritillaries, and all that Turkey + said of geology was utterly unquotable. + </p> + <p> + “Are we going to Clovelly?” he puffed at last, and they flung themselves + down on the short, springy turf between the drone of the sea below and the + light summer wind among the inland trees. They were looking into a combe + half full of old, high furze in gay bloom that ran up to a fringe of + brambles and a dense wood of mixed timber and hollies. It was as though + one-half the combe were filled with golden fire to the cliff’s edge. The + side nearest to them was open grass, and fairly bristled with + notice-boards. + </p> + <p> + “Fee-rocious old cove, this,” said Stalky, reading the nearest. “‘<i>Prosecuted + with the utmost rigour of the law</i>. <i>G. M. Dabney, Col., J.P.</i>,’ an’ all + the rest of it. ’Don’t seem to me that any chap in his senses would + trespass here, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve got to prove damage ’fore you can prosecute for anything! ’Can’t + prosecute for trespass,” said McTurk, whose father held many acres in + Ireland. “That’s all rot!” + </p> + <p> + “Glad of that, ’cause this looks like what we wanted. Not straight across, + Beetle, you blind lunatic! Anyone could spot us half a mile off. This way; + and furl up your beastly butterfly-net.” + </p> + <p> + Beetle disconnected the ring, thrust the net into a pocket, shut up the + handle to a two-foot stave, and slid the cane-ring round his waist. Stalky + led inland to the wood, which was, perhaps, a quarter of a mile from the + sea, and reached the fringe of the brambles. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Now</i> we can get straight down through the furze, and never show up + at all,” said the tactician. “Beetle, go ahead and explore. Snf! Snf! + Beastly stink of fox somewhere!” + </p> + <p> + On all fours, save when he clung to his spectacles, Beetle wormed into the + gorse, and presently announced between grunts of pain that he had found a + very fair fox-track. This was well for Beetle, since Stalky pinched him <i>a + tergo</i>. Down that tunnel they crawled. It was evidently a highway for + the inhabitants of the combe; and, to their inexpressible joy, ended, at + the very edge of the cliff, in a few square feet of dry turf walled and + roofed with impenetrable gorse. + </p> + <p> + “By gum! There isn’t a single thing to do except lie down,” said Stalky, + returning a knife to his pocket. “Look here!” + </p> + <p> + He parted the tough stems before him, and it was as a window opened on a + far view of Lundy, and the deep sea sluggishly nosing the pebbles a couple + of hundred feet below. They could hear young jackdaws squawking on the + ledges, the hiss and jabber of a nest of hawks somewhere out of sight; + and, with great deliberation, Stalky spat on to the back of a young rabbit + sunning himself far down where only a cliff-rabbit could have found + foot-hold. Great gray and black gulls screamed against the jackdaws; the + heavy-scented acres of bloom round them were alive with low-nesting birds, + singing or silent as the shadow of the wheeling hawks passed and returned; + and on the naked turf across the combe rabbits thumped and frolicked. + </p> + <p> + “Whew! What a place! Talk of natural history; this is it,” said Stalky, + filling himself a pipe. “Isn’t it scrumptious? Good old sea!” He spat + again approvingly, and was silent. + </p> + <p> + McTurk and Beetle had taken out their books and were lying on their + stomachs, chin in hand. The sea snored and gurgled; the birds, scattered + for the moment by these new animals, returned to their businesses, and the + boys read on in the rich, warm, sleepy silence. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, here’s a keeper,” said Stalky, shutting “Handley Cross” + cautiously, and peering through the jungle. A man with a gun appeared on + the sky-line to the east. “Confound him, he’s going to sit down.” + </p> + <p> + “He’d swear we were poachin’, too,” said Beetle. “What’s the good of + pheasants’ eggs? They’re always addled, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Might as well get up to the wood, <em>I</em> think,” said Stalky. “We don’t want + G. M. Dabney, Col., J.P., to be bothered about us so soon. Up the wuzzy + and keep quiet! He may have followed us, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Beetle was already far up the tunnel. They heard him gasp indescribably: + there was the crash of a heavy body leaping through the furze. + </p> + <p> + “Aie! yeou little red rascal. I see yeou!” The keeper threw the gun to his + shoulder, and fired both barrels in their direction. The pellets dusted + the dry stems round them as a big fox plunged between Stalky’s legs, and + ran over the cliff-edge. + </p> + <p> + They said nothing till they reached the wood, torn, disheveled, hot, but + unseen. + </p> + <p> + “Narrow squeak,” said Stalky. “I’ll swear some of the pellets went through + my hair.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you see him?” said Beetle. “I almost put my hand on him. Wasn’t he a + wopper! Didn’t he stink! Hullo, Turkey, what’s the matter? Are you hit?” + </p> + <p> + McTurk’s lean face had turned pearly white; his mouth, generally half + open, was tight shut, and his eyes blazed. They had never seen him like + this save once in a sad time of civil war. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that that was just as bad as murder?” he said, in a grating + voice, as he brushed prickles from his head. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he didn’t hit us,” said Stalky. “I think it was rather a lark. + Here, where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m going up to the house, if there is one,” said McTurk, pushing through + the hollies. “I am going to tell this Colonel Dabney.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you crazy? He’ll swear it served us jolly well right. He’ll report + us. It’ll be a public lickin’. Oh, Turkey, don’t be an ass! Think of us!” + </p> + <p> + “You fool!” said McTurk, turning savagely. “D’you suppose I’m thinkin’ of + <i>us</i>? It’s the keeper.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s cracked,” said Beetle, miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this was + a new Turkey—a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkey—whom they + accompanied through a shrubbery on to a lawn, where a white-whiskered old + gentleman with a cleek was alternately putting and blaspheming vigorously. + </p> + <p> + “Are you Colonel Dabney?” McTurk began in this new creaking voice of his. + </p> + <p> + “I—I am, and—” his eyes traveled up and down the boy—“who—what + the devil d’you want? Ye’ve been disturbing my pheasants. Don’t attempt to + deny it. Ye needn’t laugh at it.” (McTurk’s not too lovely features had + twisted themselves into a horrible sneer at the word pheasant.) “You’ve + been birds’-nesting. You needn’t hide your hat. I can see that you belong + to the College. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye do! Your name and number at + once, sir. Ye want to speak to me—Eh? You saw my notice-boards? Must + have. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did! Damnable, oh damnable!” + </p> + <p> + He choked with emotion. McTurk’s heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered a + little—two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should + he, the offender, be angry? + </p> + <p> + “Lo-look here, sir. Do—do you shoot foxes? Because, if you don’t, + your keeper does. We’ve seen him! I do-don’t care what you call us—but + it’s an awful thing. It’s the ruin of good feelin’ among neighbors. A + ma-man ought to say once and for all how he stands about preservin’. It’s + worse than murder, because there’s no legal remedy.” McTurk was quoting + confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman made noises in his + throat. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know who I am?” he gurgled at last; Stalky and Beetle quaking. + </p> + <p> + “No, sorr, nor do I care if ye belonged to the Castle itself. Answer me + now, as one gentleman to another. Do ye shoot foxes or do ye not?” + </p> + <p> + And four years before Stalky and Beetle had carefully kicked McTurk out of + his Irish dialect! Assuredly he had gone mad or taken a sunstroke, and as + assuredly he would be slain—once by the old gentleman and once by + the Head. A public licking for the three was the least they could expect. + Yet—if their eyes and ears were to be trusted—the old + gentleman had collapsed. It might be a lull before the storm, but— + </p> + <p> + “I do not.” He was still gurgling. + </p> + <p> + “Then you must sack your keeper. He’s not fit to live in the same county + with a God-fearin’ fox. An’ a vixen, too—at this time o’ year!” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye come up on purpose to tell me this?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I did, ye silly man,” with a stamp of the foot. “Would you not + have done as much for me if you’d seen that thing happen on my land, now?” + </p> + <p> + Forgotten—forgotten was the College and the decency due to elders! + McTurk was treading again the barren purple mountains of the rainy West + coast, where in his holidays he was viceroy of four thousand naked acres, + only son of a three-hundred-year-old house, lord of a crazy fishing-boat, + and the idol of his father’s shiftless tenantry. It was the landed man + speaking to his equal—deep calling to deep—and the old + gentleman acknowledged the cry. + </p> + <p> + “I apologize,” said he. “I apologize unreservedly—to you, and to the + Old Country. Now, will you be good enough to tell me your story?” + </p> + <p> + “We were in your combe,” McTurk began, and he told his tale alternately as + a schoolboy and, when the iniquity of the thing overcame him, as an + indignant squire; concluding: “So you see he must be in the habit of it. I—we—-one + never wants to accuse a neighbor’s man; but I took the liberty in this + case—” + </p> + <p> + “I see. Quite so. For a reason ye had. Infamous—-oh, infamous!” + </p> + <p> + The two had fallen into step beside each other on the lawn, and Colonel + Dabney was talking as one man to another. “This comes of promoting a + fisherman—a fisherman—from his lobster-pots. It’s enough to + ruin the reputation of an archangel. Don’t attempt to deny it. It is! Your + father has brought you up well. He has. I’d much like the pleasure of his + acquaintance. Very much, indeed. And these young gentlemen? English they + are. Don’t attempt to deny it. They came up with you, too? Extraordinary! + Extraordinary, now! In the present state of education I shouldn’t have + thought any three boys would be well enough grounded. But out of the + mouths of—No—no! Not that by any odds. Don’t attempt to deny + it. Ye’re not! Sherry always catches me under the liver, but—beer, + now? Eh? What d’you say to beer, and something to eat? It’s long since I + was a boy—abominable nuisances; but exceptions prove the rule. And a + vixen, too!” They were fed on the terrace by a gray-haired housekeeper. + Stalky and Beetle merely ate, but McTurk with bright eyes continued a free + and lofty discourse; and ever the old gentleman treated him as a brother. + </p> + <p> + “My dear man, of <em>course</em> ye can come again. Did I not say exceptions prove + the rule? The lower combe? Man, dear, anywhere ye please, so long as you + do not disturb my pheasants. The two are not incompatible. Don’t attempt + to deny it. They’re not! I’ll never allow another gun, though. Come and go + as ye please. I’ll not see you, and ye needn’t see me. Ye’ve been well + brought up. Another glass of beer, now? I tell you a fisherman he was and + a fisherman he shall be to-night again. He shall! Wish I could drown him. + I’ll convoy you to the Lodge. My people are not precisely—ah—broke + to boy, but they’ll know you again.” + </p> + <p> + He dismissed them with many compliments by the high Lodge-gate in the + split-oak park palings and they stood still; even Stalky, who had played + second, not to say a dumb, fiddle, regarding McTurk as one from another + world. The two glasses of strong home-brewed had brought a melancholy upon + the boy, for, slowly strolling with his hands in his pockets, he crooned:—“Oh, + Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round?” + </p> + <p> + Under other circumstances Stalky and Beetle would have fallen upon him, + for that song was barred utterly—anathema—the sin of + witchcraft. But seeing what he had wrought, they danced round him in + silence, waiting till it pleased him to touch earth. + </p> + <p> + The tea-bell rang when they were still half a mile from College. McTurk + shivered and came out of dreams. The glory of his holiday estate had left + him. He was a Colleger of the College, speaking English once more. + </p> + <p> + “Turkey, it was immense!” said Stalky, generously. “I didn’t know you had + it in you. You’ve got us a hut for the rest of the term, where we simply + <i>can’t</i> be collared. Fids! Fids! Oh, Fids! I gloat! Hear me gloat!” + </p> + <p> + They spun wildly on their heels, jodeling after the accepted manner of a + “gloat,” which is not unremotely allied to the primitive man’s song of + triumph, and dropped down the hill by the path from the gasometer just in + time to meet their house-master, who had spent the afternoon watching + their abandoned hut in the “wuzzy.” + </p> + <p> + Unluckily, all Mr. Prout’s imagination leaned to the darker side of life, + and he looked on those young-eyed cherubims most sourly. Boys that he + understood attended house-matches and could be accounted for at any + moment. But he had heard McTurk openly deride cricket—even + house-matches; Beetle’s views on the honor of the house he knew were + incendiary; and he could never tell when the soft and smiling Stalky was + laughing at him. Consequently—since human nature is what it is—those + boys had been doing wrong somewhere. He hoped it was nothing very serious, + but... + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ti-ra-ra-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me!” Stalky, still on his heels, + whirled like a dancing dervish to the dining-hall. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me!” Beetle spun behind him with + outstretched arms. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me!” McTurk’s voice cracked. + </p> + <p> + Now was there or was there not a distinct flavor of beer as they shot past + Mr. Prout? + </p> + <p> + He was unlucky in that his conscience as a house-master impelled him to + consult his associates. Had he taken his pipe and his troubles to little + Hartopp’s rooms he would, perhaps, have been saved confusion, for Hartopp + believed in boys, and knew something about them. His fate led him to King, + a fellow house-master, no friend of his, but a zealous hater of Stalky + & Co. + </p> + <p> + “Ah-haa!” said King, rubbing his hands when the tale was told. “Curious! + Now <i>my</i> house never dream of doing these things.” + </p> + <p> + “But you see I’ve no proof, exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “Proof? With the egregious Beetle! As if one wanted it! I suppose it is + not impossible for the Sergeant to supply it? Foxy is considered at least + a match for any evasive boy in my house. Of course they were smoking and + drinking somewhere. That type of boy always does. They think it manly.” + </p> + <p> + “But they’ve no following in the school, and they are distinctly—er—brutal to their juniors,” said Prout, who had from a distance seen Beetle + return, with interest, his butterfly-net to a tearful fag. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! They consider themselves superior to ordinary delights. + Self-sufficient little animals! There’s something in McTurk’s Hibernian + sneer that would make <em>me</em> a little annoyed. And they are so careful to + avoid all overt acts, too. It’s sheer calculated insolence. I am strongly + opposed, as you know, to interfering with another man’s house; but they + need a lesson, Prout. They need a sharp lesson, if only to bring down + their over-weening self-conceit. Were I you, I should devote myself for a + week to their little performances. Boys of that order—and I may + flatter myself, but I think I know boys—don’t join the Bug-hunters + for love. Tell the Sergeant to keep his eye open; and, of course, in my + peregrinations I may casually keep mine open, too.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me!” far down the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “Disgusting!” said King. “Where do they pick up these obscene noises? One + sharp lesson is what they want.” + </p> + <p> + The boys did not concern themselves with lessons for the next few days. + They had all Colonel Dabney’s estate to play with, and they explored it + with the stealth of Red Indians and the accuracy of burglars. They could + enter either by the Lodge-gates on the upper road—they were careful + to ingratiate themselves with the Lodge-keeper and his wife—drop + down into the combe, and return along the cliffs; or they could begin at + the combe and climb up into the road. + </p> + <p> + They were careful not to cross the Colonel’s path—he had served his + turn, and they would not out-wear their welcome—nor did they show up + on the sky-line when they could move in cover. The shelter of the gorze by + the cliff-edge was their chosen retreat. Beetle christened it the Pleasant + Isle of Aves, for the peace and the shelter of it; and here, the pipes and + tobacco once cachéd in a convenient ledge an arm’s length down the cliff, + their position was legally unassailable. + </p> + <p> + For, observe, Colonel Dabney had not invited them to enter his house. + Therefore, they did not need to ask specific leave to go visiting; and + school rules were strict on that point. He had merely thrown open his + grounds to them; and, since they were lawful Bug-hunters, their extended + bounds ran up to his notice-boards in the combe and his Lodge-gates on the + hill. + </p> + <p> + They were amazed at their own virtue. + </p> + <p> + “And even if it wasn’t,” said Stalky, flat on his back, staring into the + blue. “Even suppose we were miles out of bounds, no one could get at us + through this wuzzy, unless he knew the tunnel. Isn’t this better than + lyin’ up just behind the Coll.—in a blue funk every time we had a + smoke? Isn’t your Uncle Stalky—?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Beetle—he was stretched at the edge of the cliff spitting + thoughtfully. “We’ve got to thank Turkey for this. Turkey is the Great + Man. Turkey, dear, you’re distressing Heffles.” + </p> + <p> + “Gloomy old ass!” said McTurk, deep in a book. + </p> + <p> + “They’ve got us under suspicion,” said Stalky. “Hoophats <i>is</i> so + suspicious somehow; and Foxy always makes every stalk he does a sort of—sort + of—” + </p> + <p> + “Scalp,” said Beetle. “Foxy’s a giddy Chingangook.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Foxy,” said Stalky. “He’s goin’ to catch us one of these days. ’Said + to me in the Gym last night, ‘I’ve got my eye on you, Mister Corkran. I’m + only warning you for your good.’ Then I said: ‘Well, you jolly well take + it off again, or you’ll get into trouble. I’m only warnin’ you for your + good.’ Foxy was wrath.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but it’s only fair sport for Foxy,” said Beetle. “It’s Hefflelinga + that has the evil mind. ’Shouldn’t wonder if he thought we got tight.” + </p> + <p> + “I never got squiffy but once—that was in the holidays,” said + Stalky, reflectively; “an’ it made me horrid sick. ’Pon my sacred Sam, + though, it’s enough to drive a man to drink, havin’ an animal like Hoof + for house-master.” + </p> + <p> + “If we attended the matches an’ yelled, ‘Well hit, sir,’ an’ stood on one + leg an’ grinned every time Heffy said, ‘So ho, my sons. Is it thus?’ an’ + said, ‘Yes, sir,’ an’ ‘No, sir,’ an’ ‘O, sir,’ an’ ‘Please, sir,’ like a + lot o’ filthy fa-ags, Heffy ’ud think no end of us,” said McTurk with a + sneer. + </p> + <p> + “Too late to begin that.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right. The Hefflelinga means well. <i>But</i> he is an ass. <i>And</i> + we show him that we think he’s an ass. An’ <i>so</i> Heffy don’t love us. + ’Told me last night after prayers that he was <i>in loco parentis</i>,” + Beetle grunted. + </p> + <p> + “The deuce he did!” cried Stalky. “That means he’s maturin’ something + unusual dam’ mean. Last time he told me that he gave me three hundred + lines for dancin’ the cachuca in Number Ten dormitory. <i>Loco parentis</i>, + by gum! But what’s the odds as long as you’re ’appy? <i>We’re</i> all + right.” + </p> + <p> + They were, and their very rightness puzzled Prout, King, and the Sergeant. + Boys with bad consciences show it. They slink out past the Fives Court in + haste, and smile nervously when questioned. They return, disordered, in + bare time to save a call-over. They nod and wink and giggle one to the + other, scattering at the approach of a master. But Stalky and his allies + had long out-lived these manifestations of youth. They strolled forth + unconcernedly, and returned in excellent shape after a light refreshment + of strawberries and cream at the Lodge. + </p> + <p> + The Lodge-keeper had been promoted to keeper, <i>vice</i> the murderous + fisherman, and his wife made much of the boys. The man, too, gave them a + squirrel, which they presented to the Natural History Society; thereby + checkmating little Hartopp, who wished to know what they were doing for + Science. Foxy faithfully worked some deep Devon lanes behind a lonely + cross-roads inn; and it was curious that Prout and King, members of + Common-room seldom friendly, walked together in the same direction—that + is to say, northeast. + </p> + <p> + Now, the Pleasant Isle of Aves lay due southwest. “They’re deep—day-vilish + deep,” said Stalky. “Why are they drawin’ those covers?” + </p> + <p> + “Me,” said Beetle sweetly. “I asked Foxy if he had ever tasted the beer + there. That was enough for Foxy, and it cheered him up a little. He and + Heffy were sniffin’ round our old hut so long I thought they’d like a + change.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it can’t last forever,” said Stalky. “Heffy’s bankin’ up like a + thunder-cloud, an’ King goes rubbin’ his beastly hands, an’ grinnin’ like + a hyena. It’s shockin’ demoralizin’ for King. He’ll burst some day.” + </p> + <p> + That day came a little sooner than they expected—came when the + Sergeant, whose duty it was to collect defaulters, did not attend an + afternoon call-over. + </p> + <p> + “Tired of pubs, eh? He’s gone up to the top of the bill with his + binoculars to spot us,” said Stalky. “Wonder he didn’t think of that + before. Did you see old Heffy cock his eye at us when we answered our + names? Heffy’s in it, too. <i>Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me! Come + on!” + </p> + <p> + “Aves?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, but I’m not smokin’ <i>aujourd’hui</i>. <i>Parceque je</i> + jolly well <i>pense</i> that we’ll be <i>suivi</i>. We’ll go along the + cliffs, slow, an’ give Foxy lots of time to parallel us up above.” + </p> + <p> + They strolled towards the swimming-baths, and presently overtook King. + “Oh, don’t let <i>me</i> interrupt you,” he said. “Engaged in scientific + pursuits, of course? I trust you will enjoy yourselves, my young friends.” + </p> + <p> + “You see!” said Stalky, when they were out of earshot. “He <i>can’t</i> + keep a secret. He’s followin’ to cut off our line of retreat. He’ll wait + at the baths till Heffy comes along. They’ve tried every blessed place + except along the cliffs, and now they think they’ve bottled us. No need to + hurry.” + </p> + <p> + They walked leisurely over the combes till they reached the line of + notice-boards. + </p> + <p> + “Listen a shake. Foxy’s up wind comin’ down hill like beans. When you hear + him move in the bushes, go straight across to Aves. They want to catch us + <i>flagrante delicto</i>.” + </p> + <p> + They dived into the gorse at right angles to the tunnel, openly crossing + the grass, and lay still in Aves. + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” Stalky carefully put away the pipes and tobacco. + The Sergeant, out of breath, was leaning against the fence, raking the + furze with his binoculars, but he might as well have tried to see through + a sand-bag. Anon, Prout and King appeared behind him. They conferred. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Foxy don’t like the notice-boards, and he don’t like the prickles + either. Now we’ll cut up the tunnel and go to the Lodge. Hullo! They’ve + sent Foxy into cover.” + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant was waist-deep in crackling, swaying furze, his ears filled + with the noise of his own progress. The boys reached the shelter of the + wood and looked down through a belt of hollies. + </p> + <p> + “Hellish noise!” said Stalky, critically. “’Don’t think Colonel Dabney + will like it. I move we go into the Lodge and get something to eat. We + might as well see the fun out.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the keeper passed them at a trot. “Who’m they to combe-bottom for + Lard’s sake? Master’ll be crazy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Poachers simly,” Stalky replied in the broad Devon that was the boy’s <i>langue + de guerre</i>. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll poach ’em to raights!” He dropped into the funnel-like combe, which + presently began to fill with noises, notably King’s voice crying: “Go on, + Sergeant! Leave him alone, you, sir. He is executing my orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Who’m yeou to give arders here, gingy whiskers? Yeou come up to the + master. Come out o’ that wuzzy! [This is to the Sergeant.] Yiss, I reckon + us knows the boys yeou’m after. They’ve tu long ears an’ vuzzy bellies, + an’ you nippies they in yeour pockets when they’m dead. Come on up to + master! He’ll boy yeou all you’re a mind to. Yeou other folk bide your + side fence.” + </p> + <p> + “Explain to the proprietor. You can explain, Sergeant,” shouted King. + Evidently the Sergeant had surrendered to the major force. + </p> + <p> + Beetle lay at full length on the turf behind the Lodge, literally biting + the earth in spasms of joy. Stalky kicked him upright. There was nothing + of levity about Stalky or McTurk save a stray muscle twitching on the + cheek. + </p> + <p> + They tapped at the Lodge door, where they were always welcome. “Come yeou + right in an’ set down, my little dearrs,” said the woman. “They’ll niver + touch my man. He’ll poach ’em to rights. Iss fai! Fresh berries an’ cream. + Us Dartymoor folk niver forgit their friends. But them Bidevor poachers, + they’ve no hem to their garments. Sugar? My man he’ve digged a badger for + yeou, my dearrs. ’Tis in the linhay in a box.” + </p> + <p> + “Us’ll take un with us when we’re finished here. I reckon yeou’m busy. + We’ll bide here an’—’tis washin’ day with yeou, simly,” said Stalky. + “We’m no company to make all vitty for. Never yeou mind us. Yiss. There’s + plenty cream.” + </p> + <p> + The woman withdrew, wiping her pink hands on her apron, and left them in + the parlor. There was a scuffle of feet on the gravel outside the + heavily-leaded diamond panes, and then the voice of Colonel Dabney, + something clearer than a bugle. + </p> + <p> + “Ye can read? You’ve eyes in your head? Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye + have!” + </p> + <p> + Beetle snatched a crochet-work antimacassar from the shiny horsehair sofa, + stuffed it into his mouth, and rolled out of sight. + </p> + <p> + “You saw my notice-boards. Your duty? Curse your impudence, sir. Your duty + was to keep off my grounds. Talk of duty to <i>me</i>! Why—why—why, + ye misbegotten poacher, ye’ll be teaching me my A B C next! Roarin’ like a + bull in the bushes down there! Boys? Boys? Boys? Keep your boys at home, + then! I’m not responsible for your boys! But I don’t believe it—I + don’t believe a word of it. Ye’ve a furtive look in your eye—a + furtive, sneakin’, poachin’ look in your eye, that ’ud ruin the reputation + of an archangel! Don’t attempt to deny it! Ye have! A sergeant? More shame + to you, then, an’ the worst bargain Her Majesty ever made! A sergeant, to + run about the country poachin’—on your pension! Damnable! Oh, + damnable! But I’ll be considerate. I’ll be merciful. By gad, I’ll be the + very essence o’ humanity! Did ye, or did ye not, see my notice-boards? + Don’t attempt to deny it! Ye did. Silence, Sergeant!” + </p> + <p> + Twenty-one years in the army had left their mark on Foxy. He obeyed. + </p> + <p> + “Now. March!” The high Lodge gate shut with a clang. “My duty! A sergeant + to tell me my duty!” puffed Colonel Dabney. “Good Lard! more sergeants!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s King! It’s King!” gulped Stalky, his head on the horsehair pillow. + McTurk was eating the rag-carpet before the speckless hearth, and the sofa + heaved to the emotions of Beetle. Through the thick glass the figures + without showed blue, distorted, and menacing. + </p> + <p> + “I—I protest against this outrage.” King had evidently been running + up hill. “The man was entirely within his duty. Let—let me give you + my card.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s in flannels!” Stalky buried his head again. + </p> + <p> + “Unfortunately—<em>most</em> unfortunately—I have not one with me, but + my name is King, sir, a house-master of the College, and you will find me + prepared—fully prepared—to answer for this man’s action. We’ve + seen three—” + </p> + <p> + “<em>Did</em> ye see my notice-boards?” + </p> + <p> + “I admit we did; but under the circumstances—” + </p> + <p> + “I stand <i>in loco parentis</i>.” Prout’s deep voice was added to the + discussion. They could hear him pant. + </p> + <p> + “F’what?” Colonel Dabney was growing more and more Irish. + </p> + <p> + “I’m responsible for the boys under my charge.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye are, are ye? Then all I can say is that ye set them a very bad example—a + dam’ bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys. I’ve not seen + your boys, an’ I tell you that if there was a boy grinnin’ in every bush + on the place, <i>still</i> ye’ve no shadow of a right here, comin’ up from + the combe that way, an’ frightenin’ everything in it. Don’t attempt to + deny it. Ye did. Ye should have come to the Lodge an’ seen me like + Christians, instead of chasin’ your dam’ boys through the length and + breadth of my covers. <i>In loco parentis</i> ye are? Well, I’ve not + forgotten my Latin either, an’ I’ll say to you: ‘<i xml:lang="la" lang="la">Quis custodiet ipsos + custodes</i>.’ If the masters trespass, how can we blame the boys?” + </p> + <p> + “But if I could speak to you privately,” said Prout. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll have nothing private with you! Ye can be as private as ye please on + the other side o’ that gate an’—I wish ye a very good afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + A second time the gate clanged. They waited till Colonel Dabney had + returned to the house, and fell into one another’s arms, crowing for + breath. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my Soul! Oh, my King! Oh, my Heffy! Oh, my Foxy! Zeal, all zeal, Mr. + Simple.” Stalky wiped his eyes. “Oh! Oh! Oh!—‘I <i>did</i> boil the + exciseman!’ We must get out of this or we’ll be late for tea.” + </p> + <p> + “Ge—Ge—get the badger and make little Hartopp happy. Ma—ma—make + ’em all happy,” sobbed McTurk, groping for the door and kicking the + prostrate Beetle before him. + </p> + <p> + They found the beast in an evil-smelling box, left two half-crowns for + payment, and staggered home. Only the badger grunted most marvelous like + Colonel Dabney, and they dropped him twice or thrice with shrieks of + helpless laughter. They were but imperfectly recovered when Foxy met them + by the Fives Court with word that they were to go up to their dormitory + and wait till sent for. + </p> + <p> + “Well, take this box to Mr. Hartopp’s rooms, then. We’ve done something + for the Natural History Society, at any rate,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “’Fraid that won’t save you, young gen’elmen,” Foxy answered, in an awful + voice. He was sorely ruffled in his mind. + </p> + <p> + “All sereno, Foxibus.” Stalky had reached the extreme stage of hiccups. + “We—we’ll never desert you, Foxy. Hounds choppin’ foxes in cover is + more a proof of vice, ain’t it?... No, you’re right. I’m—I’m not + quite well.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve gone a bit too far this time,” Foxy thought to himself. “Very far + gone, <i>I’d</i> say, excep’ there was no smell of liquor. An’ yet it + isn’t like ’em—somehow. King and Prout they ’ad their dressin’-down + same as me. That’s one comfort.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, we must pull up,” said Stalky, rising from the bed on which he had + thrown himself. “We’re injured innocence—as usual. <em>We</em> don’t know + what we’ve been sent up here for, do we?” + </p> + <p> + “No explanation. Deprived of tea. Public disgrace before the house,” said + McTurk, whose eyes were running over. “It’s dam’ serious.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, hold on, till King loses his temper,” said Beetle. “He’s a libelous + old rip, an’ he’ll be in a ravin’ paddy-wack. Prout’s too beastly + cautious. Keep your eye on King, and, if he gives us a chance, appeal to + the Head. That always makes ’em sick.” + </p> + <p> + They were summoned to their house-master’s study, King and Foxy supporting + Prout, and Foxy had three canes under his arm. King leered triumphantly, + for there were tears, undried tears of mirth, on the boys’ cheeks. Then + the examination began. + </p> + <p> + Yes, they had walked along the cliffs. Yes, they had entered Colonel + Dabney’s grounds. Yes, they had seen the notice-boards (at this point + Beetle sputtered hysterically). For what purpose had they entered Colonel + Dabney’s grounds? “Well, sir, there was a badger.” + </p> + <p> + Here King, who loathed the Natural History Society because he did not like + Hartopp, could no longer be restrained. He begged them not to add + mendacity to open insolence. But the badger was in Mr. Hartopp’s rooms, + sir. The Sergeant had kindly taken it up for them. That disposed of the + badger, and the temporary check brought King’s temper to boiling-point. + They could hear his foot on the floor while Prout prepared his lumbering + inquiries. They had settled into their stride now. Their eyes ceased to + sparkle; their faces were blank; their hands hung beside them without a + twitch. They were learning, at the expense of a fellow-countryman, the + lesson of their race, which is to put away all emotion and entrap the + alien at the proper time. + </p> + <p> + So far good. King was importing himself more freely into the trial, being + vengeful where Prout was grieved. They knew the penalties of trespassing? + With a fine show of irresolution, Stalky admitted that he had gathered + some information vaguely bearing on this head, but he thought—The + sentence was dragged out to the uttermost: Stalky did not wish to play his + trump with such an opponent. Mr. King desired no buts, nor was he + interested in Stalky’s evasions. They, on the other hand, might be + interested in his poor views. Boys who crept—who sneaked—who + lurked—out of bounds, even the generous bounds of the Natural + History Society, which they had falsely joined as a cloak for their + misdeeds—their vices—their villainies—their immoralities— + </p> + <p> + “He’ll break cover in a minute,” said Stalky to himself. “Then we’ll run + into him before he gets away.” + </p> + <p> + Such boys, scabrous boys, moral lepers—the current of his words was + carrying King off his feet—evil-speakers, liars, slow-bellies—yea, + incipient drunkards... + </p> + <p> + He was merely working up to a peroration, and the boys knew it; but McTurk + cut through the frothing sentence, the others echoing: + </p> + <p> + “I appeal to the Head, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I appeal to the head, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I appeal to the Head, sir.” + </p> + <p> + It was their unquestioned right. Drunkenness meant expulsion after a + public flogging. They had been accused of it. The case was the Head’s, and + the Head’s alone. + </p> + <p> + “Thou hast appealed unto Caesar: unto Caesar shalt thou go.” They had + heard that sentence once or twice before in their careers. “None the + less,” said King, uneasily, “you would be better advised to abide by our + decision, my young friends.” + </p> + <p> + “Are we allowed to associate with the rest of the school till we see the + Head, sir?” said McTurk to his house-master, disregarding King. This at + once lifted the situation to its loftiest plane. Moreover, it meant no + work, for moral leprosy was strictly quarantined, and the Head never + executed judgment till twenty-four cold hours later. + </p> + <p> + “Well—er—if you persist in your defiant attitude,” said King, + with a loving look at the canes under Foxy’s arm. “There is no + alternative.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later the news was over the whole school. Stalky and Co. had + fallen at last—fallen by drink. They had been drinking. They had + returned blind-drunk from a hut. They were even now lying hopelessly + intoxicated on the dormitory floor. A few bold spirits crept up to look, + and received boots about the head from the criminals. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve got him—got him on the Caudine Toasting-fork!” said Stalky, + after those hints were taken. “King’ll have to prove his charges up to the + giddy hilt.” + </p> + <p> + “Too much ticklee, him bust,” Beetle quoted from a book of his reading. + “Didn’t I say he’d go pop if we lat un bide?” + </p> + <p> + “No prep., either, O ye incipient drunkards,” said McTurk, “and it’s trig + night, too. Hullo! Here’s our dear friend Foxy. More tortures, Foxibus?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought you something to eat, young gentlemen,” said the Sergeant + from behind a crowded tray. Their wars had ever been waged without malice, + and a suspicion floated in Foxy’s mind that boys who allowed themselves to + be tracked so easily might, perhaps, hold something in reserve. Foxy had + served through the Mutiny, when early and accurate information was worth + much. + </p> + <p> + “I—I noticed you ’adn’t ’ad anything to eat, an’ I spoke to Gumbly, + an’ he said you wasn’t exactly cut off from supplies. So I brought up + this. It’s your potted ’am tin, ain’t it, Mr. Corkran?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Foxibus, you’re a brick,” said Stalky. “I didn’t think you had this + much—what’s the word, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Bowels,” Beetle replied, promptly. “Thank you, Sergeant. That’s young + Carter’s potted ham, though.” + </p> + <p> + “There was a C on it. I thought it was Mr. Corkran’s. This is a very + serious business, young gentlemen. That’s what it is. I didn’t know, + perhaps, but there might be something on your side which you hadn’t said + to Mr. King or Mr. Prout, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “There is. Heaps, Foxibus.” This from Stalky through a full mouth. + </p> + <p> + “Then you see, if that was the case, it seemed to me I might represent it, + quiet so to say, to the ’Ead when he asks me about it. I’ve got to take + ’im the charges to-night, an’—it looks bad on the face of it.” + </p> + <p> + “’Trocious bad, Foxy. Twenty-seven cuts in the Gym before all the school, + and public expulsion. ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragin’,’” quoth + Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nothin’ to make fun of, young gentlemen. I ’ave to go to the ’Ead + with the charges. An’—an’ you mayn’t be aware, per’aps, that I was + followin’ you this afternoon; havin’ my suspicions.” + </p> + <p> + “Did ye see the notice-boards?” croaked McTurk, in the very brogue of + Colonel Dabney. + </p> + <p> + “Ye’ve eyes in your head. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did!” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “A sergeant! To run about poachin’ on your pension! Damnable, O damnable!” + said Stalky, without pity. + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord!” said the Sergeant, sitting heavily upon a bed. “Where—where + the devil <i>was</i> you? I might ha’ known it was a do—somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you clever maniac!” Stalky resumed. “We mayn’t be aware you were + followin’ us this afternoon, mayn’t we? ’Thought you were stalkin’ us, eh? + Why, we led you bung into it, of course. Colonel Dabney—don’t you + think he’s a nice man, Foxy?—Colonel Dabney’s our pet particular + friend. We’ve been goin’ there for weeks and weeks, he invited us. You and + your duty! Curse your duty, sir! Your duty was to keep off his covers.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll never be able to hold up your head again, Foxy. The fags ’ll hoot + at you,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Think of your giddy prestige!” The Sergeant was thinking—hard. + </p> + <p> + “Look ’ere, young gentlemen,” he said, earnestly. “You aren’t surely ever + goin’ to tell, are you? Wasn’t Mr. Prout and Mr. King in—in it too?” + </p> + <p> + “Foxibusculus, they <i>was</i>. They was—singular horrid. Caught it + worse than you. We heard every word of it. You got off easy, considerin’. + If I’d been Dabney I swear I’d ha’ quodded you. I think I’ll suggest it to + him to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ it’s all goin’ up to the ’Ead. Oh, Good Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Every giddy word of it, my Chingangook,” said Beetle, dancing. “Why + shouldn’t it? <i>We’ve</i> done nothing wrong. <i>We</i> ain’t poachers. + <i>We</i> didn’t cut about blastin’ the characters of poor, innocent boys—saying + they were drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “That I didn’t,” said Foxy. “I—I only said that you be’aved uncommon + odd when you come back with that badger. Mr. King may have taken the wrong + hint from that.” + </p> + <p> + “’Course he did; an’ he’ll jolly well shove all the blame on you when he + finds out he’s wrong. We know King, if you don’t. I’m ashamed of you. You + ain’t fit to be a sergeant,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Not with three thorough-goin’ young devils like you, I ain’t. I’ve been + had. I’ve been ambuscaded. Horse, foot, an’ guns, I’ve been had, an’—an’ + there’ll be no holdin’ the junior forms after this. M’rover, the ’Ead will + send me with a note to Colonel Dabney to ask if what you say about bein’ + invited was true.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’d better go in by the Lodge-gates this time, instead of chasin’ + your dam’ boys—oh, that was the Epistle to King—so it was. + We-el, Foxy?” Stalky put his chin on his hands and regarded the victim + with deep delight. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu</i>! I gloat! Hear me!” said McTurk. “Foxy brought us + tea when we were moral lepers. Foxy has a heart. Foxy has been in the + Army, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish I’d ha’ had you in my company, young gentlemen,” said the Sergeant + from the depths of his heart; “I’d ha’ given you something.” + </p> + <p> + “Silence at drum-head court-martial,” McTurk went on. “I’m advocate for + the prisoner; and, besides, this is much too good to tell all the other + brutes in the Coll. They’d <i>never</i> understand. They play cricket, and + say: ‘Yes sir,’ and ‘O, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that. Go ahead,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Foxy’s a good little chap when he does not esteem himself so as to + be clever.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Take not out your ’ounds on a werry windy day,’” Stalky struck in. “<i>I</i> + don’t care if you let him off.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor me,” said Beetle. “Heffy is my only joy—Heffy and King.” + </p> + <p> + “I ’ad to do it,” said the Sergeant, plaintively. + </p> + <p> + “Right, O! Led away by bad companions in the execution of his duty or—or + words to that effect. You’re dismissed with a reprimand, Foxy. <i>We</i> + won’t tell about <i>you</i>. I swear we won’t,” McTurk concluded. “Bad for + the discipline of the school. Horrid bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said the Sergeant, gathering up the tea-things, “knowin’ what I + know o’ the young dev—gentlemen of the College, I’m very glad to + ’ear it. But what am I to tell the ’Ead?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything you jolly well please, Foxy. <em>We</em> aren’t the criminals.” + </p> + <p> + To say that the Head was annoyed when the Sergeant appeared after dinner + with the day’s crime-sheet would be putting it mildly. + </p> + <p> + “Corkran, McTurk, and Co., I see. Bounds as usual. Hullo! What the deuce + is this? Suspicion of drinking. Whose charge??” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. King’s, sir. I caught ’em out of bounds, sir: at least that was ’ow + it looked. But there’s a lot be’ind, sir.” The Sergeant was evidently + troubled. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said the Head. “Let us have your version.” He and the Sergeant + had dealt with one another for some seven years; and the Head knew that + Mr. King’s statements depended very largely on Mr. King’s temper. + </p> + <p> + “I thought they were out of bounds along the cliffs. But it come out they + wasn’t, sir. I saw them go into Colonel Dabney’s woods, and—Mr. King + and Mr. Prout come along—and the fact was, sir, we was mistook for + poachers by Colonel Dabney’s people—Mr. King and Mr. Prout and me. + There were some words, sir, on both sides. The young gentlemen slipped + ’ome somehow, and they seemed ’ighly humorous, sir. Mr. King was mistook + by Colonel Dabney himself—Colonel Dabney bein’ strict. Then they + preferred to come straight to you, sir, on account of what—what Mr. + King may ’ave said about their ’abits afterwards in Mr. Prout’s study. I + only said they was ’ighly humorous, laughin’ an’ gigglin’, an’ a bit above + ’emselves. They’ve since told me, sir, in a humorous way, that they was + invited by Colonel Dabney to go into ’is woods.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. They didn’t tell their house-master that, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “They took up Mr. King on appeal just as soon as he spoke about their—’abits. + Put in the appeal at once, sir, an’ asked to be sent to the dormitory + waitin’ for you. I’ve since gathered, sir, in their humorous way, sir, + that some’ow or other they’ve ’eard about every word Colonel Dabney said + to Mr. King and Mr. Prout when he mistook ’em for poachers. I—I + might ha’ known when they led me on so that they ’eld the inner line of + communications. It’s—it’s a plain do, sir, if you ask <em>me</em>; an’ + they’re gloatin’ over it in the dormitory.” + </p> + <p> + The Head saw—saw even to the uttermost farthing—and his mouth + twitched a little under his mustache. + </p> + <p> + “Send them to me at once, Sergeant. This case needn’t wait over.” + </p> + <p> + “Good evening,” said he when the three appeared under escort. “I want your + undivided attention for a few minutes. You’ve known me for five years, and + I’ve known you for—twenty-five. I think we understand one another + perfectly. I am now going to pay you a tremendous compliment (the brown + one, please, Sergeant. Thanks. You needn’t wait). I’m going to execute you + without rhyme, Beetle, or reason. I know you went to Colonel Dabney’s + covers because you were invited. I’m not even going to send the Sergeant + with a note to ask if your statement is true; because I am convinced that + on this occasion you have adhered strictly to the truth. I know, too, that + you were not drinking. (You can take off that virtuous expression, McTurk, + or I shall begin to fear you don’t understand me.) There is not a flaw in + any of your characters. And that is why I am going to perpetrate a howling + injustice. Your reputations have been injured, haven’t they? You have been + disgraced before the house, haven’t you? You have a peculiarly keen regard + for the honor of your house, haven’t you? Well, <em>now</em> I am going to lick + you.” + </p> + <p> + Six apiece was their portion upon that word. + </p> + <p> + “And this I think”—the Head replaced the cane, and flung the written + charge into the waste-paper basket—“covers the situation. When you + find a variation from the normal—this will be useful to you in later + life—always meet him in an abnormal way. And that reminds me. There + are a pile of paper-backs on that shelf. You can borrow them if you put + them back. I don’t think they’ll take any harm from being read in the + open. They smell of tobacco rather. You will go to prep. this evening as + usual. Good-night,” said that amazing man. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, and thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear I’ll pray for the Head to-night,” said Beetle. “Those last two + cuts were just flicks on my collar. There’s a ‘Monte Cristo’ in that lower + shelf. I saw it. Bags I, next time we go to Aves!” + </p> + <p> + “Dearr man!” said McTurk. “No gating. No impots. No beastly questions. All + settled. Hullo! what’s King goin’ in to him for—King and Prout?” + </p> + <p> + Whatever the nature of that interview, it did not improve either King’s or + Prout’s ruffled plumes, for, when they came out of the Head’s house, eyes + noted that the one was red and blue with emotion as to his nose, and that + the other was sweating profusely. That sight compensated them amply for + the Imperial Jaw with which they were favored by the two. It seems—and + who so astonished as they?—that they had held back material facts; + were guilty both of <i>suppressio veri</i> and <i>suggestio falsi</i> + (well-known gods against whom they often offended); further, that they + were malignant in their dispositions, untrustworthy in their characters, + pernicious and revolutionary in their influences, abandoned to the devils + of wilfulness, pride, and a most intolerable conceit. Ninthly, and lastly, + they were to have a care and to be very careful. + </p> + <p> + They were careful, as only boys can be when there is a hurt to be + inflicted. They waited through one suffocating week till Prout and King + were their royal selves again; waited till there was a house-match—their + own house, too—in which Prout was taking part; waited, further, till + he had his pads in the pavilion and stood ready to go forth. King was + scoring at the window, and the three sat on a bench without. + </p> + <p> + Said Stalky to Beetle: “I say, Beetle, <i>quis custodet ipsos custodes</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me,” said Beetle. “I’ll have nothin’ private with you. Ye can + be as private as ye please the other end of the bench; and I wish ye a + very good afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + McTurk yawned. + </p> + <p> + “Well, ye should ha’ come up to the lodge like Christians instead o’ + chasin’ your—a-hem—boys through the length an’ breadth of my + covers. <i>I</i> think these house-matches are all rot. Let’s go over to + Colonel Dabney’s an’ see if he’s collared any more poachers.” + </p> + <p> + That afternoon there was joy in Aves. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SLAVES OF THE LAMP + </h2> + <p> + The music-room on the top floor of Number Five was filled with the + “Aladdin” company at rehearsal. Dickson Quartus, commonly known as Dick + Four, was Aladdin, stage-manager, ballet-master, half the orchestra, and + largely librettist, for the “book” had been rewritten and filled with + local allusions. The pantomime was to be given next week, in the + down-stairs study occupied by Aladdin, Abanazar, and the Emperor of China. + The Slave of the Lamp, with the Princess Badroulbadour and the Widow + Twankay, owned Number Five study across the same landing, so that the + company could be easily assembled. The floor shook to the stamp-and-go of + the ballet, while Aladdin, in pink cotton tights, a blue and tinsel + jacket, and a plumed hat, banged alternately on the piano and his banjo. + He was the moving spirit of the game, as befitted a senior who had passed + his Army Preliminary and hoped to enter Sandhurst next spring. + </p> + <p> + Aladdin came to his own at last, Abanazar lay poisoned on the floor, the + Widow Twankay danced her dance, and the company decided it would “come all + right on the night.” + </p> + <p> + “What about the last song, though?” said the Emperor, a tallish, + fair-headed boy with a ghost of a mustache, at which he pulled manfully. + “We need a rousing old tune.” + </p> + <p> + “‘John Peel’? ‘Drink, Puppy, Drink’?” suggested Abanazar, smoothing his + baggy lilac pajamas. “Pussy” Abanazar never looked more than one-half + awake, but he owned a soft, slow smile which well suited the part of the + Wicked Uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Stale,” said Aladdin. “Might as well have ‘Grandfather’s Clock.’ What’s + that thing you were humming at prep. last night, Stalky?” + </p> + <p> + Stalky, The Slave of the Lamp, in black tights and doublet, a black silk + half-mask on his forehead, whistled lazily where he lay on the top of the + piano. It was a catchy music-hall tune. + </p> + <p> + Dick Four cocked his head critically, and squinted down a large red nose. + </p> + <p> + “Once more, and I can pick it up,” he said, strumming. “Sing the words.” + </p> + <p> + “Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! Arrah, Patsy, mind the child! Wrap him in an + overcoat, he’s surely going wild! Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! just you + mind the child awhile! He’ll kick and bite and cry all night! Arrah, + Patsy, mind the child!” + </p> + <p> + “Rippin’! Oh, rippin’!” said Dick Four. “Only we shan’t have any piano on + the night. We must work it with the banjoes—play an’ dance at the + same time. You try, Tertius.” + </p> + <p> + The Emperor pushed aside his pea-green sleeves of state, and followed Dick + Four on a heavy nickel-plated banjo. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but I’m dead all this time. Bung in the middle of the stage, too,” + said Abanazar. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s Beetle’s biznai,” said Dick Four. “Vamp it up, Beetle. Don’t + keep us waiting all night. You’ve got to get Pussy out of the light + somehow, and bring us all in dancin’ at the end.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. You two play it again,” said Beetle, who, in a gray skirt and + a wig of chestnut sausage-curls, set slantwise above a pair of spectacles + mended with an old boot-lace, represented the Widow Twankay. He waved one + leg in time to the hammered refrain, and the banjoes grew louder. + </p> + <p> + “Um! Ah! Er—‘Aladdin now has won his wife,’” he sang, and Dick Four + repeated it. + </p> + <p> + “‘Your Emperor is appeased.’” Tertius flung out his chest as he delivered + his line. + </p> + <p> + “Now jump up, Pussy! Say, ‘I think I’d better come to life!’ Then we all + take hands and come forward: ‘We hope you’ve all been pleased.’ <i>Twiggez-vous</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nous twiggons</i>. Good enough. What’s the chorus for the final + ballet? It’s four kicks and a turn,” said Dick Four. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Er! + </p> +<p class="pre"> + John Short will ring the curtain down.<br /> + And ring the prompter’s bell;<br /> + We hope you know before you go<br /> + That we all wish you well.”<br /> + </p> + <p> + “Rippin’! Rippin’! Now for the Widow’s scene with the Princess. Hurry up, + Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + McTurk, in a violet silk skirt and a coquettish blue turban, slouched + forward as one thoroughly ashamed of himself. The Slave of the Lamp + climbed down from the piano, and dispassionately kicked him. “Play up, + Turkey,” he said; “this is serious.” But there fell on the door the knock + of authority. It happened to be King, in gown and mortar-board, enjoying a + Saturday evening prowl before dinner. + </p> + <p> + “Locked doors! Locked doors!” he snapped with a scowl. “What’s the meaning + of this; and what, may I ask, is the intention of this—this epicene + attire?” + </p> + <p> + “Pantomime, sir. The Head gave us leave,” said Abanazar, as the only + member of the Sixth concerned. Dick Four stood firm in the confidence born + of well-fitting tights, but Beetle strove to efface himself behind the + piano. A gray princess-skirt borrowed from a day-boy’s mother and a + spotted cotton bodice unsystematically padded with imposition-paper make + one ridiculous. And in other regards Beetle had a bad conscience. + </p> + <p> + “As usual!” sneered King. “Futile foolery just when your careers, such as + they may be, are hanging in the balance. I see! Ah, I see! The old gang of + criminals—allied forces of disorder—Corkran”—the Slave + of the Lamp smiled politely—“McTurk”—the Irishman scowled—“and, + of course, the unspeakable Beetle, our friend Gigadibs.” Abanazar, the + Emperor, and Aladdin had more or less of characters, and King passed them + over. “Come forth, my inky buffoon, from behind yonder instrument of + music! You supply, I presume, the doggerel for this entertainment. Esteem + yourself to be, as it were, a poet?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s found one of ’em,” thought Beetle, noting the flush on King’s + cheek-bone. + </p> + <p> + “I have just had the pleasure of reading an effusion of yours to my + address, I believe—an effusion intended to rhyme. So—so you + despise me, Master Gigadibs, do you? I am quite aware—you need not + explain—that it was ostensibly not intended for my edification. I + read it with laughter—yes, with laughter. These paper pellets of + inky boys—still a boy we are, Master Gigadibs—do not disturb + my equanimity.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder which it was,” thought Beetle. He had launched many lampoons on an + appreciative public ever since he discovered that it was possible to + convey reproof in rhyme. + </p> + <p> + In sign of his unruffled calm, King proceeded to tear Beetle, whom he + called Gigadibs, slowly asunder. From his untied shoestrings to his mended + spectacles (the life of a poet at a big school is hard) he held him up to + the derision of his associates—with the usual result. His wild + flowers of speech—King had an unpleasant tongue—-restored him + to good humor at the last. He drew a lurid picture of Beetle’s latter end + as a scurrilous pamphleteer dying in an attic, scattered a few compliments + over McTurk and Corkran, and, reminding Beetle that he must come up for + judgment when called upon, went to Common-room, where he triumphed anew + over his victims. + </p> + <p> + “And the worst of it,” he explained in a loud voice over his soup, “is + that I waste such gems of sarcasm on their thick heads. It’s miles above + them, I’m certain.” + </p> + <p> + “We-ell,” said the school chaplain slowly, “I don’t know what Corkran’s + appreciation of your style may be, but young McTurk reads Ruskin for his + amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! He does it to show off. I mistrust the dark Celt.” + </p> + <p> + “He does nothing of the kind. I went into their study the other night, + unofficially, and McTurk was gluing up the back of four odd numbers of + ‘Fors Clavigera.’” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know anything about their private lives,” said a mathematical + master hotly, “but I’ve learned by bitter experience that Number Five + study are best left alone. They are utterly soulless young devils.” + </p> + <p> + He blushed as the others laughed. + </p> + <p> + But in the music-room there were wrath and bad language. Only Stalky, + Slave of the Lamp, lay on the piano unmoved. + </p> + <p> + “That little swine Manders minor must have shown him your stuff. He’s + always suckin’ up to King. Go and kill him,” he drawled. “Which one was + it, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Dunno,” said Beetle, struggling out of the skirt. “There was one about + his hunting for popularity with the small boys, and the other one was one + about him in hell, tellin’ the Devil he was a Balliol man. I swear both of + ’em rhymed all right. By gum! P’raps Manders minor showed him both! <i>I’ll</i> + correct his caesuras for him.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared down two flights of stairs, flushed a small pink and white + boy in a form-room next door to King’s study, which, again, was + immediately below his own, and chased him up the corridor into a form-room + sacred to the revels of the Lower Third. Thence he came back, greatly + disordered, to find McTurk, Stalky, and the others of the company, in his + study enjoying an unlimited “brew”—coffee, cocoa, buns, new bread + hot and steaming, sardine, sausage, ham-and-tongue paste, pilchards, three + jams, and at least as many pounds of Devonshire cream. + </p> + <p> + “My hat!” said he, throwing himself upon the banquet. “Who stumped up for + this, Stalky?” It was within a month of term end, and blank starvation had + reigned in the studies for weeks. + </p> + <p> + “You,” said Stalky, serenely. + </p> + <p> + “Confound you! You haven’t been popping my Sunday bags, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Keep your hair on. It’s only your watch.” + </p> + <p> + “Watch! I lost it—weeks ago. Out on the Burrows, when we tried to + shoot the old ram—the day our pistol burst.” + </p> + <p> + “It dropped out of your pocket (you’re so beastly careless, Beetle), and + McTurk and I kept it for you. I’ve been wearing it for a week, and you + never noticed. Took it into Bideford after dinner to-day. Got thirteen and + sevenpence. Here’s the ticket.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s pretty average cool,” said Abanazar behind a slab of cream + and jam, as Beetle, reassured upon the safety of his Sunday trousers, + showed not even surprise, much less resentment. Indeed, it was McTurk who + grew angry, saying: + </p> + <p> + “You gave him the ticket, Stalky? You <em>pawned</em> it? You unmitigated beast! + Why, last month you and Beetle sold mine! ’Never got a sniff of any + ticket.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that was because you locked your trunk, and we wasted half the + afternoon hammering it open. We might have pawned it if you’d behaved like + a Christian, Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt!” said Abanazar, “you chaps <em>are</em> communists. Vote of thanks to + Beetle, though.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s beastly unfair,” said Stalky, “when I took all the trouble to pawn + it. Beetle never knew he had a watch. Oh, I say, Rabbits-Eggs gave me a + lift into Bideford this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Rabbits-Eggs was the local carrier—an outcrop of the early Devonian + formation. It was Stalky who had invented his unlovely name. “He was + pretty average drunk, or he wouldn’t have done it. Rabbits-Eggs is a + little shy of me, somehow. But I swore it was <i>pax</i> between us, and + gave him a bob. He stopped at two pubs on the way in, so he’ll be howling + drunk to-night. Oh, don’t begin reading, Beetle; there’s a council of war + on. What the deuce is the matter with your collar?” + </p> + <p> + “’Chivied Manders minor into the Lower Third box-room. ’Had all his + beastly little friends on top of me,” said Beetle from behind a jar of + pilchards and a book. + </p> + <p> + “You ass! Any fool could have told you where Manders would bunk to,” said + McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think,” said Beetle, meekly, scooping out pilchards with a + spoon. + </p> + <p> + “Course you didn’t. You never do.” McTurk adjusted Beetle’s collar with a + savage tug. “Don’t drop oil all over my ‘Fors’ or I’ll scrag you!” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you—you Irish Biddy! ’Tisn’t your beastly ‘Fors.’ It’s one + of mine.” + </p> + <p> + The book was a fat, brown-backed volume of the later Sixties, which King + had once thrown at Beetle’s head that Beetle might see whence the name + Gigadibs came. Beetle had quietly annexed the book, and had seen—several + things. The quarter-comprehended verses lived and ate with him, as the + bedropped pages showed. He removed himself from all that world, drifting + at large with wondrous Men and Women, till McTurk hammered the pilchard + spoon on his head and he snarled. + </p> + <p> + “Beetle! You’re oppressed and insulted and bullied by King. Don’t you feel + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me alone! I can write some more poetry about him if I am, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Mad! Quite mad!” said Stalky to the visitors, as one exhibiting strange + beasts. “Beetle reads an ass called Brownin’, and McTurk reads an ass + called Ruskin; and—” + </p> + <p> + “Ruskin isn’t an ass,” said McTurk. “He’s almost as good as the Opium + Eater. He says ‘we’re children of noble races trained by surrounding art.’ + That means <i>me</i>, and the way I decorated the study when you two + badgers would have stuck up brackets and Christmas cards. Child of a noble + race, trained by surrounding art, stop reading, or I’ll shove a pilchard + down your neck!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s two to one,” said Stalky, warningly, and Beetle closed the book, in + obedience to the law under which he and his companions had lived for six + checkered years. + </p> + <p> + The visitors looked on delighted. Number Five study had a reputation for + more variegated insanity than the rest of the school put together; and so + far as its code allowed friendship with outsiders it was polite and + open-hearted to its neighbors on the same landing. + </p> + <p> + “What rot do you want now?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “King! War!” said McTurk, jerking his head toward the wall, where hung a + small wooden West-African war-drum, a gift to McTurk from a naval uncle. + </p> + <p> + “Then we shall be turned out of the study again,” said Beetle, who loved + his flesh-pots. “Mason turned us out for—just warbling on it.” Mason + was the mathematical master who had testified in Common-room. + </p> + <p> + “Warbling?—O Lord!” said Abanazar. “We couldn’t hear ourselves speak + in our study when you played the infernal thing. What’s the good of + getting turned out of your study, anyhow?” + </p> + <p> + “We lived in the form-rooms for a week, too,” said Beetle, tragically. + “And it was beastly cold.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es, but Mason’s rooms were filled with rats every day we were out. It + took him a week to draw the inference,” said McTurk. “He loathes rats. + ’Minute he let us go back the rats stopped. Mason’s a little shy of us + now, but there was no evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “Jolly well there wasn’t,” said Stalky, “when I got out on the roof and + dropped the beastly things down his chimney. But, look here—question + is, are our characters good enough just now to stand a study row?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind mine,” said Beetle. “King swears I haven’t any.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not thinking of you,” Stalky returned scornfully. “You aren’t going + up for the Army, you old bat. I don’t want to be expelled—and the + Head’s getting rather shy of us, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot!” said McTurk. “The Head never expels except for beastliness or + stealing. But I forgot; you and Stalky <i>are</i> thieves—regular + burglars.” + </p> + <p> + The visitors gasped, but Stalky interpreted the parable with large grins. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you know, that little beast Manders minor saw Beetle and me + hammerin’ McTurk’s trunk open in the dormitory when we took his watch last + month. Of course Manders sneaked to Mason, and Mason solemnly took it up + as a case of theft, to get even with us about the rats.” + </p> + <p> + “That just put Mason into our giddy hands,” said McTurk, blandly. “We were + nice to him, because he was a new master and wanted to win the confidence + of the boys. ’Pity he draws inferences, though. Stalky went to his study + and pretended to blub, and told Mason he’d lead a new life if Mason would + let him off this time, but Mason wouldn’t. ’Said it was his duty to report + him to the Head.” + </p> + <p> + “Vindictive swine!” said Beetle. “It was all those rats! Then <i>I</i> + blubbed, too, and Stalky confessed that he’d been a thief in regular + practice for six years, ever since he came to the school; and that I’d + taught him—<i>à la</i> Fagin. Mason turned white with joy. He + thought he had us on toast.” + </p> + <p> + “Gorgeous! Gorgeous!” said Dick Four. “We never heard of this.” + </p> + <p> + “’Course not. Mason kept it jolly quiet. He wrote down all our statements + on impot-paper. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t believe,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “And handed it all up to the Head, <i>with</i> an extempore prayer. It + took about forty pages,” said Beetle. “I helped him a lot.” + </p> + <p> + “And then, you crazy idiots?” said Abanazar. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we were sent for; and Stalky asked to have the ‘depositions’ read + out, and the Head knocked him spinning into a waste-paper basket. Then he + gave us eight cuts apiece—welters—for—for—takin’ + unheard-of liberties with a new master. I saw his shoulders shaking when + we went out. Do you know,” said Beetle, pensively, “that Mason can’t look + at us now in second lesson without blushing? We three stare at him + sometimes till he regularly trickles. He’s an awfully sensitive beast.” + </p> + <p> + “He read ‘Eric, or Little by Little,’” said McTurk; “so we gave him ‘St. + Winifred’s, <em>or</em> the World of School.’ They spent all their spare time + stealing at St. Winifred’s, when they weren’t praying or getting drunk at + pubs. Well, that was only a week ago, and the Head’s a little bit shy of + us. He called it constructive deviltry. Stalky invented it all.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least good having a row with a master unless you can make an ass + of him,” said Stalky, extended at ease on the hearth-rug. “If Mason didn’t + know Number Five—well, he’s learnt, that’s all. Now, my dearly + beloved ’earers”—Stalky curled his legs under him and addressed the + company—“we’ve got that strong’, perseverin’ man King on our hands. + He went miles out of his way to provoke a conflict.” (Here Stalky snapped + down the black silk domino and assumed the air of a judge.) “He has + oppressed Beetle, McTurk, and me, <i>privatim et seriatim</i>, one by one, + as he could catch us. But <em>now</em>, he has insulted Number Five up in the + music-room, and in the presence of these—these ossifers of the + Ninety-third, wot look like hairdressers. Binjimin, we must make him cry + ‘Capivi!’” + </p> + <p> + Stalky’s reading did <em>not</em> include Browning or Ruskin. + </p> + <p> + “And, besides,” said McTurk, “he’s a Philistine, a basket-hanger. He wears + a tartan tie. Ruskin says that any man who wears a tartan tie will, + without doubt, be damned everlastingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo, McTurk,” said Tertius; “I thought he was only a beast.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s that, too, of course, but he’s worse. He has a china basket with + blue ribbons and a pink kitten on it, hung up in his window to grow musk + in. You know when I got all that old oak carvin’ out of Bideford Church, + when they were restoring it (Ruskin says that any man who’ll restore a + church is an unmitigated sweep), and stuck it up here with glue? Well, + King came in and wanted to know whether we’d done it with a fret-saw! Yah! + He is the King of basket-hangers!” + </p> + <p> + Down went McTurk’s inky thumb over an imaginary arena full of bleeding + Kings. “<i>Placetne</i>, child of a generous race!” he cried to Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” began Beetle, doubtfully, “he comes from Balliol, but I’m going to + give the beast a chance. You see I can always make him hop with some more + poetry. He can’t report me to the Head, because it makes him ridiculous. + (Stalky’s quite right.) But he shall have his chance.” + </p> + <p> + Beetle opened the book on the table, ran his finger down a page, and began + at random: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “Or who in Moscow toward the Czar<br /> + With the demurest of footfalls,<br /> + Over the Kremlin’s pavement white<br /> + With serpentine and syenite,<br /> + Steps with five other generals—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s no good. Try another,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a shake; I know what’s coming.” McTurk was reading over Beetle’s + shoulder. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “That simultaneously take snuff,<br /> + For each to have pretext enough<br /> + And kerchiefwise unfold his sash,<br /> + Which—softness’ self—is yet the stuff<br /> +</p> + <p> + (Gummy! What a sentence!) + </p> +<p class="pre"> + To hold fast where a steel chain snaps<br /> + And leave the grand white neck no gash. +</p> + <p> + (Full stop.)” + </p> + <p> + “’Don’t understand a word of it,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “More fool you! Construe,” said McTurk. “Those six bargees scragged the + Czar, and left no evidence. <i>Actum est</i> with King.” + </p> + <p> + “He gave me that book, too,” said Beetle, licking his lips: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “There’s a great text in Galatians,<br /> + Once you trip on it entails<br /> + Twenty-nine distinct damnations,<br /> + One sure if another fails.” + </p> + <p> + Then irrelevantly: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “Setebos! Setebos! and Setebos!<br /> + Thinketh he liveth in the cold of the moon.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s just come in from dinner,” said Dick Four, looking through the + window. “Manders minor is with him.” + </p> + <p> + “’Safest place for Manders minor just now,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Then you chaps had better clear out,” said Stalky politely to the + visitors. “’Tisn’t fair to mix you up in a study row. Besides, we can’t + afford to have evidence.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to begin at once?’ said Aladdin. + </p> + <p> + “Immediately, if not sooner,” said Stalky, and turned out the gas. + “Strong, perseverin’ man—King. Make him cry ‘Capivi.’ G’way, + Binjimin.” + </p> + <p> + The company retreated to their own neat and spacious study with expectant + souls. + </p> + <p> + “When Stalky blows out his nostrils like a horse,” said Aladdin to the + Emperor of China, “he’s on the war-path. ’Wonder what King will get.” + </p> + <p> + “Beans,” said the Emperor. “Number Five generally pays in full.” + </p> + <p> + “Wonder if I ought to take any notice of it officially,” said Abanazar, + who had just remembered he was a prefect. + </p> + <p> + “It’s none of your business, Pussy. Besides, if you did, we’d have them + hostile to <em>us</em>; and we shouldn’t be able to do any work,” said Aladdin. + “They’ve begun already.” + </p> + <p> + Now that West-African war-drum had been made to signal across estuaries + and deltas. Number Five was forbidden to wake the engine within earshot of + the school. But a deep, devastating drone filled the passages as McTurk + and Beetle scientifically rubbed its top. Anon it changed to the blare of + trumpets—of savage pursuing trumpets. Then, as McTurk slapped one + side, smooth with the blood of ancient sacrifice, the roar broke into + short coughing howls such as the wounded gorilla throws in his native + forest. These were followed by the wrath of King—three steps at a + time, up the staircase, with a dry whir of the gown. Aladdin and company, + listening, squeaked with excitement as the door crashed open. King + stumbled into the darkness, and cursed those performers by the gods of + Balliol and quiet repose. + </p> + <p> + “Turned out for a week,” said Aladdin, holding the study door on the + crack. “Key to be brought down to his study in five minutes. ‘Brutes! + Barbarians! Savages! Children!’ He’s rather agitated. ‘Arrah, Patsy, mind + the baby,’” he sang in a whisper as he clung to the door-knob, dancing a + noiseless war-dance. + </p> + <p> + King went down-stairs again, and Beetle and McTurk lit the gas to confer + with Stalky. But Stalky had vanished. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like no end of a mess,” said Beetle, collecting his books and + mathematical instrument case. “A week in the form-rooms isn’t any + advantage to us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but don’t you see that Stalky isn’t here, you owl!” said McTurk. + “Take down the key, and look sorrowful. King’ll only jaw you for half an + hour. I’m going to read in the lower form-room.” + </p> + <p> + “But it’s always me,” mourned Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Wait till we see,” said McTurk, hopefully. “I don’t know any more than + you do what Stalky means, but it’s something. Go down and draw King’s + fire. You’re used to it.” + </p> + <p> + No sooner had the key turned in the door than the lid of the coal-box, + which was also the window-seat, lifted cautiously. It had been a tight + fit, even for the lithe Stalky, his head between his knees, and his + stomach under his right ear. From a drawer in the table he took a + well-worn catapult, a handful of buckshot, and a duplicate key of the + study; noiselessly he raised the window and kneeled by it, his face turned + to the road, the wind-sloped trees, the dark levels of the Burrows, and + the white line of breakers falling nine-deep along the Pebbleridge. Far + down the steep-banked Devonshire lane he heard the husky hoot of the + carrier’s horn. There was a ghost of melody in it, as it might have been + the wind in a gin-bottle essaying to sing, “It’s a way we have in the + Army.” + </p> + <p> + Stalky smiled a tight-lipped smile, and at extreme range opened fire: the + old horse half wheeled in the shafts. + </p> + <p> + “Where he gwaine tu?” hiccoughed Rabbits-Eggs. Another buckshot tore + through the rotten canvas tilt with a vicious zipp. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Habet</i>!” murmured Stalky, as Rabbits-Eggs swore into the patient + night, protesting that he saw the “dommed colleger” who was assaulting + him. + </p> + <p> + “And so,” King was saying in a high head voice to Beetle, whom he had kept + to play with before Manders minor, well knowing that it hurts a Fifth-form + boy to be held up to a fag’s derision, “and so, Master Beetle, in spite of + all our verses, which we are so proud of, when we presume to come into + direct conflict with even so humble a representative of authority as + myself, for instance, we are turned out of our studies, are we not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Beetle, with a sheepish grin on his lips and murder in + his heart. Hope had nearly left him, but he clung to a well-established + faith that never was Stalky so dangerous as when he was invisible. + </p> + <p> + “You are <i>not</i> required to criticise, thank you. Turned out of our + studies, we are, just as if we were no better than little Manders minor. + Only inky schoolboys we are, and must be treated as such.” + </p> + <p> + Beetle pricked up his ears, for Rabbits-Eggs was swearing savagely on the + road, and some of the language entered at the upper sash. King believed in + ventilation. He strode to the window gowned and majestic, very visible in + the gaslight. + </p> + <p> + “I zee ’un! I zee ’un!” roared Rabbits-Eggs, now that he had found a + visible foe—another shot from the darkness above. “Yiss, yeou, yeou + long-nosed, fower-eyed, gingy-whiskered beggar! Yeu’m tu old for such + goin’s on. Aie! Poultice yeour nose, I tall ’ee! Poultice yeour long + nose!” + </p> + <p> + Beetle’s heart leaped up within him. Somewhere, somehow, he knew, Stalky + moved behind these manifestations. There were hope and the prospect of + revenge. He would embody the suggestion about the nose in deathless verse. + King threw up the window, and sternly rebuked Rabbits-Eggs. But the + carrier was beyond fear or fawning. He had descended from the cart, and + was stooping by the roadside. + </p> + <p> + It all fell swiftly as a dream. Manders minor raised his hand to his head + with a cry, as a jagged flint cannoned on to some rich tree-calf bindings + in the book-shelf. Another quoited along the writing-table. Beetle made + zealous feint to stop it, and in that endeavor overturned a student’s + lamp, which dripped, <i>via</i> King’s papers and some choice books, + greasily on to a Persian rug. There was much broken glass on the + window-seat; the china basket—McTurk’s aversion—cracked to + flinders, had dropped her musk plant and its earth over the red rep + cushions; Manders minor was bleeding profusely from a cut on the + cheek-bone; and King, using strange words, every one of which Beetle + treasured, ran forth to find the school-sergeant, that Rabbits-Eggs might + be instantly cast into jail. + </p> + <p> + “Poor chap!” said Beetle, with a false, feigned sympathy. “Let it bleed a + little. That’ll prevent apoplexy,” and he held the blind head skilfully + over the table, and the papers on the table, as he guided the howling + Manders to the door. + </p> + <p> + Then did Beetle, alone with the wreckage, return good for evil. How, in + that office, a complete set of “Gibbon” was scarred all along the back as + by a flint; how so much black and copying ink came to be mingled with + Manders’s gore on the table-cloth; why the big gum-bottle, unstoppered, + had rolled semicircularly across the floor; and in what manner the white + china door-knob grew to be painted with yet more of Manders’s young blood, + were matters which Beetle did not explain when the rabid King returned to + find him standing politely over the reeking hearth-rug. + </p> + <p> + “You never told me to go, sir,” he said, with the air of Casabianca, and + King consigned him to the outer darkness. + </p> + <p> + But it was to a boot-cupboard under the staircase on the ground floor that + he hastened, to loose the mirth that was destroying him. He had not drawn + breath for a first whoop of triumph when two hands choked him dumb. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the dormitory and get me my things. Bring ’em to Number Five + lavatory. I’m still in tights,” hissed Stalky, sitting on his head. “Don’t + run. Walk.” + </p> + <p> + But Beetle staggered into the form-room next door, and delegated his duty + to the yet unenlightened McTurk, with an hysterical precis of the campaign + thus far. So it was McTurk, of the wooden visage, who brought the clothes + from the dormitory while Beetle panted on a form. Then the three buried + themselves in Number Five lavatory, turned on all the taps, filled the + place with steam, and dropped weeping into the baths, where they pieced + out the war. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Moi</i>! <i>Je</i>! <i>Ich</i>! <i>Ego</i>!” gasped Stalky. “I waited + till I couldn’t hear myself think, while you played the drum! Hid in the + coal-locker—and tweaked Rabbits-Eggs—and Rabbits-Eggs rocked + King. Wasn’t it beautiful? Did you hear the glass?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, he—he—he,” shrieked McTurk, one trembling finger pointed + at Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I—I—I was through it all,” Beetle howled; “in his study, + being jawed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my soul!” said Stalky with a yell, disappearing under water. + </p> + <p> + “The—the glass was nothing. Manders minor’s head’s cut open. La—la—lamp + upset all over the rug. Blood on the books and papers. The gum! The gum! + The gum! The ink! The ink! The ink! Oh, Lord!” + </p> + <p> + Then Stalky leaped out, all pink as he was, and shook Beetle into some + sort of coherence; but his tale prostrated them afresh. + </p> + <p> + “I bunked for the boot-cupboard the second I heard King go down-stairs. + Beetle tumbled in on top of me. The spare key’s hid behind the loose + board. There isn’t a shadow of evidence,” said Stalky. They were all + chanting together. + </p> + <p> + “And he turned us out himself—himself—him<em>self</em>!” This from + McTurk. “He can’t begin to suspect us. Oh, Stalky, it’s the loveliest + thing we’ve ever done.” + </p> + <p> + “Gum! Gum! Dollops of gum!” shouted Beetle, his spectacles gleaming + through a sea of lather. “Ink and blood all mixed. I held the little + beast’s head all over the Latin proses for Monday. Golly, how the oil + stunk! And Rabbits-Eggs told King to poultice his nose! Did you hit + Rabbits-Eggs, Stalky?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I jolly well not? Tweaked him all over. Did you hear him curse? Oh, I + shall be sick in a minute if I don’t stop.” + </p> + <p> + But dressing was a slow process, because McTurk was obliged to dance when + he heard that the musk basket was broken, and, moreover, Beetle retailed + all King’s language with emendations and purple insets. + </p> + <p> + “Shockin’!” said Stalky, collapsing in a helpless welter of half-hitched + trousers. “So dam’ bad, too, for innocent boys like us! Wonder what they’d + say at ‘St. Winifred’s, or the World of School.’—By gum! That + reminds me we owe the Lower Third one for assaultin’ Beetle when he + chivied Manders minor. Come on! It’s an alibi, Samivel; and, besides, if + we let ’em off they’ll be worse next time.” + </p> + <p> + The Lower Third had set a guard upon their form-room for the space of a + full hour, which to a boy is a lifetime. Now they were busy with their + Saturday evening businesses—cooking sparrows over the gas with rusty + nibs; brewing unholy drinks in gallipots; skinning moles with + pocket-knives; attending to paper trays full of silkworms, or discussing + the iniquities of their elders with a freedom, fluency, and point that + would have amazed their parents. The blow fell without warning. Stalky + upset a form crowded with small boys among their own cooking utensils, + McTurk raided the untidy lockers as a terrier digs at a rabbit-hole, while + Beetle poured ink upon such heads as he could not appeal to with a Smith’s + Classical Dictionary. Three brisk minutes accounted for many silkworms, + pet larvae, French exercises, school caps, half-prepared bones and skulls, + and a dozen pots of home-made sloe jam. It was a great wreckage, and the + form-room looked as though three conflicting tempests had smitten it. + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” said Stalky, drawing breath outside the door (amid groans of “Oh, + you beastly ca-ads! You think yourselves awful funny,” and so forth). “<i>That’s</i> + all right. Never let the sun go down upon your wrath. Rummy little devils, + fags. Got no notion o’ combinin’.” + </p> + <p> + “Six of ’em sat on my head when I went in after Manders minor,” said + Beetle. “I warned ’em what they’d get, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Everybody paid in full—beautiful feelin’,” said McTurk absently, as + they strolled along the corridor. “Don’t think we’d better say much about + King, though, do you, Stalky?” + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>much</i>. Our line is injured innocence, of course—same as + when the Sergeant reported us on suspicion of smoking in the bunkers. If I + hadn’t thought of buyin’ the pepper and spillin’ it all over our clothes, + he’d have smelt us. King was gha-astly facetious about that. ’Called us + bird-stuffers in form for a week.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, King hates the Natural History Society because little Hartopp is + president. Mustn’t do anything in the Coll. without glorifyin’ King,” said + McTurk. “But he must be a putrid ass, know, to suppose at our time o’ life + we’d go and stuff birds like fags.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old King!” said Beetle. “He’s unpopular in Common-room, and they’ll + chaff his head off about Rabbits-Eggs. Golly! How lovely! How beautiful! + How holy! But you should have seen his face when the first rock came in! + <i>And</i> the earth from the basket!” + </p> + <p> + So they were all stricken helpless for five minutes. + </p> + <p> + They repaired at last to Abanazar’s study, and were received reverently. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” said Stalky, quick to realize new atmospheres. + </p> + <p> + “You know jolly well,” said Abanazar. “You’ll be expelled if you get + caught. King is a gibbering maniac.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? Which? What? Expelled for how? We only played the war-drum. We’ve + got turned out for that already.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you chaps mean to say you didn’t make Rabbits-Eggs drunk and bribe him + to rock King’s rooms?” + </p> + <p> + “Bribe him? No, that I’ll swear we didn’t,” said Stalky, with a relieved + heart, for he loved not to tell lies. “What a low mind you’ve got, Pussy! + We’ve been down having a bath. Did Rabbits-Eggs rock King? Strong, + perseverin’ man King? Shockin’!” + </p> + <p> + “Awf’ly. King’s frothing at the mouth. There’s bell for prayers. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a sec,” said Stalky, continuing the conversation in a loud and + cheerful voice, as they descended the stairs. “What did Rabbits-Eggs rock + King for?” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Beetle, as they passed King’s open door. “I was in his + study.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, you ass!” hissed the Emperor of China. “Oh, he’s gone down to + prayers,” said Beetle, watching the shadow of the house-master on the + wall. “Rabbits-Eggs was only a bit drunk, swearin’ at his horse, and King + jawed him through the window, and then, of course, he rocked King.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean to say,” said Stalky, “that King began it?” + </p> + <p> + King was behind them, and every well-weighed word went up the staircase + like an arrow. “I can only swear,” said Beetle, “that King cursed like a + bargee. Simply disgustin’. I’m goin’ to write to my father about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Better report it to Mason,” suggested Stalky. “He knows our tender + consciences. Hold on a shake. I’ve got to tie my boot-lace.” + </p> + <p> + The other study hurried forward. They did not wish to be dragged into + stage asides of this nature. So it was left to McTurk to sum up the + situation beneath the guns of the enemy. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” said the Irishman, hanging on the banister, “he begins by + bullying little chaps; then he bullies the big chaps; then he bullies some + one who isn’t connected with the College, and then catches it. Serves him + jolly well right... I beg your pardon, sir. I didn’t see you were coming + down the staircase.” + </p> + <p> + The black gown tore past like a thunder-storm, and in its wake, three + abreast, arms linked, the Aladdin company rolled up the big corridor to + prayers, singing with most innocent intention: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby! Arrah, Patsy, mind the child!<br /> + Wrap him up in an overcoat, he’s surely goin’ wild!<br /> + Arrah, Patsy, mind the baby; just ye mind the child awhile!<br /> + He’ll kick an’ bite an’ cry all night! Arrah, Patsy, mind + the child!”<br /> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN UNSAVORY INTERLUDE. + </h2> + <p> + It was a maiden aunt of Stalky who sent him both books, with the + inscription, “To dearest Artie, on his sixteenth birthday;” it was McTurk + who ordered their hypothecation; and it was Beetle, returned from + Bideford, who flung them on the window-sill of Number Five study with news + that Bastable would advance but ninepence on the two; “Eric; or, Little by + Little,” being almost as great a drug as “St. Winifred’s.” “An’ I don’t + think much of your aunt. We’re nearly out of cartridges, too—Artie, + dear.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Stalky rose up to grapple with him, but McTurk sat on Stalky’s + head, calling him a “pure-minded boy” till peace was declared. As they + were grievously in arrears with a Latin prose, as it was a blazing July + afternoon, and as they ought to have been at a house cricket-match, they + began to renew their acquaintance, intimate and unholy, with the volumes. + </p> + <p> + “Here we are!” said McTurk. “‘Corporal punishment produced on Eric the + worst effects. He burned <i>not</i> with remorse or regret’—make a + note o’ that, Beetle—‘but with shame and violent indignation. He + glared’—oh, naughty Eric! Let’s get to where he goes in for drink.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on half a shake. Here’s another sample. ‘The Sixth,’ he says, ‘is the + palladium of all public schools.’ But this lot—” Stalky rapped the + gilded book—“can’t prevent fellows drinkin’ and stealin’, an’ + lettin’ fags out of window at night, an’—an’ doin’ what they please. + Golly, what we’ve missed—not goin’ to St. Winifred’s!...” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry to see any boys of my house taking so little interest in their + matches.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Prout could move very silently if he pleased, though that is no merit + in a boy’s eyes. He had flung open the study-door without knocking—another + sin—and looked at them suspiciously. “Very sorry, indeed, I am to + see you frowsting in your studies.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been out ever since dinner, sir,” said. McTurk wearily. One + house-match is just like another, and their “ploy” of that week happened + to be rabbit-shooting with saloon-pistols. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t see a ball when it’s coming, sir,” said Beetle. “I’ve had my + gig-lamps smashed at the Nets till I got excused. I wasn’t any good even + as a fag, then, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Tuck is probably your form. Tuck and brewing. Why can’t you three take + any interest in the honor of your house?” + </p> + <p> + They had heard that phrase till they were wearied. The “honor of the + house” was Prout’s weak point, and they knew well how to flick him on the + raw. + </p> + <p> + “If you order us to go down, sir, of course we’ll go,” said Stalky, with + maddening politeness. But Prout knew better than that. He had tried the + experiment once at a big match, when the three, self-isolated, stood to + attention for half an hour in full view of all the visitors, to whom fags, + subsidized for that end, pointed them out as victims of Prout’s tyranny. + And Prout was a sensitive man. + </p> + <p> + In the infinitely petty confederacies of the Common-room, King and Macrea, + fellow house-masters, had borne it in upon him that by games, and games + alone, was salvation wrought. Boys neglected were boys lost. They must be + disciplined. Left to himself, Prout would have made a sympathetic + house-master; but he was never so left, and with the devilish insight of + youth, the boys knew to whom they were indebted for his zeal. + </p> + <p> + “Must we go down, sir?’ said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to order you to do what a right-thinking boy should do + gladly. I’m sorry.” And he lurched out with some hazy impression that he + had sown good seed on poor ground. + </p> + <p> + “Now what does he suppose is the use of that?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’s cracked. King jaws him in Common-room about not keepin’ us up to + the mark, an’ Macrea burbles about ‘dithcipline,’ an’ old Heffy sits + between ’em sweatin’ big drops. I heard Oke (the Common-room butler) + talking to Richards (Prout’s house-servant) about it down in the basement + the other day when I went down to bag some bread,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “What did Oke say?” demanded McTurk, throwing “Eric” into a corner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he said, ‘They make more nise nor a nest full o’ jackdaws, an’ half + of it like we’d no ears to our heads that waited on ’em. They talks over + old Prout—what he’ve done an’ left undone about his boys. An’ how + their boys be fine boys, an’ his’n be dom bad.’ Well, Oke talked like + that, you know, and Richards got awf’ly wrathy. He has a down on King for + something or other. Wonder why?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, King talks about Prout in form-room—makes allusions, an’ all + that—only half the chaps are such asses they can’t see what he’s + drivin’ at. And d’you remember what he said about the ‘Casual House’ last + Tuesday? He meant us. They say he says perfectly beastly things to his own + house, making fun of Prout’s,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we didn’t come here to mix up in their rows,” McTurk said + wrathfully. “Who’ll bathe after call-over? King’s takin’ it in the + cricket-field. Come on.” Turkey seized his straw and led the way. + </p> + <p> + They reached the sun-blistered pavilion over against the gray Pebbleridge + just before roll-call, and, asking no questions, gathered from King’s + voice and manner that his house was on the road to victory. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha!” said he, turning to show the light of his countenance. “Here we + have the ornaments of the Casual House at last. You consider cricket + beneath you, I believe”—the crowd, flannelled, sniggered “and from + what I have seen this afternoon, I fancy many others of your house hold + the same view. And may I ask what you purpose to do with your noble selves + till tea-time?” + </p> + <p> + “Going down to bathe, sir,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “And whence this sudden zeal for cleanliness? There is nothing about you + that particularly suggests it. Indeed, so far as I remember—I may be + at fault—but a short time ago—” + </p> + <p> + “Five years, sir,” said Beetle hotly. + </p> + <p> + King scowled. “<i>One</i> of you was that thing called a water-funk. Yes, + a water-funk. So now you wish to wash? It is well. Cleanliness never + injured a boy or—a house. We will proceed to business,” and he + addressed himself to the call-over board. + </p> + <p> + “What the deuce did you say anything to him for, Beetle?” said McTurk + angrily, as they strolled towards the big, open sea-baths. + </p> + <p> + “’Twasn’t fair—remindin’ one of bein’ a water-funk. My first term, + too. Heaps of chaps are—when they can’t swim.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you ass; but he saw he’d fetched you. You ought never to answer + King.” + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn’t fair, Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “My Hat! You’ve been here six years, and you expect fairness. Well, you + are a dithering idiot.” + </p> + <p> + A knot of King’s boys, also bound for the baths, hailed them, beseeching + them to wash—for the honor of their house. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what comes of King’s jawin’ and messin’. Those young animals + wouldn’t have thought of it unless he’d put it into their heads. Now + they’ll be funny about it for weeks,” said Stalky. “Don’t take any + notice.” + </p> + <p> + The boys came nearer, shouting an opprobrious word. At last they moved to + windward, ostentatiously holding their noses. + </p> + <p> + “That’s pretty,” said Beetle. “They’ll be sayin’ our house stinks next.” + </p> + <p> + When they returned from the baths, damp-headed, languid, at peace with the + world, Beetle’s forecast came only too true. They were met in the corridor + by a fag—a common, Lower-Second fag—who at arm’s length handed + them a carefully wrapped piece of soap “with the compliments of King’s + House.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Stalky, checking immediate attack. “Who put you up to + this, Nixon? Rattray and White? (Those were two leaders in King’s house.) + Thank you. There’s no answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s too sickening to have this kind o’ rot shoved on to a chap. + What’s the sense of it? What’s the fun of it?” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “It will go on to the end of the term, though,” Beetle wagged his head + sorrowfully. He had worn many jests threadbare on his own account. + </p> + <p> + In a few days it became an established legend of the school that Prout’s + house did not wash and were therefore noisome. Mr. King was pleased to + smile succulently in form when one of his boys drew aside from Beetle with + certain gestures. + </p> + <p> + “There seems to be some disability attaching to you, my Beetle, or else + why should Burton major withdraw, so to speak, the hem of his garments? I + confess I am still in the dark. Will some one be good enough to enlighten + me?” + </p> + <p> + Naturally, he was enlightened by half the form. + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary! Most extraordinary! However, each house has its + traditions, with which I would not for the world interfere. <i>We</i> have + a prejudice in favor of washing. Go on, Beetle—from ‘<i>jugurtha + tamen</i>’—and, if you can, avoid the more flagrant forms of + guessing.” + </p> + <p> + Prout’s house was furious because Macrea’s and Hartopp’s houses joined + King’s to insult them. They called a house-meeting after dinner—an + excited and angry meeting of all save the prefects, whose dignity, though + they sympathized, did not allow them to attend. They read ungrammatical + resolutions, and made speeches beginning, “Gentlemen, we have met on this + occasion,” and ending with, “It’s a beastly shame,” precisely as houses + have done since time and schools began. + </p> + <p> + Number Five study attended, with its usual air of bland patronage. At last + McTurk, of the lanthorn jaws, delivered himself: + </p> + <p> + “You jabber and jaw and burble, and that’s about all you can do. What’s + the good of it? King’s house’ll only gloat because they’ve drawn you, and + King will gloat, too. Besides, that resolution of Orrin’s is chock-full of + bad grammar, and King’ll gloat over <em>that</em>.” + </p> + <p> + “I thought you an’ Beetle would put it right, an’—an’ we’d post it + in the corridor,” said the composer meekly. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Par si je le connai</i>. I’m not goin’ to meddle with the biznai,” + said Beetle. “It’s a gloat for King’s house. Turkey’s quite right.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, won’t Stalky, then?” + </p> + <p> + But Stalky puffed out his cheeks and squinted down his nose in the style + of Panurge, and all he said was, “Oh, you abject burblers!” + </p> + <p> + “You’re three beastly scabs!” was the instant retort of the democracy, and + they went out amid execrations. + </p> + <p> + “This is piffling,” said McTurk. “Let’s get our sallies, and go and shoot + bunnies.” + </p> + <p> + Three saloon-pistols, with a supply of bulleted breech-caps, were stored + in Stalky’s trunk, and this trunk was in their dormitory, and their + dormitory was a three-bed attic one, opening out of a ten-bed + establishment, which, in turn, communicated with the great range of + dormitories that ran practically from one end of the College to the other. + Macrea’s house lay next to Prout’s, King’s next to Macrea’s, and Hartopp’s + beyond that again. Carefully locked doors divided house from house, but + each house, in its internal arrangements—the College had originally + been a terrace of twelve large houses—was a replica of the next; one + straight roof covering all. + </p> + <p> + They found Stalky’s bed drawn out from the wall to the left of the dormer + window, and the latter end of Richards protruding from a two-foot-square + cupboard in the wall. + </p> + <p> + “What’s all this? I’ve never noticed it before. What are you tryin’ to do, + Fatty?” + </p> + <p> + “Fillin’ basins, Muster Corkran.” Richards’s voice was hollow and muffled. + “They’ve been savin’ me trouble. Yiss.” + </p> + <p> + “’Looks like it,” said McTurk. “Hi! You’ll stick if you don’t take care.” + </p> + <p> + Richards backed puffing. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t rache un. Yiss, ’tess a turncock, Muster McTurk. They’ve took an’ + runned all the watter-pipes a storey higher in the houses—runned ’em + all along under the ’ang of the heaves, like. Runned ’em in last holidays. + <i>I</i> can’t rache the turncock.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me try,” said Stalky, diving into the aperture. + </p> + <p> + “Slip ’ee to the left, then, Muster Corkran. Slip ’ee to the left, an’ + feel in the dark.” + </p> + <p> + To the left Stalky wriggled, and saw a long line of lead pipe disappearing + up a triangular tunnel, whose roof was the rafters and boarding of the + college roof, whose floor was sharp-edged joists, and whose side was the + rough studding of the lath and plaster wall under the dormer. + </p> + <p> + “Rummy show. How far does it go?” + </p> + <p> + “Right along, Muster Corkran—right along from end to end. Her runs + under the ’ang of the heaves. Have ’ee rached the stopcock yet? Mr. King + got un put in to save us carryin’ watter from down-stairs to fill the + basins. No place for a lusty man like old Richards. I’m tu thickabout to + go ferritin’. Thank ’ee, Muster Corkran.” + </p> + <p> + The water squirted through the tap just inside the cupboard, and, having + filled the basins, the grateful Richards waddled away. + </p> + <p> + The boys sat round-eyed on their beds considering the possibilities of + this trove. Two floors below them they could hear the hum of the angry + house; for nothing is so still as a dormitory in mid-afternoon of a + midsummer term. + </p> + <p> + “It has been papered over till now.” McTurk examined the little door. “If + we’d only known before!” + </p> + <p> + “I vote we go down and explore. No one will come up this time o’ day. We + needn’t keep <i>cavé</i>.” + </p> + <p> + They crawled in, Stalky leading, drew the door behind them, and on all + fours embarked on a dark and dirty road full of plaster, odd shavings, and + all the raffle that builders leave in the waste room of a house. The + passage was perhaps three feet wide, and, except for the struggling light + round the edges of the cupboards (there was one to each dormer), almost + pitchy dark. + </p> + <p> + “Here’s Macrea’s house,” said Stalky, his eye at the crack of the third + cupboard. “I can see Barnes’s name on his trunk. Don’t make such a row, + Beetle! We can get right to the end of the Coll. Come on!... We’re in + King’s house now—I can see a bit of Rattray’s trunk. How these + beastly boards hurt one’s knees!” They heard his nails scraping, on + plaster. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the ceiling below. Look out! If we smashed that the plaster ’ud + fall down in the lower dormitory,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s,” whispered McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “An’ be collared first thing? Not much. Why, I can shove my hand ever so + far up between these boards.” + </p> + <p> + Stalky thrust an arm to the elbow between the joists. + </p> + <p> + “No good stayin’ here. I vote we go back and talk it over. It’s a crummy + place. ’Must say I’m grateful to King for his water-works.” + </p> + <p> + They crawled out, brushed one another clean, slid the saloon-pistols down + a trouser-leg, and hurried forth to a deep and solitary Devonshire lane in + whose flanks a boy might sometimes slay a young rabbit. They threw + themselves down under the rank elder bushes, and began to think aloud. + </p> + <p> + “You know,” said Stalky at last, sighting at a distant sparrow, “we could + hide our sallies in there like anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” Beetle snorted, choked, and gurgled. He had been silent since they + left the dormitory. “Did you ever read a book called ‘The History of a + House’ or something? I got it out of the library the other day. A French + woman wrote it—Violet somebody. But it’s translated, you know; and + it’s very interestin’. Tells you how a house is built.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, if you’re in a sweat to find out that, you can go down to the new + cottages they’re building for the coastguard.” + </p> + <p> + “My Hat! I will.” He felt in his pockets. “Give me tuppence, some one.” + </p> + <p> + “Rot! Stay here, and don’t mess about in the sun.” + </p> + <p> + “Gi’ me tuppence.” + </p> + <p> + “I say, Beetle, you aren’t stuffy about anything, are you?” said McTurk, + handing over the coppers. His tone was serious, for though Stalky often, + and McTurk occasionally, manoeuvred on his own account, Beetle had never + been known to do so in all the history of the confederacy. + </p> + <p> + “No, I’m not. I’m thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we’ll come, too,” said Stalky, with a general’s suspicion of his + aides. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t want you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, leave him alone. He’s been taken worse with a poem,” said McTurk. + “He’ll go burbling down to the Pebbleridge and spit it all up in the study + when he comes back.” + </p> + <p> + “Then why did he want the tuppence, Turkey? He’s gettin’ too beastly + independent. Hi! There’s a bunny. No, it ain’t. It’s a cat, by Jove! You + plug first.” + </p> + <p> + Twenty minutes later a boy with a straw hat at the back of his head, and + his hands in his pockets, was staring at workmen as they moved about a + half-finished cottage. He produced some ferocious tobacco, and was passed + from the forecourt into the interior, where he asked many questions. + </p> + <p> + “Well, let’s have your beastly epic,” said Turkey, as they burst into the + study, to find Beetle deep in Viollet-le-Duc and some drawings. “We’ve had + no end of a lark.” + </p> + <p> + “Epic? What epic? I’ve been down to the coastguard.” + </p> + <p> + “No epic? Then we will slay you, O Beetle,” said Stalky, moving to the + attack. “You’ve got something up your sleeve. <i>I</i> know, when you talk + in that tone!” + </p> + <p> + “Your Uncle Beetle”—with an attempt to imitate Stalky’s war-voice—“is + a great man.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; he jolly well isn’t anything of the kind. You deceive yourself, + Beetle. Scrag him, Turkey!” + </p> + <p> + “A great man,” Beetle gurgled from the floor. “<i>You</i> are futile—look + out for my tie!—futile burblers. I am the Great Man. I gloat. Ouch! + Hear me!” + </p> + <p> + “Beetle, de-ah”—Stalky dropped unreservedly on Beetle’s chest—“we + love you, an’ you’re a poet. If I ever said you were a doggaroo, I + apologize; but you know as well as we do that you can’t do anything by + yourself without mucking it.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got a notion.” + </p> + <p> + “And you’ll spoil the whole show if you don’t tell your Uncle Stalky. + Cough it up, ducky, and we’ll see what we can do. Notion, you fat impostor—I + knew you had a notion when you went away! Turkey said it was a poem.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve found out how houses are built. Le’ me get up. The floor-joists of + one room are the ceiling-joists of the room below.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be so filthy technical.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, the man told me. The floor is laid on top of those joists—those + boards on edge that we crawled over—but the floor stops at a + partition. Well, if you get behind a partition, same as you did in the + attic, don’t you see that you can shove anything you please under the + floor between the floor-boards and the lath and plaster of the ceiling + below? Look here. I’ve drawn it.” + </p> + <p> + He produced a rude sketch, sufficient to enlighten the allies. There is no + part of the modern school curriculum that deals with architecture, and + none of them had yet reflected whether floors and ceilings were hollow or + solid. Outside his own immediate interests the boy is as ignorant as the + savage he so admires; but he has also the savage’s resource. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” said Stalky. “I shoved my hand there. An’ then?” + </p> + <p> + “An’ then.... They’ve been calling us stinkers, you know. We might shove + somethin’ under—sulphur, or something that stunk pretty bad—an’ + stink ’em out. I know it can be done somehow.” Beetle’s eyes turned to + Stalky handling the diagrams. + </p> + <p> + “Stinks?” said Stalky interrogatively. Then his face grew luminous with + delight. “By gum! I’ve got it. Horrid stinks! Turkey!” He leaped at the + Irishman. “This afternoon—just after Beetle went away! <i>She’s</i> + the very thing!” + </p> + <p> + “Come to my arms, my beamish boy,” caroled McTurk, and they fell into each + other’s arms dancing. “Oh, frabjous day! Calloo, callay! She will! She + will!” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Beetle. “I don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Dearr man! It shall, though. Oh, Artie, my pure-souled youth, let us tell + our darling Reggie about Pestiferous Stinkadores.” + </p> + <p> + “Not until after call-over. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said Orrin, stiffly, as they fell into their places along the + walls of the gymnasium. “The house are goin’ to hold another meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold away, then.” Stalky’s mind was elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + “It’s about you three this time.” + </p> + <p> + “All right, give ’em my love... <i>Here, sir</i>,” and he tore down the + corridor. + </p> + <p> + Gamboling like kids at play, with bounds and sidestarts, with caperings + and curvetings, they led the almost bursting Beetle to the rabbit-lane, + and from under a pile of stones drew forth the new-slain corpse of a cat. + Then did Beetle see the inner meaning of what had gone before, and lifted + up his voice in thanksgiving for that the world held warriors so wise as + Stalky and McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Well-nourished old lady, ain’t she?” said Stalky. “How long d’you suppose + it’ll take her to get a bit whiff in a confined space?” + </p> + <p> + “Bit whiff! What a coarse brute you are!” said McTurk. “Can’t a poor + pussy-cat get under King’s dormitory floor to die without your pursuin’ + her with your foul innuendoes?” + </p> + <p> + “What did she die under the floor for?” said Beetle, looking to the + future. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, they won’t worry about <em>that</em> when they find her,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “A cat may look at a king.” McTurk rolled down the bank at his own jest. + “Pussy, you don’t know how useful you’re goin’ to be to three pure-souled, + high-minded boys.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll have to take up the floor for her, same as they did in Number + Nine when the rat croaked. Big medicine—heap big medicine! Phew! Oh, + Lord, I wish I could stop laughin’,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Stinks! Hi, stinks! Clammy ones!” McTurk gasped as he regained his place. + “And”—the exquisite humor of it brought them sliding down together + in a tangle—“it’s all for the honor of the house, too!” + </p> + <p> + “An’ they’re holdin’ another meeting—on us,” Stalky panted, his + knees in the ditch and his face in the long grass. “Well, let’s get the + bullet out of her and hurry up. The sooner she’s bedded out the better.” + </p> + <p> + Between them they did some grisly work with a penknife; between them (ask + not who buttoned her to his bosom) they took up the corpse and hastened + back, Stalky arranging their plan of action at the full trot. + </p> + <p> + The afternoon sun, lying in broad patches on the bed-rugs, saw three boys + and an umbrella disappear into a dormitory wall. In five minutes they + emerged, brushed themselves all over, washed their hands, combed their + hair, and descended. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you shoved her far enough under?” said McTurk suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Hang it, man, I shoved her the full length of my arm and Beetle’s brolly. + That must be about six feet. She’s bung in the middle of King’s big upper + ten-bedder. Eligible central situation, <i>I</i> call it. She’ll stink out + his chaps, and Hartopp’s and Macrea’s, when she really begins to fume. I + swear your Uncle Stalky is a great man. Do you realize what a great man he + is, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I had the notion first, hadn’t I—? only—” + </p> + <p> + “You couldn’t do it without your Uncle Stalky, could you?” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve been calling us stinkers for a week now,” said McTurk. “Oh, <i>won’t</i> + they catch it!” + </p> + <p> + “Stinker! Yah! Stink-ah!” rang down the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “And she’s there,” said Stalky, a hand on either boy’s shoulder. “She—is—there, + gettin’ ready to surprise ’em. Presently she’ll begin to whisper to ’em in + their dreams. Then she’ll whiff. Golly, how she’ll whiff! Oblige me by + thinkin’ of it for two minutes.” + </p> + <p> + They went to their study in more or less of silence. There they began to + laugh—laugh as only boys can. They laughed with their foreheads on + the tables, or on the floor; laughed at length, curled over the backs of + chairs or clinging to a book-shelf; laughed themselves limp. + </p> + <p> + And in the middle of it Orrin entered on behalf of the house. “Don’t mind + us, Orrin; sit down. You don’t know how we respect and admire you. There’s + something about your pure, high young forehead, full of the dreams of + innocent boyhood, that’s no end fetchin’. It is, indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “The house sent me to give you this.” He laid a folded sheet of paper on + the table and retired with an awful front. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the resolution! Oh, read it, some one. I’m too silly-sick with + laughin’ to see,” said Beetle. Stalky jerked it open with a precautionary + sniff. “Phew! Phew! Listen. ‘<i>The house notices with pain and contempt + the attitude of indiference</i>’ —how many f’s in indifference, + Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Two for choice.” + </p> +<p> +“Only one here—‘<em>adopted by the occupants of Number Five study in +relation to the insults offered to Mr. Prout’s house at the recent +meeting in Number Twelve form-room, and the House hereby pass a +vote of censure on the said study.</em>’ That’s all.” + +“And she bled all down my shirt, too!” said Beetle. +</p> + <p> + “An’ I’m catty all over,” said McTurk, “though I washed twice.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ I nearly broke Beetle’s brolly plantin’ her where she would blossom!” + </p> + <p> + The situation was beyond speech, but not laughter. There was some attempt + that night to demonstrate against the three in their dormitory; so they + came forth. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” Beetle began suavely as he loosened his braces, “the trouble + with you is that you’re a set of unthinkin’ asses. You’ve no more brains + than spidgers. We’ve told you that heaps of times, haven’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll give the three of you a dormitory lickin’. You always jaw at us as + if you were prefects,” cried one. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, you won’t,” said Stalky, “because you know that if you did you’d + get the worst of it sooner or later. <em>We</em> aren’t in any hurry. <em>We</em> can + afford to wait for our little revenges. You’ve made howlin’ asses of + yourselves, and just as soon as King gets hold of your precious + resolutions to-morrow you’ll find that out. If you aren’t sick an’ sorry + by to-morrow night, I’ll—I’ll eat my hat.” + </p> + <p> + But or ever the dinner-bell rang the next day Prout’s were sadly aware of + their error. King received stray members of that house with an exaggerated + attitude of fear. Did they purpose to cause him to be dismissed from the + College by unanimous resolution? What were their views concerning the + government of the school, that he might hasten to give effect to them? he + would not offend them for worlds; but he feared—he sadly feared—that + his own house, who did not pass resolutions (but washed), might somewhat + deride. + </p> + <p> + King was a happy man, and his house, basking in the favor of his smile, + made that afternoon a long penance to the misled Prouts. And Prout + himself, with a dull and lowering visage, tried to think out the rights + and wrongs of it all, only plunging deeper into bewilderment. Why should + his house be called “Stinkers”? Truly, it was a small thing, but he had + been trained to believe that straws show which way the wind blows, and + that there is no smoke without fire. He approached King in Common-room + with a sense of injustice, but King was pleased to be full of airy + persiflage that tide, and brilliantly danced dialectical rings round + Prout. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Stalky at bedtime, making pilgrimage through the dormitories + before the prefects came by, “<i>now</i> what have you got to say for + yourselves? Foster, Carton, Finch, Longbridge, Marlin, Brett! I heard you + chaps catchin’ it from King—he made hay of you—an’ all you + could do was to wriggle an’ grin an’ say, ‘Yes, sir,’ an’ ‘No, sir,’ an’ + ‘Oh, sir,’ an’ ‘Please, sir’! You an’ your resolution! Urh!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, shut up, Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit of it. You’re a gaudy lot of resolutionists, you are! You’ve + made a sweet mess of it. Perhaps you’ll have the decency to leave us alone + next time.” + </p> + <p> + Here the house grew angry, and in many voices pointed out how this blunder + would never have come to pass if Number Five study had helped them from + the first. + </p> + <p> + “But you chaps are so beastly conceited, an’—an’ you swaggered into + the meetin’ as if we were a lot of idiots,” growled Orrin of the + resolution. + </p> + <p> + “That’s precisely what you <em>are</em>! That’s what we’ve been tryin’ to hammer + into your thick heads all this time,” said Stalky. “Never mind, we’ll + forgive you. Cheer up. You can’t help bein’ asses, you know,” and, the + enemy’s flank deftly turned, Stalky hopped into bed. + </p> + <p> + That night was the first of sorrow among the jubilant King’s. By some + accident of under-floor drafts the cat did not vex the dormitory beneath + which she lay, but the next one to the right; stealing on the air rather + as a pale-blue sensation than as any poignant offense. But the mere + adumbration of an odor is enough for the sensitive nose and clean tongue + of youth. Decency demands that we draw several carbolized sheets over what + the dormitory said to Mr. King and what Mr. King replied. He was genuinely + proud of his house and fastidious in all that concerned their well-being. + He came; he sniffed; he said things. Next morning a boy in that dormitory + confided to his bosom friend, a fag of Macrea’s, that there was trouble in + their midst which King would fain keep secret. + </p> + <p> + But Macrea’s boy had also a bosom friend in Prout’s, a shock-headed fag of + malignant disposition, who, when he had wormed out the secret, told—told + it in a high-pitched treble that rang along the corridor like a bat’s + squeak. + </p> + <p> + “An’—an’ they’ve been calling us ‘stinkers’ all this week. Why, + Harland minor says they simply can’t sleep in his dormitory for the stink. + Come on!” + </p> + <p> + “With one shout and with one cry” Prout’s juniors hurled themselves into + the war, and through the interval between first and second lesson some + fifty twelve-year-olds were embroiled on the gravel outside King’s windows + to a tune whose <i>leit-motif</i> was the word “stinker.” + </p> + <p> + “Hark to the minute-gun at sea!” said Stalky. They were in their study + collecting books for second lesson—Latin, with King. “I thought his + azure brow was a bit cloudy at prayers. ‘She is comin’, sister Mary. She + is—’” + </p> + <p> + “If they make such a row now, what <em>will</em> they do when she really begins to + look up an’ take notice?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no vulgar repartee, Beetle. All we want is to keep out of this row + like gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + “’Tis but a little faded flower.’ Where’s my Horace? Look here, I don’t + understand what she means by stinkin’ out Rattray’s dormitory first. We + holed in under White’s, didn’t we?” asked McTurk, with a wrinkled brow. + </p> + <p> + “Skittish little thing. She’s rompin’ about all over the place, I + suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt! King’ll be a cheerful customer at second lesson. I haven’t + prepared my Horace one little bit, either,” said Beetle. “Come on!” + </p> + <p> + They were outside the form-room door now. It was within five minutes of + the bell, and King might arrive at any moment. + </p> + <p> + Turkey elbowed into a cohort of scuffling fags, cut out Thornton tertius + (he that had been Harland’s bosom friend), and bade him tell his tale. + </p> + <p> + It was a simple one, interrupted by tears. Many of King’s house had + already battered him for libel. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it’s nothing,” McTurk cried. “He says that King’s house stinks. + That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Stale!” Stalky shouted. “We knew that years ago, only we didn’t choose to + run about shoutin’ ‘stinker.’ We’ve got some manners, if they haven’t. + Catch a fag, Turkey, and make sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + Turkey’s long arm closed on a hurried and anxious ornament of the Lower + Second. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, McTurk, please let me go. I don’t stink—I swear I don’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Guilty conscience!” cried Beetle. “Who said you did?” + </p> + <p> + “What d’you make of it?” Stalky punted the small boy into Beetle’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “Snf! Snf! He does, though. I think it’s leprosy—or thrush. P’raps + it’s both. Take it away.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Master Beetle”—King generally came to the house-door for a + minute or two as the bell rang—“we are vastly indebted to you for + your diagnosis, which seems to reflect almost as much credit on the + natural unwholesomeness of your mind as it does upon your pitiful + ignorance of the diseases of which you discourse so glibly. We will, + however, test your knowledge in other directions.” + </p> + <p> + That was a merry lesson, but, in his haste to scarify Beetle, King clean + neglected to give him an imposition, and since at the same time he + supplied him with many priceless adjectives for later use, Beetle was well + content, and applied himself most seriously throughout third lesson + (algebra with little Hartopp) to composing a poem entitled “The + Lazar-house.” + </p> + <p> + After dinner King took his house to bathe in the sea off the Pebbleridge. + It was an old promise; but he wished he could have evaded it, for all + Prout’s lined up by the Fives Court and cheered with intention. In his + absence not less than half the school invaded the infected dormitory to + draw their own conclusions. The cat had gained in the last twelve hours, + but a battlefield of the fifth day could not have been so flamboyant as + the spies reported. + </p> + <p> + “My word, she <i>is</i> doin’ herself proud,” said Stalky. “Did you ever + smell anything like it? Ah, an’ she isn’t under White’s dormitory at all + yet.” + </p> + <p> + “But she will be. Give her time,” said Beetle. “She’ll twine like a giddy + honeysuckle. What howlin’ Lazarites they are! No house is justified in + makin’ itself a stench in the nostrils of decent—” + </p> + <p> + “High-minded, pure-souled boys. <em>Do</em> you burn with remorse and regret?” said + McTurk, as they hastened to meet the house coming up from the sea. King + had deserted it, so speech was unfettered. Round its front played a crowd + of skirmishers—all houses mixed—flying, reforming, shrieking + insults. On its tortured flanks marched the Hoplites, seniors hurling + jests one after another—simple and primitive jests of the Stone Age. + To these the three added themselves, dispassionately, with an air of + aloofness, almost sadly. + </p> + <p> + “And they look all right, too,” said Stalky. “It can’t be Rattray, can it? + Rattray?” + </p> + <p> + No answer. + </p> + <p> + “Rattray, dear? He seems stuffy about something or other. Look here, old + man, we don’t bear any malice about your sending that soap to us last + week, do we? Be cheerful, Rat. You can live this down all right. I dare + say it’s only a few fags. Your house is so beastly slack, though.” + </p> + <p> + “You aren’t going back to the house, are you?” said McTurk. The victims + desired nothing better. “You’ve simply no conception of the reek up there. + Of course, frowzin’ as you do, you wouldn’t notice it; but, after this + nice wash and the clean, fresh air, even <em>you’d</em> be upset. ‘Much better camp + on the Burrows. We’ll get you some straw. Shall we?” The house hurried in + to the tune of “John Brown’s body,” sung by loving schoolmates, and + barricaded themselves in their form-room. Straightway Stalky chalked a + large cross, with “Lord, have mercy upon us,” on the door, and left King + to find it. + </p> + <p> + The wind shifted that night and wafted a carrion-reek into Macrea’s + dormitories; so that boys in nightgowns pounded on the locked door between + the houses, entreating King’s to wash. Number Five study went to second + lesson with not more than half a pound of camphor apiece in their + clothing; and King, too wary to ask for explanations, gibbered a while and + hurled them forth. So Beetle finished yet another poem at peace in the + study. + </p> + <p> + “They’re usin’ carbolic now. Malpas told me,” said Stalky. “King thinks + it’s the drains.” + </p> + <p> + “She’ll need a lot o’ carbolic,” said McTurk. “No harm tryin’, I suppose. + It keeps King out of mischief.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear I thought he was goin’ to kill me when I sniffed just now. He + didn’t mind Burton major sniffin’ at me the other day, though. He never + stopped Alexander howlin’ ‘Stinker!’ into our form-room before—before + we doctored ’em. He just grinned,” said Stalky. “What was he frothing over + you for, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Aha! That, was my subtle jape. I had him on toast. You know he always + jaws about the learned Lipsius.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Who at the age of four’—<em>that</em> chap?” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Whenever he hears I’ve written a poem. Well, just as I was sittin’ + down, I whispered, ‘How is our learned Lepsius?’ to Burton major. Old Butt + grinned like an owl. <i>He</i> didn’t know what I was drivin’ at; but King + jolly well did. That was really why he hove us out. Ain’t you grateful? + Now shut up. I’m goin’ to write the ‘Ballad of the Learned Lipsius.’” + </p> + <p> + “Keep clear of anything coarse, then,” said Stalky. “I shouldn’t like to + be coarse on this happy occasion.” + </p> + <p> + “Not for wo-orlds. What rhymes to ‘stenches,’ someone?” + </p> + <p> + In Common-room at lunch King discoursed acridly to Prout of boys with + prurient minds, who perverted their few and baleful talents to sap + discipline and corrupt their equals, to deal in foul imagery and destroy + reverence. + </p> + <p> + “But you didn’t seem to consider this when your house called us—ah—stinkers. + If you hadn’t assured me that you never interfere with another man’s + house, I should almost believe that it was a few casual remarks of yours + that started all this nonsense.” + </p> + <p> + Prout had endured much, for King always took his temper to meals. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke to Beetle yourself, didn’t you? Something about not bathing, + and being a water-funk?” the school chaplain put in. “I was scoring in the + pavilion that day.” + </p> + <p> + “I may have—jestingly. I really don’t pretend to remember every + remark I let fall among small boys; and full well I know the Beetle has no + feelings to be hurt.” + </p> + <p> + “May be; but he, or they—it comes to to same thing—have the + fiend’s own knack of discovering a man’s weak place. I confess I rather go + out of my way to conciliate Number Five study. It may be soft, but so far, + I believe, I am the only man here whom they haven’t maddened by their—well—attentions.” + </p> + <p> + “That is all beside the point. I flatter myself I can deal with them alone + as occasion arises. But if they feel themselves morally supported by those + who should wield an absolute and open-handed justice, then I say that my + lot is indeed a hard one. Of all things I detest, I admit that anything + verging on disloyalty among ourselves is the first.” + </p> + <p> + The Common-room looked at one another out of the corners of their eyes, + and Prout blushed. + </p> + <p> + “I deny it absolutely,” he said. “Er—in fact, I own that I + personally object to all three of them. It is not fair, therefore, to—” + </p> + <p> + “How long do you propose to allow it?” said King. + </p> + <p> + “But surely,” said Macrea, deserting his usual ally, “the blame, if there + be any, rests with you, King. You can’t hold them responsible for the—you + prefer the good old Anglo-Saxon, I believe—stink in your house. My + boys are complaining of it now.” + </p> + <p> + “What can you expect? You know what boys are. Naturally they take + advantage of what to them is a heaven-sent opportunity,” said little + Hartopp. “What <i>is</i> the trouble in your dormitories, King?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. King explained that as he had made it the one rule of his life never + to interfere with another man’s house, so he expected not to be too + patently interfered with. They might be interested to learn—here the + chaplain heaved a weary sigh—that he had taken all steps that, in + his poor judgment, would meet the needs of the case. Nay, further, he had + himself expended, with no thought of reimbursement, sums, the amount of + which he would not specify, on disinfectants. This he had done because he + knew by bitter—by most bitter—experience that the management + of the college was slack, dilatory, and inefficient. He might even add, + almost as slack as the administration of certain houses which now thought + fit to sit in judgment on his actions. With a short summary of his + scholastic career, and a precis of his qualifications, including his + degrees, he withdrew, slamming the door. + </p> + <p> + “Heigho!” said the chaplain. “Ours is a dwarfing life—a belittling + life, my brethren. God help all schoolmasters! They need it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t like the boys, I own”—Prout dug viciously with his fork + into the table-cloth—“and I don’t pretend to be a strong man, as you + know. But I confess I can’t see any reason why I should take steps against + Stalky and the others because King happens to be annoyed by—by—” + </p> + <p> + “Falling into the pit he has digged,” said little Hartopp. “Certainly not, + Prout. No one accuses you of setting one house against another through + sheer idleness.” + </p> + <p> + “A belittling life—a belittling life.” The chaplain rose. “I go to + correct French exercises. By dinner King will have scored off some unlucky + child of thirteen; he will repeat to us every word of his brilliant + repartees, and all will be well.” + </p> + <p> + “But about those three. Are they so prurient-minded?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” said little Hartopp. “If you thought for a minute, Prout, you + would see that the ‘precocious flow of fetid imagery,’ that King complains + of, is borrowed wholesale from King. <em>He</em> ’nursed the pinion that impelled + the steel.’ Naturally he does not approve. Come into the smoking-room for + a minute. It isn’t fair to listen to boys; but they should be now rubbing + it into King’s house outside. Little things please little minds.” + </p> + <p> + The dingy den off the Common-room was never used for anything except + gowns. Its windows were ground glass; one could not see out of it, but one + could hear almost every word on the gravel outside. A light and wary + footstep came up from Number Five. + </p> + <p> + “Rattray!” in a subdued voice—Rattray’s study fronted that way. + “D’you know if Mr. King’s anywhere about? I’ve got a—” McTurk + discreetly left the end of the sentence open. + </p> + <p> + “No, he’s gone out,” said Rattray unguardedly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! The learned Lipsius is airing himself, is he? His Royal Highness has + gone to fumigate.” McTurk climbed on the railings, where he held forth + like the never-wearied rook. + </p> + <p> + “Now in all the Coll. there was no stink like the stink of King’s house, + for it stank vehemently and none knew what to make of it. Save King. And + he washed the fags <i>privatim et seriatim</i>. In the fishpools of Hesbon + washed he them, with an apron about his loins.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you mad Irishman!” There was the sound of a golf-ball spurting + up gravel. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good getting wrathy, Rattray. We’ve come to jape with you. Come + on, Beetle. They’re all at home. You can wind ’em.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the Pomposo Stinkadore? ’Tisn’t safe for a pure-souled, + high-minded boy to be seen round his house these days. Gone out, has he? + Never mind. I’ll do the best I can, Rattray. I’m <i>in loco parentis</i> + just now.” + </p> + <p> + (“One for you, Prout,” whispered Macrea, for this was Mr. Prout’s pet + phrase.) + </p> + <p> + “I have a few words to impart to you, my young friend. We will discourse + together a while.” + </p> + <p> + Here the listening Prout sputtered: Beetle, in a strained voice, had + chosen a favorite gambit of King’s. + </p> + <p> + “I repeat, Master Rattray, we will confer, and the matter of our discourse + shall not be stinks, for that is a loathsome and obscene word. We will, + with your good leave—granted, I trust, Master Rattray, granted, I + trust—study this—this scabrous upheaval of latent + demoralization. What impresses me most is not so much the blatant + indecency with which you swagger abroad under your load of putrescence” + (you must imagine this discourse punctuated with golf-balls, but old + Rattray was ever a bad shot) “as the cynical immorality with which you + revel in your abhorrent aromas. Far be it from me to interfere with + another’s house—” + </p> + <p> + (“Good Lord!” said Prout, “but this <em>is</em> King.” + </p> + <p> + “Line for line, letter for letter; listen;” said little Hartopp.) + </p> + <p> + “But to say that you stink, as certain lewd fellows of the baser sort + aver, is to say nothing—less than nothing. In the absence of your + beloved house-master, for whom no one has a higher regard than myself, I + will, if you will allow me, explain the grossness—the unparalleled + enormity—the appalling fetor of the stenches (I believe in the good + old Anglo-Saxon word), stenches, sir, with which you have seen fit to + infect your house... Oh, bother! I’ve forgotten the rest, but it was very + beautiful. Aren’t you grateful to us for laborin’ with you this way, + Rattray? Lots of chaps ’ud never have taken the trouble, but we’re + grateful, Rattray.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’re horrid grateful,” grunted McTurk. “We don’t forget that soap. + We’re polite. Why ain’t you polite, Rat?” + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” Stalky cantered up, his cap over one eye. “Exhortin’ the + Whiffers, eh? I’m afraid they’re too far gone to repent. Rattray! White! + Perowne! Malpas! No answer. This is distressin’. This is truly + distressin’. Bring out your dead, you glandered lepers!” + </p> + <p> + “You think yourself funny, don’t you?” said Rattray, stung from his + dignity by this last. “It’s only a rat or something under the floor. We’re + going to have it up to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to shuffle it off on a poor dumb animal, and dead, too. I + loathe prevarication. ’Pon my soul, Rattray—” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on. The Hartoffles never said ’Pon my soul’ in all his little life,” + said Beetle critically. + </p> + <p> + (“Ah!” said Prout to little Hartopp.) + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, sir, upon my word, sir, I expected better things of you, + Rattray. Why can you not own up to your misdeeds like a man? Have <i>I</i> + ever shown any lack of confidence in <i>you</i>?” + </p> + <p> + (“It’s not brutality,” murmured little Hartopp, as though answering a + question no one had asked. “It’s boy; only boy.”) + </p> + <p> + “And this was the house,” Stalky changed from a pecking, fluttering voice + to tragic earnestness. “This was the—the—open cesspit that + dared to call us ‘stinkers.’ And now—and now, it tries to shelter + itself behind a dead rat. You annoy me, Rattray. You disgust me! You + irritate me unspeakably! Thank Heaven, I am a man of equable temper—” + </p> + <p> + (“This is to your address, Macrea,” said Prout. + </p> + <p> + “I fear so, I fear so.”) + </p> + <p> + “Or I should scarcely be able to contain myself before your mocking + visage.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Cavé</i>!” in an undertone. Beetle had spied King sailing down the + corridor. + </p> + <p> + “And what may you be doing here, my little friends?” the house-master + began. “I had a fleeting notion—correct me if I am wrong” (the + listeners with one accord choked)—“that if I found you outside my + house I should visit you with dire pains and penalties.” + </p> + <p> + “We were just goin’ for a walk, sir,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “And you stopped to speak to Rattray <i>en route</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. We’ve been throwing golf-balls,” said Rattray, coming out of + the study. + </p> + <p> + (“Old Rat is more of a diplomat than I thought. So far he is strictly + within the truth,” said little Hartopp. “Observe the ethics of it, + Prout.”) + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you were sporting with them, were you? I must say I do not envy you + your choice of associates. I fancied they might have been engaged in some + of the prurient discourse with which they have been so disgustingly free + of late. I should strongly advise you to direct your steps most carefully + in the future. Pick up those golf-balls.” He passed on. + </p> + <p> + Next day Richards, who had been a carpenter in the Navy, and to whom odd + jobs were confided, was ordered to take up a dormitory floor; for Mr. King + held that something must have died there. + </p> + <p> + “We need not neglect all our work for a trumpery incident of this nature; + though I am quite aware that little things please little minds. Yes, I + have decreed the boards to be taken up after lunch under Richards’s + auspices. I have no doubt it will be vastly interesting to a certain type + of so-called intellect; but any boy of my house or another’s found on the + dormitory stairs will <i>ipso facto</i> render himself liable to three + hundred lines.” + </p> + <p> + The boys did not collect on the stairs, but most of them waited outside + King’s. Richards had been bound to cry the news from the attic window, + and, if possible, to exhibit the corpse. + </p> + <p> + “’Tis a cat, a dead cat!” Richards’s face showed purple at the window. He + had been in the chamber of death and on his knees for some time. + </p> + <p> + “Cat be blowed!” cried McTurk. “It’s a dead fag left over from last term. + Three cheers for King’s dead fag!” + </p> + <p> + They cheered lustily. + </p> + <p> + “Show it, show it! Let’s have a squint at it!” yelled the juniors. “Give + her to the Bug-hunters.” (This was the Natural History Society). “The cat + looked at the King—and died of it! Hoosh! Yai! Yaow! Maiow! Ftzz!” + were some of the cries that followed. + </p> + <p> + Again Richards appeared. + </p> + <p> + “She’ve been”—he checked himself suddenly—“dead a long taime.” + </p> + <p> + The school roared. + </p> + <p> + “Well, come on out for a walk,” said Stalky in a well-chosen pause. “It’s + all very disgustin’, and I do hope the Lazar-house won’t do it again.” + </p> + <p> + “Do what?” a King’s boy cried furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Kill a poor innocent cat every time you want to get off washing. It’s + awfully hard to distinguish between you as it is. I prefer the cat, I must + say. She isn’t quite so whiff. What are you goin’ to do, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Je vais gloater. Je vais gloater tout le</i> blessed afternoon.<i>Jamais + j’ai gloaté comme je gloaterai aujourd’hui. Nous bunkerons aux</i> + bunkers.” + </p> + <p> + And it seemed good to them so to do. + </p> + <p> + Down in the basement, where the gas flickers and the boots stand in racks, + Richards, amid his blacking-brushes, held forth to Oke of the Common-room, + Gumbly of the dining-halls, and fair Lena of the laundry. + </p> + <p> + “Yiss. Her were in a shockin’ staate an’ condition. Her nigh made me sick, + I tal ’ee. But I rowted un out, and I rowted un out, an’ I made all + shipshape, though her smelt like to bilges.” + </p> + <p> + “Her died mousin’, I reckon, poor thing,” said Lena. + </p> + <p> + “Then her moused different to any made cat o’ God’s world, Lena. I up with + the top-board, an’ she were lying on her back, an’ I turned un ovver with + the brume-handle, an’ ’twas her back was all covered with the plaster from + ’twixt the lathin’. Yiss, I tal ’ee. An’ under her head there lay, like, + so’s to say, a little pillow o’ plaster druv up in front of her by raison + of her slidin’ along on her back. No cat niver went mousin’ on her back, + Lena. Some one had shoved her along right underneath, so far as they could + shove un. Cats don’t make theyselves pillows for to die on. Shoved along, + she were, when she was settin’ for to be cold, laike.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yeou’m too clever to live, Fatty. Yeou go get wed an’ taught some + sense,” said Lena, the affianced of Gumbly. + </p> + <p> + “Larned a little ’fore iver some maidens was born. Sarved in the Queen’s + Navy, I have, where yeou’m taught to use your eyes. Yeou go ’tend your own + business, Lena.” + </p> + <p> + “Do ’ee mean what you’m been tellin’ us?” said Oke. + </p> + <p> + “Ask me no questions, I’ll give ’ee no lies. Bullet-hole clane thru from + side to side, an’ tu heart-ribs broke like withies. I seed un when I + turned un ovver. They’re clever, oh, they’m clever, but they’m not too + clever for old Richards! ’Twas on the born tip o’ my tongue to tell, tu, + but... he said us niver washed, he did. Let his dom boys call us + ‘stinkers,’ he did. Sarve un dom well raight, I say!” + </p> + <p> + Richards spat on a fresh boot and fell to his work, chuckling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE IMPRESSIONISTS. + </h2> + <p> + They had dropped into the chaplain’s study for a Saturday night smoke—-all + four house-masters—and the three briars and the one cigar reeking in + amity proved the Rev. John Gillett’s good generalship. Since the discovery + of the cat, King had been too ready to see affront where none was meant, + and the Reverend John, buffer-state and general confidant, had worked for + a week to bring about a good understanding. He was fat, clean-shaven, + except for a big mustache, of an imperturbable good temper, and, those who + loved him least said, a guileful Jesuit. He smiled benignantly upon his + handiwork—four sorely tried men talking without very much malice. + </p> + <p> + “Now remember,” he said, when the conversation turned that way, “I impute + nothing. But every time that any one has taken direct steps against Number + Five study, the issue has been more or less humiliating to the taker.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t admit that. I pulverize the egregious Beetle daily for his soul’s + good; and the others with him,” said King. + </p> + <p> + “Well, take your own case, King, and go back a couple of years. Do you + remember when Prout and you were on their track for—hutting and trespass, + wasn’t it? Have you forgotten Colonel Dabney?” + </p> + <p> + The others laughed. King did not care to be reminded of his career as a + poacher. + </p> + <p> + “That was one instance. Again, when you had rooms below them—I + always said that that was entering the lion’s den—you turned them + out.” + </p> + <p> + “For making disgusting noises. Surely, Gillett, you don’t excuse—” + </p> + <p> + “All I say is that you turned them out. That same evening your study was + wrecked.” + </p> + <p> + “By Rabbits-Eggs—most beastly drunk—from the road,” said King. + “What has that—?” + </p> + <p> + The Reverend John went on. + </p> + <p> + “Lastly, they conceive that aspersions are cast upon their personal + cleanliness—a most delicate matter with all boys. Ve-ry good. + Observe how, in each case, the punishment fits the crime. A week after + your house calls them ‘stinkers,’ King, your house is, not to put too fine + a point on it, stunk out by a dead cat who chooses to die in the one spot + where she can annoy you most. Again the long arm of coincidence! <i>Summa</i>. + You accuse them of trespass. Through some absurd chain of circumstances—they + may or may not be at the other end of it—you and Prout are made to + appear as trespassers. You evict them. For a time your study is made + untenable. I have drawn the parallel in the last case. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “She was under the centre of White’s dormitory,” said King. “There are + double floor-boards there to deaden noise. No boy, even in my own house, + could possibly have pried up the boards without leaving some trace—and + Rabbits-Eggs was phenomenally drunk that other night.” + </p> + <p> + “They are singularly favored by fortune. That is all I ever said. + Personally, I like them immensely, and I believe I have a little of their + confidence. I confess I like being called ‘Padre.’ They are at peace with + me; consequently I am not treated to bogus confessions of theft.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean Mason’s case?” said Prout heavily. “That always struck me as + peculiarly scandalous. I thought the Head should have taken up the matter + more thoroughly. Mason may be misguided, but at least he is thoroughly + sincere and means well.” + </p> + <p> + “I confess I cannot agree with you, Prout,” said the Reverend John. “He + jumped at some silly tale of theft on their part; accepted another boy’s + evidence without, so far as I can see, any inquiry; and—frankly, I + think he deserved all he got.” + </p> + <p> + “They deliberately outraged Mason’s best feelings,” said Prout. “A word to + me on their part would have saved the whole thing. But they preferred to + lure him on; to play on his ignorance of their characters—” + </p> + <p> + “That may be,” said King, “but I don’t like Mason. I dislike him for the + very reason that Prout advances to his credit. He means well.” + </p> + <p> + “Our criminal tradition is not theft—among ourselves, at least,” + said little Hartopp. + </p> + <p> + “For the head of a house that raided seven head of cattle from the + innocent pot-wallopers of Northam, isn’t that rather a sweeping + statement?” said Macrea. + </p> + <p> + “Precisely so,” said Hartopp, unabashed. “That, with gate-lifting, and a + little poaching and hawk-hunting on the cliffs, is our salvation.” + </p> + <p> + “It does us far more harm as a school—” Prout began. + </p> + <p> + “Than any hushed-up scandal could? Quite so. Our reputation among the + farmers is most unsavory. But I would much sooner deal with any amount of + ingenious crime of that nature than—some other offenses.” + </p> + <p> + “They may be all right, but they are unboylike, abnormal, and, in my + opinion, unsound,” Prout insisted. “The moral effect of their performances + must pave the way for greater harm. It makes me doubtful how to deal with + them. I might separate them.” + </p> + <p> + “You might, of course; but they have gone up the school together for six + years. <i>I</i> shouldn’t care to do it,” said Macrea. + </p> + <p> + “They use the editorial ‘we,’” said King, irrelevantly. “It annoys me. + ‘Where’s your prose, Corkran?’ ‘Well, sir, we haven’t quite done it yet.’ + ‘We’ll bring it in a minute,’ and so on. And the same with the others.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s great virtue in that ‘we,’” said little Hartopp. “You know I take + them for trig. McTurk may have some conception of the meaning of it; but + Beetle is as the brutes that perish about sines and cosines. He copies + serenely from Stalky, who positively rejoices in mathematics.” + </p> + <p> + “Why don’t you stop it?” said Prout. + </p> + <p> + “It rights itself at the exams. Then Beetle shows up blank sheets, and + trusts to his ‘English’ to save him from a fall. I fancy he spends most of + his time with me in writing verse.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to Heaven he would transfer a little of his energy in that + direction to Elegiacs.” King jerked himself upright. “He is, with the + single exception of Stalky, the very vilest manufacturer of ‘barbarous + hexameters’ that I have ever dealt with.” + </p> + <p> + “The work is combined in that study,” said the chaplain. “Stalky does the + mathematics, McTurk the Latin, and Beetle attends to their English and + French. At least, when he was in the sick-house last month—” + </p> + <p> + “Malingering,” Prout interjected. + </p> + <p> + “Quite possibly. I found a very distinct falling off in their ‘Roman d’un + Jeune Homme Pauvre’ translations.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it is profoundly immoral,” said Prout. “I’ve always been opposed + to the study system.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be hard to find any study where the boys don’t help each other; + but in Number Five the thing has probably been reduced to a system,” said + little Hartopp. “They have a system in most things.” + </p> + <p> + “They confess as much,” said the Reverend John. “I’ve seen McTurk being + hounded up the stairs to elegise the ‘Elegy in a Churchyard,’ while Beetle + and Stalky went to punt-about.” + </p> + <p> + “It amounts to systematic cribbing,” said Prout, his voice growing deeper + and deeper. + </p> + <p> + “No such thing,” little Hartopp returned. “You can’t teach a cow the + violin.” + </p> + <p> + “In intention it is cribbing.” + </p> + <p> + “But we spoke under the seal of the confessional, didn’t we?” said the + Reverend John. + </p> + <p> + “You say you’ve heard them arranging their work in this way, Gillett,” + Prout persisted. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens! Don’t make <em>me</em> Queen’s evidence, my dear fellow. Hartopp is + equally incriminated. If they ever found out that I had sneaked, our + relations would suffer—and I value them.” + </p> + <p> + “I think your attitude in this matter is weak,” said Prout, looking round + for support. “It would be really better to break up the study—for a + while—wouldn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, break it up by all means,” said Macrea. “We shall see then if + Gillett’s theory holds water.” + </p> + <p> + “Be wise, Prout. Leave them alone, or calamity will overtake you; and what + is much more important, they will be annoyed with me. I am too fat, alas! + to be worried by bad boys. Where are you going?” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! They would not dare—-but I am going to think this out,” + said Prout. “It needs thought. In intention they cribbed, and I must think + out my duty.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s perfectly capable of putting the boys on their honor. It’s <i>I</i> + that am a fool.” The Reverend John looked round remorsefully. “Never again + will I forget that a master is not a man. Mark my words,” said the + Reverend John. “There will be trouble.” + </p> +<p class="pre"> + But by the yellow Tiber<br /> + Was tumult and affright. +</p> + <p> + Out of the blue sky (they were still rejoicing over the cat war) Mr. Prout + had dropped into Number Five, read them a lecture on the enormity of + cribbing, and bidden them return to the form-rooms on Monday. They had + raged, solo and chorus, all through the peaceful Sabbath, for their sin + was more or less the daily practice of all the studies. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good of cursing?” said Stalky at last. “We’re all in the same + boat. We’ve got to go back and consort with the house. A locker in the + form-room, and a seat at prep. in Number Twelve.” (He looked regretfully + round the cozy study which McTurk, their leader in matters of Art, had + decorated with a dado, a stencil, and cretonne hangings.) + </p> + <p> + “Yes! Heffy lurchin’ into the form-rooms like a frowzy old retriever, to + see if we aren’t up to something. You know he never leaves his house + alone, these days,” said McTurk. “Oh, it will be giddy!” + </p> + <p> + “Why aren’t you down watchin’ cricket? I like a robust, healthy boy. You + mustn’t frowst in a form-room. Why don’t you take an interest in your + house? Yah!” quoted Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, why don’t we? Let’s! We’ll take an interest in the house. We’ll take + no end of interest in the house! He hasn’t had us in the form-rooms for a + year. We’ve learned a lot since then. Oh, we’ll make it a be-autiful house + before we’ve done! ’Member that chap in ‘Eric’ or ‘St. Winifred’s’—Belial + somebody? I’m goin’ to be Belial,” said Stalky, with an ensnaring grin. + </p> + <p> + “Right O,” said Beetle, “and I’ll be Mammon. I’ll lend money at usury—that’s + what they do at all schools accordin’ to the B.O.P. Penny a week on a + shillin’. That’ll startle Heffy’s weak intellect. You can be Lucifer, + Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + “What have I got to do?” McTurk also smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Head conspiracies—and cabals—and boycotts. Go in for that + ‘stealthy intrigue’ that Heffy is always talkin’ about. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + The house received them on their fall with the mixture of jest and + sympathy always extended to boys turned out of their study. The known + aloofness of the three made them more interesting. + </p> + <p> + “Quite like old times, ain’t it?” Stalky selected a locker and flung in + his books. “We’ve come to sport with you, my young friends, for a while, + because our beloved house-master has hove us out of our diggin’s.” + </p> + <p> + “’Serve you jolly well right,” said Orrin, “you cribbers!” + </p> + <p> + “This will never do,” said Stalky. “We can’t maintain our giddy prestige, + Orrin, de-ah, if you make these remarks.” + </p> + <p> + They wrapped themselves lovingly about the boy, thrust him to the opened + window, and drew down the sash to the nape of his neck. With an equal + swiftness they tied his thumbs together behind his back with a piece of + twine, and then, because he kicked furiously, removed his shoes. There Mr. + Prout happened to find him a few minutes later, guillotined and helpless, + surrounded by a convulsed crowd who would not assist. + </p> + <p> + Stalky, in an upper form-room, had gathered himself allies against + vengeance. Orrin presently tore up at the head of a boarding party, and + the form-room grew one fog of dust through which boys wrestled, stamped, + shouted, and yelled. A desk was carried away in the tumult, a knot of + warriors reeled into and split a door-panel, a window was broken, and a + gas-jet fell. Under cover of the confusion the three escaped to the + corridor, whence they called in and sent up passers-by to the fray. + </p> + <p> + “Rescue, Kings! Kings! Kings! Number Twelve form-room! Rescue, Prouts—Prouts! + Rescue, Macreas! Rescue, Hartopps!” + </p> + <p> + The juniors hurried out like bees aswarm, asking no questions, clattered + up the staircase, and added themselves to the embroilment. + </p> + <p> + “Not bad for the first evening’s work,” said Stalky, rearranging his + collar. “I fancy Prout’ll be somewhat annoyed. We’d better establish an + <em>alibi</em>.” So they sat on Mr. King’s railings till prep. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” quoth Stalky, as they strolled up to prep. with the ignoble + herd, “if you get the houses well mixed up an’ scufflin’, it’s even + bettin’ that some ass will start a real row. Hullo, Orrin, you look rather + metagrobolized.” + </p> + <p> + “It was all your fault, you beast! You started it. We’ve got two hundred + lines apiece, and Heffy’s lookin’ for you. Just see what that swine Malpas + did to my eye!” + </p> + <p> + “I like your saying <em>we</em> started it. Who called us cribbers? Can’t your + infant mind connect cause and effect yet? Some day you’ll find out that it + don’t pay to jest with Number Five.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s that shillin’ you owe me?” said Beetle suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Stalky could not see Prout behind him, but returned the lead without a + quaver. “I only owed you ninepence, you old usurer.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve forgotten the interest,” said McTurk. “A halfpenny a week per bob + is Beetle’s charge. You must be beastly rich, Beetle.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Beetle lent me sixpence.” Stalky came to a full stop and made as to + work it out on his fingers. “Sixpence on the nineteenth, didn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but you’ve forgotten you paid no interest on the other bob—the + one I lent you before.” + </p> + <p> + “But you took my watch as security.” The game was developing itself almost + automatically. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Pay me my interest, or I’ll charge you interest on interest. + Remember, I’ve got your note-of-hand!” shouted Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “You are a cold-blooded Jew,” Stalky groaned. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said McTurk very loudly indeed, and started as Prout came upon + them. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t see you in that disgraceful affair in the form-room just now,” + said he. + </p> + <p> + “What, sir? We’re just come up from Mr. King’s,” said Stalky. “Please, + sir, what am I to do about prep.? They’ve broken the desk you told me to + sit at, and the form’s just swimming with ink.” + </p> + <p> + “Find another seat—find another seat. D’you expect me to dry-nurse + you? I wish to know whether you are in the habit of advancing money to + your associates, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; not as a general rule, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a most reprehensible habit. I thought that my house, at least, + would be free from it. Even with my opinion of you, I hardly thought it + was one of your vices.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no harm in lending money, sir, is there?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to bandy words with you on your notions of morality. How + much have you lent Corkran?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t quite know,” said Beetle. It is difficult to improvise a + going concern on the spur of the minute. + </p> + <p> + “You seemed certain enough just now.” + </p> + <p> + “I think it’s two and fourpence,” said McTurk, with a glance of cold scorn + at Beetle. In the hopelessly involved finances of the study there was just + that sum to which both McTurk and Beetle laid claim, as their share in the + pledging of Stalky’s second-best Sunday trousers. But Stalky had + maintained for two terms that the money was his “commission” for effecting + the pawn; and had, of course, spent it on a study “brew.” + </p> + <p> + “Understand this, then. You are not to continue your operations as a + money-lender. Two and fourpence, you said, Corkran?” + </p> + <p> + Stalky had said nothing, and continued so to do. + </p> + <p> + “Your influence for evil is quite strong enough without buying a hold over + your companions.” He felt in his pockets, and (oh joy!) produced a florin + and fourpence. “Bring me what you call Corkran’s note-of-hand, and be + thankful that I do not carry the matter any further. The money is stopped + from your pocket-money, Corkran. The receipt to my study, at once!” + </p> + <p> + Little they cared! Two and fourpence in a lump is worth six weekly + sixpences any hungry day of the week. + </p> + <p> + “But what the dooce <em>is</em> a note-of-hand?” said Beetle. “I only read about it + in a book.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you’ve jolly well got to make one,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—but our ink don’t turn black till next day. S’pose he’ll spot + that?” + </p> + <p> + “Not him. He’s too worried,” said McTurk. “Sign your name on a bit of + impot-paper, Stalky, and write, ‘I O U two and fourpence.’ Aren’t you + grateful to me for getting that out of Prout? Stalky’d never have paid... + Why, you ass!” + </p> + <p> + Mechanically Beetle had handed over the money to Stalky as treasurer of + the study. The custom of years is not lightly broken. In return for the + document, Prout expounded to Beetle the enormity of money-lending, which, + like everything except compulsory cricket, corrupted houses and destroyed + good feeling among boys, made youth cold and calculating, and opened the + door to all evil. Finally, did Beetle know of any other cases? If so, it + was his duty as proof of repentance to let his house-master know. No names + need be mentioned. + </p> + <p> + Beetle did not know—at least, he was not quite sure, sir. How could + he give evidence against his friends? The house might, of course—here + he feigned an anguished delicacy—be full of it. He was not in a + position to say. He had not met with any open competition in his trade; + but if Mr. Prout considered it was a matter that affected the honor of the + house (Mr. Prout did consider it precisely that), perhaps the + house-prefects would be better... + </p> + <p> + He spun it out till half-way through prep. + </p> + <p> + “And,” said the amateur Shylock, returning to the form-room and dropping + at Stalky’s side, “if he don’t think the house is putrid with it, I’m + several Dutch-men—that’s all... I’ve been to Mr. Prout’s study, + sir.” This to the prep.-master. “He said I could sit where I liked, sir... + Oh, he is just tricklin’ with emotion... Yes, sir, I’m only askin’ Corkran + to let me have a dip in his ink.” + </p> + <p> + After prayers, on the road to the dormitories, Harrison and Craye, senior + house-prefects, zealous in their office, waylaid them with great anger. + “What have you been doing to Heffy this time, Beetle? He’s been jawing us + all the evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What has His Serene Transparency been vexin’ you for?” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “About Beetle lendin’ money to Stalky,” began Harrison; “and then Beetle + went and told him that there was any amount of money-lendin’ in the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you don’t,” said Beetle, sitting on a boot-basket. “That’s just what + I didn’t tell him. I spoke the giddy truth. He asked me if there was much + of it in the house; and I said I didn’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “He thinks you’re a set of filthy Shylocks,” said McTurk. “It’s just as + well for you he don’t think you’re burglars. You know he never gets a + notion out of his conscientious old head.” + </p> + <p> + “Well-meanin’ man. Did it all for the best.” Stalky curled gracefully + round the stair-rail. “Head in a drain-pipe. Full confession in the left + boot. Bad for the honor of the house—very.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up,” said Harrison. “You chaps always behave as if you were jawin’ + us when we come to jaw you.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re a lot too cheeky,” said Craye. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t quite see where the cheek comes in, except on your part, in + interferin’ with a private matter between me an’ Beetle after it has been + settled by Prout.” Stalky winked cheerfully at the others. + </p> + <p> + “That’s the worst of clever little swots,” said McTurk, addressing the + gas. “They get made prefects before they have any tact, and then they + annoy chaps who could really help ’em to look after the honor of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “We won’t trouble you to do that!” said Craye hotly. + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you badgerin’ us for?” said Beetle. “On your own showing, + you’ve been so beastly slack, looking after the house, that Prout believes + it’s a nest of money-lenders. I’ve told him that I’ve lent money to + Stalky, and no one else. I don’t know whether he believes me, but that + finishes my case. The rest is your business.” + </p> + <p> + “Now we find out,” Stalky’s voice rose, “that there is apparently an + organized conspiracy throughout the house. For aught we know, the fags may + be lendin’ and borrowin’ far beyond their means. <em>We</em> aren’t responsible for + it. We’re only the rank and file.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you surprised we don’t wish to associate with the house?” said + McTurk, with dignity. “We’ve kept ourselves to ourselves in our study till + we were turned out, and now we find ourselves let in for for this sort of + thing. It’s simply disgraceful.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you hector and bullyrag us on the stairs,” said Stalky, “about + matters that are your business entirely. You know we aren’t prefects.” + </p> + <p> + “You threatened us with a prefect’s lickin’ just now,” said Beetle, boldly + inventing as he saw the bewilderment in the faces of the enemy. “And if + you expect you’ll gain anything from us by your way of approachin’ us, + you’re jolly well mistaken. That’s all. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + They clattered upstairs, injured virtue on every inch of their backs. + </p> + <p> + “But—but what the dickens have we done?” said Harrison, amazedly, to + Craye. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Only—it always happens that way when one has anything + to do with them. They’re so beastly plausible.” + </p> + <p> + And Mr. Prout called the good boys into his study anew, and succeeded in + sinking both his and their innocent minds ten fathoms deeper in + blindfolded bedazement. He spoke of steps and measures, of tone and + loyalty in the house and to the house, and urged them to take up the + matter tactfully. + </p> + <p> + So they demanded of Beetle whether he had any connection with any other + establishment. Beetle promptly went to his house-master, and wished to + know by what right Harrison and Craye had reopened a matter already + settled between him and his house-master. In injured innocence no boy + excelled Beetle. + </p> + <p> + Then it occurred to Prout that he might have been unfair to the culprit, + who had not striven to deny or palliate his offense. He sent for Harrison + and Craye, reprehending them very gently for the tone they had adopted to + a repentant sinner, and when they returned to their study, they used the + language of despair. They then made headlong inquisition through the + house, driving the fags to the edge of hysterics, and unearthing, with + tremendous pomp and parade, the natural and inevitable system of small + loans that prevails among small boys. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Harrison, Thornton minor lent me a penny last Saturday, because + I was fined for breaking the window; and I spent it at Keyte’s. I didn’t + know there was any harm in it. And Wray major borrowed twopence from me + when my uncle sent me a post-office order—I cashed it at Keyte’s—for + five bob; but he’ll pay me back before the holidays. We didn’t know there + was anything wrong in it.” + </p> + <p> + They waded through hours of this kind of thing, but found no usury, or + anything approaching to Beetle’s gorgeous scale of interest. The seniors—for + the school had no tradition of deference to prefects outside compulsory + games—told them succinctly to go about their business. They would + not give evidence on any terms. Harrison was one idiot, and Craye was + another; but the greatest of all, they said, was their house-master. + </p> + <p> + When a house is thoroughly upset, however good its conscience, it breaks + into knots and coteries—small gatherings in the twilight, box-room + committees, and groups in the corridor. And when from group to group, with + an immense affectation of secrecy, three wicked boys steal, crying “<i>Cavé</i>” + when there is no need of caution, and whispering “Don’t tell!” on the + heels of trumpery confidences that instant invented, a very fine air of + plot and intrigue can be woven round such a house. + </p> + <p> + At the end of a few days, it dawned on Prout that he moved in an + atmosphere of perpetual ambush. Mysteries hedged him on all sides, + warnings ran before his heavy feet, and countersigns were muttered behind + his attentive back. McTurk and Stalky invented many absurd and idle + phrases—catch-words that swept through the house as fire through + stubble. It was a rare jest, and the only practical outcome of the Usury + Commission, that one boy should say to a friend, with awful gravity, “Do + you think there’s much of it going on in the house?” The other would + reply, “Well, one can’t be too careful, you know.” The effect on a + house-master of humane conscience and good intent may be imagined. Again, + a man who has sincerely devoted himself to gaining the esteem of his + charges does not like to hear himself described, even at a distance, as + “Popularity Prout” by a dark and scowling Celt with a fluent tongue. A + rumor that stories—unusual stories—are told in the form-rooms, + between the lights, by a boy who does not command his confidence, agitates + such a man; and even elaborate and tender politeness—for the + courtesy wise-grown men offer to a bewildered child was the courtesy that + Stalky wrapped round Prout—restores not his peace of mind. + </p> + <p> + “The tone of the house seems changed—changed for the worse,” said + Prout to Harrison and Craye. “Have you noticed it? I don’t for an instant + impute—” + </p> + <p> + He never imputed anything; but, on the other hand, he never did anything + else, and, with the best intentions in the world, he had reduced the + house-prefects to a state as nearly bordering on nervous irritation as + healthy boys can know. Worst of all, they began at times to wonder whether + Stalky & Co. had not some truth in their often-repeated assertions + that Prout was a gloomy ass. + </p> + <p> + “As you know, I am not the kind of man who puts himself out for every + little thing he hears. <em>I</em> believe in letting the house work out their own + salvation—with a light guiding hand on the reins, of course. But + there is a perceptible lack of reverence—-a lower tone in matters + that touch the honor of the house, a sort of hardness.” + </p> +<p class="pre"> + Oh, Prout he is a nobleman, a nobleman, a nobleman!<br /> + Our Heffy is a nobleman—<br /> + He does an awful lot,<br /> + Because his popularity<br /> + Oh, pop-u-pop-u-larity—<br /> + His giddy popularity<br /> + Would suffer did he not!<br /> +</p> + <p> + The study door stood ajar; and the song, borne by twenty clear voices, + came faint from a form-room. The fags rather liked the tune; the words + were Beetle’s. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a thing no sensible man objects to,” said Prout with a lop-sided + smile; “but you know straws show which way the wind blows. Can you trace + it to any direct influence? I am speaking to you now as heads of the + house.” + </p> + <p> + “There isn’t the least doubt of it,” said Harrison angrily. “I know what + you mean, sir. It all began when Number Five study came to the form-rooms. + There’s no use blinkin’ it, Craye. You know that, too.” + </p> + <p> + “They make things rather difficult for us, sometimes,” said Craye. “It’s + more their manner than anything else, that Harrison means.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they hamper you in the discharge of your duties, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, sir. They only look on and grin—and turn up their noses + generally.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Prout sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + “I think, sir,” said Craye, plunging into the business boldly, “it would + be a great deal better if they were sent back to their study—better + for the house. They are rather old to be knocking about the form-rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “They are younger than Orrin, or Flint, and a dozen others that I can + think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; but that’s different, somehow. They’re rather influential. They + have a knack of upsettin’ things in a quiet way that one can’t take hold + of. At least, if one does—” + </p> + <p> + “And you think they would be better in their own study again?” + </p> + <p> + Emphatically Harrison and Craye were of that opinion. As Harrison said to + Craye, afterwards, “They’ve weakened our authority. They’re too big to + lick; they’ve made an exhibition of us over this usury business, and we’re + a laughing-stock to the rest of the school. I’m going up (for Sandhurst, + understood) next term. They’ve managed to knock me out of half my work + already with their—their lunacy. If they go back to their study we + may have a little peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Harrison.” McTurk ambled round the corner, with a roving eye on + all possible horizons. “Bearin’ up, old man? That’s right. Live it down! + Live it down!” + </p> + <p> + “What d’you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You look a little pensive,” said McTurk. “Exhaustin’ job superintendin’ + the honor of the house, ain’t it? By the way, how are you off for + mares’-nests?” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Harrison, hoping for instant reward. “We’ve recommended + Prout to let you go back to your study.” + </p> + <p> + “The dooce you have! And who under the sun are <i>you</i> to interfere + between us and our house-master? Upon my Sam, you two try us very hard—you + do, indeed. Of course we don’t know how far you abuse your position to + prejudice us with Mr. Prout; but when you deliberately stop me to tell me + you’ve been makin’ arrangements behind our back—in secret—with + Prout—I—I don’t know really what we ought to do.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s beastly unfair!” cried Craye. + </p> +<p> +“It is.” McTurk had adopted a ghastly solemnity that sat well on his +long, lean face. “Hang it all! A prefect’s one thing and an usher’s +another; but you seem to combine ’em. You recommend this—you recommend +that! <i>You</i> say how and when we go back to our study!” + </p> + <p> + “But—but—we thought you’d like it, Turkey. We did, indeed. You + know you’ll be ever so much more comfortable there.” Harrison’s voice was + almost tearful. + </p> + <p> + McTurk turned away as though to hide his emotions. + </p> + <p> + “They’re broke!” He hunted up Stalky and Beetle in a box-room. “They’re + sick! They’ve been beggin’ Heffy to let us go back to Number Five. Poor + devils! Poor little devils!” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the olive branch,” was Stalky’s comment. “It’s the giddy white flag, + by gum! Come to think of it, we <i>have</i> metagrobolized ’em.” + </p> + <p> + Just after tea that day, Mr. Prout sent for them to say that if they chose + to ruin their future by neglecting their work, it was entirely their own + affair. He wished them, however, to understand that their presence in the + form-rooms could not be tolerated one hour longer. He personally did not + care to think of the time he must spend in eliminating the traces of their + evil influences. How far Beetle had pandered to the baser side of youthful + imagination he would ascertain later; and Beetle might be sure that if Mr. + Prout came across any soul-corrupting consequences— + </p> + <p> + “Consequences of what, sir?” said Beetle, genuinely bewildered this time; + and McTurk quietly kicked him on the ankle for being “fetched” by Prout. + Beetle, the house-master continued, knew very well what was intended. Evil + and brief had been their careers under his eye; and as one standing <i>in + loco parentis</i> to their yet uncontaminated associates, he was bound to + take his precautions. The return of the study key closed the sermon. + </p> + <p> + “But what was the baser-side-of-imagination business?” said Beetle on the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + “I never knew such an ass as you are for justifyin’ yourself,” said + McTurk. “I hope I jolly well skinned your ankle. Why do you let yourself + be drawn by everybody?” + </p> + <p> + “Draws be blowed! I must have tickled him up in some way I didn’t know + about. If I’d had a notion of that before, of course I could have rubbed + it in better. It’s too late now. What a pity! ‘Baser side.’ What <i>was</i> + he drivin’ at?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Stalky. “I knew we could make it a happy little house. + I said so, remember—but I swear I didn’t think we’d do it so soon.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Prout most firmly in Common-room. “I maintain that Gillett is + wrong. True, I let them return to their study.” + </p> + <p> + “With your known views on cribbing, too?” purred little Hartopp. “What an + immoral compromise!” + </p> + <p> + “One moment,” said the Reverend John. “I—we—all of us have + exercised an absolutely heart-breaking discretion for the last ten days. + Now we want to know. Confess—have you known a happy minute since—” + </p> + <p> + “As regards my house, I have not,” said Prout. “But you are entirely wrong + in your estimate of those boys. In justice to the others—in + self-defence—” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! I said it would come to that,” murmured the Reverend John. + </p> + <p> + “—I was forced to send them back. Their moral influence was + unspeakable—simply unspeakable.” + </p> +<p> +And bit by bit he told his tale, beginning with Beetle’s usury, and +ending with the house-prefects’ appeal. + +</p> +<p> + +“Beetle in the <i>rôle</i> of Shylock is new to me,” said King, with +twitching lips. “I heard rumors of it—” + </p> + <p> + “Before?” said Prout. + </p> + <p> + “No, after you had dealt with them; but I was careful not to inquire. I + never interfere with—” + </p> + <p> + “I myself,” said Hartopp, “would cheerfully give him five shillings if he + could work out one simple sum in compound interest without three gross + errors.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why—why!” Mason, the mathematical master, stuttered, a + fierce joy on his face, “you’ve been had—precisely the same as me!” + </p> + <p> + “And so you held an inquiry?” Little Hartopp’s voice drowned Mason’s ere + Prout caught the import of the sentence. + </p> + <p> + “The boy himself hinted at the existence of a deal of it in the house,” + said Prout. + </p> + <p> + “He is past master in that line,” said the chaplain. “But, as regards the + honor of the house—” + </p> + <p> + “They lowered it in a week. I have striven to build it up for years. My + own house-prefects—and boys do not willingly complain of each other—besought + me to get rid of them. You say you have their confidence, Gillett: they + may tell you another tale. As far as I am concerned, they may go to the + devil in their own way. I’m sick and tired of them,” said Prout bitterly. + </p> + <p> + But it was the Reverend John, with a smiling countenance, who went to the + devil just after Number Five had cleared away a very pleasant little brew + (it cost them two and fourpence) and was settling down to prep. + </p> + <p> + “Come in, Padre, come in,” said Stalky, thrusting forward the best chair. + “We’ve only met you official-like these last ten days.” + </p> + <p> + “You were under sentence,” said the Reverend John. “I do not consort with + malefactors.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but we’re restored again,” said McTurk. “Mr. Prout has relented.” + </p> +<p> +“Without a stain on our characters,” said Beetle. “It was a painful +episode, Padre, most painful.” + +</p> +<p> +“Now, consider for a while, and perpend, <i>mes enfants</i>. It is about +your characters that I’ve called to-night. In the language of the +schools, what the dooce <i>have</i> you been up to in Mr. Prout’s house? It +isn’t anything to laugh over. He says that you so lowered the tone of +the house he had to pack you back to your studies. Is that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Every word of it, Padre.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be flippant, Turkey. Listen to me. I’ve told you very often that no + boys in the school have a greater influence for good or evil than you + have. You know I don’t talk about ethics and moral codes, because I don’t + believe that the young of the human animal realizes what they mean for + some years to come. All the same, I don’t want to think you’ve been + perverting the juniors. Don’t interrupt, Beetle. Listen to me. Mr. Prout + has a notion that you have been corrupting your associates somehow or + other.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Prout has so many notions, Padre,” said Beetle wearily. “Which one is + this?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he tells me that he heard you telling a story in the twilight in + the form-room, in a whisper. And Orrin said, just as he opened the door, + ‘Shut up, Beetle; it’s too beastly.’ Now then?” + </p> + <p> + “You remember Mrs. Oliphant’s ‘Beleaguered City’ that you lent me last + term?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + The Padre nodded. + </p> + <p> + “I got the notion out of that. Only, instead of a city, I made it the + Coll. in a fog—besieged by ghosts of dead boys, who hauled chaps out + of their beds in the dormitory. All the names are quite real. You tell it + in a whisper, you know with the names. Orrin didn’t like it one little + bit. None of ’em have ever let me finish it. It gets just awful at the end + part.” + </p> + <p> + “But why in the world didn’t you explain to Mr. Prout, instead of leaving + him under the impression—?” + </p> + <p> + “Padre Sahib,” said McTurk, “it isn’t the least good explainin’ to Mr. + Prout. If he hasn’t one impression, he’s bound to have another.” + </p> + <p> + “He’d do it with the best o’ motives. He’s <i>in loco parentis</i>,” + purred Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “You young demons!” the Reverend John replied. “And am I to understand + that the—-the usury business was another of your house-master’s + impressions?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—we helped a little in that,” said Stalky. “I did owe Beetle + two and fourpence at least, Beetle says I did, but I never intended to pay + him. Then we started a bit of an argument on the stairs, and—and Mr. + Prout dropped into it accidental. That was how it was, Padre. He paid me + cash down like a giddy Dook (stopped it out of my pocket-money just the + same), and Beetle gave him my note-of-hand all correct. I don’t know what + happened after that.” + </p> + <p> + “I was too truthful,” said Beetle. “I always am. You see, he was under an + impression, Padre, and I suppose I ought to have corrected that + impression; but of course I couldn’t be <i>quite</i> certain that his + house wasn’t given over to money-lendin’, could I? I thought the + house-prefects might know more about it than I did. They ought to. They’re + giddy palladiums of public schools.” + </p> + <p> + “They did, too—by the time they’d finished,” said McTurk. “As nice a + pair of conscientious, well-meanin’, upright, pure-souled boys as you’d + ever want to meet, Padre. They turned the house upside down—Harrison + and Craye—-with the best motives in the world.” + </p> + <p> + “They said so. ‘They said it very loud and clear. They went and shouted in + our ear,’” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “My own private impression is that all three of you will infallibly be + hanged,” said the Reverend John. + </p> + <p> + “Why, we didn’t do anything,” McTurk replied. “It was all Mr. Prout. Did + you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle—-he’s in the + Navy—gave me a beauty once.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to change the subject, Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not, sir. I’m givin’ an illustration—same as a sermon. These + wrestler-chaps have got sort sort of trick that lets the other chap do all + the work. Than they give a little wriggle, and he upsets himself. It’s + called <i>shibbuwichee</i> or <i>tokonoma</i>, or somethin’. Mr. Prout’s a + <i>shibbuwicher</i>. It isn’t our fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you suppose we went round corruptin’ the minds of the fags?” said + Beetle. “They haven’t any, to begin with; and if they had, they’re + corrupted long ago. I’ve been a fag, Padre.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I fancied I knew the normal range of your iniquities; but if you + take so much trouble to pile up circumstantial evidence against + yourselves, you can’t blame any one if—” + </p> + <p> + “We don’t blame any one, Padre. We haven’t said a word against Mr. Prout, + have we?” Stalky looked at the others. “We love him. He hasn’t a notion + how we love him.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m! You dissemble your love very well. Have you ever thought who got you + turned out of your study in the first place?” + </p> + <p> + “It was Mr. Prout turned us out,” said Stalky, with significance. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I was that man. I didn’t mean it; but some words of mine, I’m + afraid, gave Mr. Prout the impression—” + </p> + <p> + Number Five laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + “You see it’s just the same thing with you, Padre,” said McTurk. “He is + quick to get an impression, ain’t he? But you mustn’t think we don’t love + him, ’cause we do. There isn’t an ounce of vice about him.” + </p> + <p> + A double knock fell on the door. + </p> + <p> + “The Head to see Number Five study in his study at once,” said the voice + of Foxy, the school sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “Whew!” said the Reverend John. “It seems to me that there is a great deal + of trouble coming for some people.” + </p> + <p> + “My word! Mr. Prout’s gone and told the Head,” said Stalky. “He’s a moral + double-ender. Not fair, luggin’ the Head into a house-row.” + </p> + <p> + “I should recommend a copy-book on a—h’m—safe and certain + part,” said the Reverend John disinterestedly. + </p> + <p> + “Huh! He licks across the shoulders, an’ it would slam like a beastly + barn-door,” said Beetle. “Good-night, Padre. We’re in for it.” + </p> + <p> + Once more they stood in the presence of the Head—Belial, Mammon, and + Lucifer. But they had to deal with a man more subtle than them all. Mr. + Prout had talked to him, heavily and sadly, for half an hour; and the Head + had seen all that was hidden from the house-master. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been bothering Mr. Prout,” he said pensively. “House-masters + aren’t here to be bothered by boys more than is necessary. I don’t like + being bothered by these things. You are bothering <i>me</i>. That is a + very serious offense. You see it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, I purpose to bother you, on personal and private grounds, + because you have broken into my time. You are much too big to lick, so I + suppose I shall have to mark my displeasure in some other way. Say, a + thousand lines apiece, a week’s gating, and a few things of that kind. + Much too big to lick, aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, sir,” said Stalky cheerfully; for a week’s gating in the summer + term is serious. + </p> + <p> + “Ve-ry good. Then we will do what we can. I wish you wouldn’t bother me.” + </p> + <p> + It was a fair, sustained, equable stroke, with a little draw to it, but + what they felt most was his unfairness in stopping to talk between + executions. Thus: “Among the—lower classes this would lay me open to + a charge of—assault. You should be more grateful for your—privileges + than you are. There is a limit—one finds it by experience, Beetle—beyond + which it is never safe to pursue private vendettas, because—don’t + move—sooner or later one comes—into collision with the—higher + authority, who has studied the animal. <i>Et ego</i>—McTurk, please—<i>in + Arcadia vixi</i>. There’s a certain flagrant injustice about this that + ought to appeal to—your temperament. And that’s all! You will tell + your house-master that you have been formally caned by me.” + </p> + <p> + “My word!” said McTurk, wriggling his shoulder-blades all down the + corridor. “That was business! The Prooshan Bates has an infernal straight + eye.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t it wily of me to ask for the lickin’,” said Stalky, “instead of + those impots?” + </p> + <p> + “Rot! We were in for it from the first. <em>I</em> knew the look of his old eye,” + said Beetle. “I was within an inch of blubbing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I didn’t exactly smile,” Stalky confessed. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go down to the lavatory and have a look at the damage. One of us + can hold the glass and t’others can squint.” + </p> + <p> + They proceeded on these lines for some ten minutes. The wales were very + red and very level. There was not a penny to choose between any of them + for thoroughness, efficiency, and a certain clarity of outline that stamps + the work of the artist. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing down there?” Mr. Prout was at the head of the lavatory + stairs, attracted by the noise of splashing. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve only been caned by the Head, sir, and we’re washing off the blood. + The Head said we were to tell you. We were coming to report ourselves in a + minute, sir. (<i>Sotto voce</i>.) That’s a score for Heffy!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he deserves to score something, poor devil,” said McTurk, putting + on his shirt. “We’ve sweated a stone and a half off him since we began.” + </p> + <p> + “But look here, why aren’t we wrathy with the Head? He said it was a + flagrant injustice. So it is!” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Dear man,” said McTurk, and vouchsafed no further answer. + </p> + <p> + It was Stalky who laughed till he had to hold on by the edge of a basin. + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> a funny ass! What’s that for?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “I’m—I’m thinking of the flagrant injustice of it!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE MORAL REFORMERS. + </h2> + <p> + There was no disguising the defeat. The victory was to Prout, but they + grudged it not. If he had broken the rules of the game by calling in the + Head, they had had a good run for their money. + </p> + <p> + The Reverend John sought the earliest opportunity of talking things over. + Members of a bachelor Common-room, of a school where masters’ studies are + designedly dotted among studies and form-rooms, can, if they choose, see a + great deal of their charges. Number Five had spent some cautious years in + testing the Reverend John. He was emphatically a gentleman. He knocked at + a study door before entering; he comported himself as a visitor and not a + strayed lictor; he never prosed, and he never carried over into official + life the confidences of idle hours. Prout was ever an unmitigated + nuisance; King came solely as an avenger of blood; even little Hartopp, + talking natural history, seldom forgot his office; but the Reverend John + was a guest desired and beloved by Number Five. + </p> + <p> + Behold him, then, in their only arm-chair, a bent briar between his teeth, + chin down in three folds on his clerical collar, and blowing like an + amiable whale, while Number Five discoursed of life as it appeared to + them, and specially of that last interview with the Head—in the + matter of usury. + </p> + <p> + “One licking once a week would do you an immense amount of good,” he said, + twinkling and shaking all over; “and, as you say, you were entirely in the + right.” + </p> + <p> + “Ra-ather, Padre! We could have proved it if he’d let us talk,” said + Stalky; “but he didn’t. The Head’s a downy bird.” + </p> + <p> + “He understands you perfectly. Ho! ho! Well, you worked hard enough for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “But he’s awfully fair. He doesn’t lick a chap in the morning an’ preach + at him in the afternoon,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “He can’t; he ain’t in Orders, thank goodness,” said McTurk. Number Five + held the very strongest views on clerical head-masters, and were ever + ready to meet their pastor in argument. + </p> + <p> + “Almost all other schools have clerical Heads,” said the Reverend John + gently. + </p> + <p> + “It isn’t fair on the chaps,” Stalky replied. “Makes ’em sulky. Of course + it’s different with <em>you</em>, sir. You belong to the school—same as we + do. I mean ordinary clergymen.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am a most ordinary clergyman; and Mr. Hartopp’s in Orders, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Ye—es, but he took ’em after he came to the Coll. We saw him go up + for his exam. That’s all right,” said Beetle. “But just think if the Head + went and got ordained!” + </p> + <p> + “What would happen, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the Coll. ’ud go to pieces in a year, sir. There’s no doubt o’ that.” + </p> + <p> + “How d’you know?” The Reverend John was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve been here nearly six years now. There are precious few things about + the Coll. we don’t know,” Stalky replied. “Why, even you came the term + after I did, sir. I remember your asking our names in form your first + lesson. Mr. King, Mr. Prout, and the Head, of course, are the only masters + senior to us—in that way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’ve changed a good deal—in Common-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Huh!” said Beetle with a grunt. “They came here, an’ they went away to + get married. Jolly good riddance, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Doesn’t our Beetle hold with matrimony?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Padre; don’t make fun of me. I’ve met chaps in the holidays who’ve + got married house-masters. It’s perfectly awful! They have babies and + teething and measles and all that sort of thing right bung <i>in</i> the + school; and the masters’ wives give tea-parties—tea-parties, Padre!—and + ask the chaps to breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + “That don’t matter so much,” said Stalky. “But the house-masters let their + houses alone, and they leave everything to the prefects. Why, in one + school, a chap told me, there were big baize doors and a passage about a + mile long between the house and the master’s house. They could do just + what they pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “Satan rebuking sin with a vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, larks are right enough; but you know what we mean, Padre. After a bit + it gets worse an’ worse. Then there’s a big bust-up and a row that gets + into the papers, and a lot of chaps are expelled, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Always the wrong un’s; don’t forget that. Have a cup of cocoa, Padre?” + said McTurk with the kettle. + </p> + <p> + “No, thanks; I’m smoking. Always the wrong ’uns? Pro-ceed, my Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “And then”—Stalky warmed to the work—“everybody says, ‘Who’d + ha’ thought it? Shockin’ boys! Wicked little kids!’ It all comes of havin’ + married house-masters, <i>I</i> think.” + </p> + <p> + “A Daniel come to judgment.” + </p> + <p> + “But it does,” McTurk interrupted. “I’ve met chaps in the holidays, an’ + they’ve told me the same thing. It looks awfully pretty for one’s people + to see—a nice separate house with a nice lady in charge, an’ all + that. But it isn’t. It takes the house-masters off their work, and it + gives the prefects a heap too much power, an’—an’—it rots up + everything. You see, it isn’t as if we were just an ordinary school. We + take crammers’ rejections as well as good little boys like Stalky. We’ve + got to do that to make our name, of course, and we get ’em into Sandhurst + somehow or other, don’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “True, O Turk. Like a book thou talkest, Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + “And so we want rather different masters, don’t you think so, to other + places? We aren’t like the rest of the schools.” + </p> + <p> + “It leads to all sorts of bullyin’, too, a chap told me,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you <i>do</i> need most of a single man’s time, I must say.” The + Reverend John considered his hosts critically. “But do you never feel that + the world—the Common-room—is too much with you sometimes?” + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly—in summer, anyhow.” Stalky’s eye roved contentedly to + the window. “Our bounds are pretty big, too, and they leave us to + ourselves a good deal.” + </p> + <p> + “For example, here am I sitting in your study, very much in your way, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed you aren’t, Padre. Sit down. Don’t go, sir. You know we’re glad + whenever you come.” + </p> + <p> + There was no doubting the sincerity of the voices. The Reverend John + flushed a little with pleasure and refilled his briar. + </p> + <p> + “And we generally know where the Common-room are,” said Beetle + triumphantly. “Didn’t you come through our lower dormitories last night + after ten, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I went to smoke a pipe with your house-master. No, I didn’t give him any + impressions. I took a short cut through your dormitories.” + </p> + <p> + “I sniffed a whiff of ’baccy, this mornin’. Yours is stronger than Mr. + Prout’s. <i>I</i> knew,” said Beetle, wagging his head. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” said the Reverend John absently. It was some years before + Beetle perceived that this was rather a tribute to innocence than + observation. The long, light, blindless dormitories, devoid of inner + doors, were crossed at all hours of the night by masters visiting one + another; for bachelors sit up later than married folk. Beetle had never + dreamed that there might be a purpose in this steady policing. + </p> + <p> + “Talking about bullying,” the Reverend John resumed, “you all caught it + pretty hot when you were fags, didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we must have been rather awful little beasts,” said Beetle, looking + serenely over the gulf between eleven and sixteen. “My Hat, what bullies + they were then—Fairburn, ‘Gobby’ Maunsell, and all that gang!” + </p> + <p> + “’Member when ‘Gobby’ called us the Three Blind Mice, and we had to get up + on the lockers and sing while he buzzed ink-pots at us?” said Stalky. + “They <i>were</i> bullies if you like!” + </p> + <p> + “But there isn’t any of it now,” said McTurk soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s where you make a mistake. We’re all inclined to say that + everything is all right as long we aren’t ourselves hurt. I sometimes + wonder if it is extinct—bullying.” + </p> + <p> + “Fags bully each other horrid; but the upper forms are supposed to be + swottin’ for exams. They’ve got something else to think about,” said + Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Why? What do you think?” Stalky was watching the chaplain’s face. + </p> + <p> + “I have my doubts.” Then, explosively, “On my word, for three moderately + intelligent boys you aren’t very observant. I suppose you were too busy + making things warm for your house-master to see what lay under your noses + when you were in the form-rooms last week?” + </p> + <p> + “What, sir? I—I swear we didn’t see anything,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Then I’d advise you to look. When a little chap is whimpering in a corner + and wears his clothes like rags, and never does any work, and is + notoriously the dirtiest little ‘corridor-caution’ in the Coll., + something’s wrong somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s Clewer,” said McTurk under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Clewer. He comes to me for his French. It’s his first term, and he’s + almost as complete a wreck as you were, Beetle. He’s not naturally clever, + but he has been hammered till he’s nearly an idiot.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no. They sham silly to get off more tickings,” said Beetle. “<i>I</i> + know that.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve never actually seen him knocked about,” said the Reverend John. + </p> + <p> + “The genuine article don’t do that in public,” said Beetle. “Fairburn + never touched me when any one was looking on.” + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t swagger about it, Beetle,” said McTurk. “We all caught it in + our time.” + </p> + <p> + “But I got it worse than any one,” said Beetle. “If you want an authority + on bullyin’, Padre, come to me. Corkscrews—brush-drill keys—head-knucklin’—arm-twistin’—rockin’—Ag + Ags—and all the rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I do want you as an authority, or rather I want your authority to + stop it—all of you.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Abana and Pharpar, Padre—Harrison and Craye? They are + Mr. Prout’s pets,” said McTurk a little bitterly. “<em>We</em> aren’t even + sub-prefects.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve considered that, but on the other hand, since most bullying is mere + thoughtlessness—” + </p> + <p> + “Not one little bit of it, Padre,” said McTurk. “Bullies like bullyin’. + They mean it. They think it up in lesson and practise it in the quarters.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. If the thing goes up to the prefects it may make another + house-row. You’ve had one already. Don’t laugh. Listen to me. I ask you—my + own Tenth Legion—to take the thing up quietly. I want little Clewer + made to look fairly clean and decent—” + </p> + <p> + “Blowed if <i>I</i> wash him!” whispered Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Decent and self-respecting. As for the other boy, whoever he is, you can + use your influence”—a purely secular light flickered in the + chaplain’s eye—“in any way you please to—to dissuade him. + That’s all. I’ll leave it to you. Good-night, <i>mes enfants</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what are we goin’ to do?” Number Five stared at each other. + </p> + <p> + “Young Clewer would give his eyes for a place to be quiet in. <i>I</i> + know that,” said Beetle. “If we made him a study-fag, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said McTurk firmly. “He’s a dirty little brute, and he’d mess up + everything. Besides, we ain’t goin’ to have any beastly Erickin’. D’you + want to walk about with your arm round his neck?” + </p> + <p> + “He’d clean out the jam-pots, anyhow; an’ the burnt-porridge saucepan—it’s + filthy now.” + </p> + <p> + “Not good enough,” said Stalky, bringing up both heels with a crash on the + table. “If we find the merry jester who’s been bullyin’ him an’ make him + happy, that’ll be all right. Why didn’t we spot him when we were in the + form-rooms, though?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe a lot of fags have made a dead set at Clewer. They do that + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ll have to kick the whole of the lower school in our house—on + spec. Come on,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your hair on! We mustn’t make a fuss about the biznai. Whoever it is + he’s kept quiet or we’d have seen him,” said Stalky. “We’ll walk round and + sniff about till we’re sure.” + </p> + <p> + They drew the house form-rooms, accounting for every junior and senior + against whom they had suspicions; investigated, at Beetle’s suggestion, + the lavatories and box-rooms, but without result. Everybody seemed to be + present save Clewer. + </p> + <p> + “Rum!” said Stalky, pausing outside a study door. “Golly!” + </p> + <p> + A thin piping mixed with tears came muffled through the panels. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping—’” + </p> + <p> + “Louder, you young devil, or I’ll buzz a book at you!” + </p> +<p> + “<em>With a pitcher of milk— </em> Oh, Campbell, <i>please</i> don’t!<em><br /> + To the fair of</em>—” + </p> + <p> + A book crashed on something soft, and squeals arose. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I never thought it was a study-chap, anyhow. That accounts for our + not spotting him,” said Beetle. “Sefton and Campbell are rather hefty + chaps to tackle. Besides, one can’t go into their study like a form-room.” + </p> + <p> + “What swine!” McTurk listened. “Where’s the fun of it? I suppose Clewer’s + faggin’ for them.” + </p> + <p> + “They aren’t prefects. That’s one good job,” said Stalky, with his + war-grin. “Sefton and Campbell! Um! Campbell and Sefton! Ah! One of ’em’s + a crammer’s pup.” + </p> + <p> + The two were precocious hairy youths between seventeen and eighteen, sent + to the school in despair by parents who hoped that six months’ steady cram + might, perhaps, jockey them into Sandhurst. Nominally they were in Mr. + Prout’s house; actually they were under the Head’s eye; and since he was + very careful never to promote strange new boys to prefectships, they + considered they had a grievance against the school. Sefton had spent three + months with a London crammer, and the tale of his adventures there lost + nothing in the telling. Campbell, who had a fine taste in clothes and a + fluent vocabulary, followed his lead in looking down loftily on the rest + of the world. This was only their second term, and the school, used to + what it profanely called “crammers’ pups,” had treated them with rather + galling reserve. But their whiskers—Sefton owned a real razor—and + their mustaches were beyond question impressive. + </p> + <p> + “Shall we go in an’ dissuade ’em?” McTurk asked. “I’ve never had much to + do with ’em, but I’ll bet my hat Campbell’s a funk.” + </p> + <p> + “No—o! That’s <i>oratio directa</i>,” said Stalky, shaking his head. + “I like <i>oratio obliqua</i>. ’Sides, where’d our moral influence be + then? Think o’ that!” + </p> + <p> + “Rot! What are you goin’ to do?” Beetle turned into Lower Number Nine + form-room, next door to the study. + </p> + <p> + “Me?” The lights of war flickered over Stalky’s face. “Oh, I want to jape + with ’em. Shut up a bit!” + </p> + <p> + He drove his hands into his pockets and stared out of window at the sea, + whistling between his teeth. Then a foot tapped the floor; one shoulder + lifted; he wheeled, and began the short quick double-shuffle—the + war-dance of Stalky in meditation. Thrice he crossed the empty form-room, + with compressed lips and expanded nostrils, swaying to the quick-step. + Then he halted before the dumb Beetle and softly knuckled his head, Beetle + bowing to the strokes. McTurk nursed one knee and rocked to and fro. They + could hear Clewer howling as though his heart would break. + </p> + <p> + “Beetle is the sacrifice,” Stalky said at last, “I’m sorry for you, + Beetle. ’Member Galton’s ‘Art of Travel’ [one of the forms had been + studying that pleasant work] an’ the kid whose bleatin’ excited the + tiger?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, curse!” said Beetle uneasily. It was not his first season as a + sacrifice. “Can’t you get on without me?” + </p> + <p> + “’Fraid not, Beetle, dear. You’ve got to be bullied by Turkey an’ me. The + more you howl, o’ course, the better it’ll be. Turkey, go an’ covet a + stump and a box-rope from somewhere. We’ll tie him up for a kill—<i>à + la</i> Galton. ’Member when ‘Molly’ Fairburn made us cock-fight with our + shoes off, an’ tied up our knees?” + </p> + <p> + “But that hurt like sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Course it did. What a clever chap you are, Beetle! Turkey’ll knock you + all over the place. ’Member we’ve had a big row all round, an’ I’ve + trapped you into doin’ this. Lend us your wipe.” Beetle was trussed for + cock-fighting; but, in addition to the transverse stump between elbow and + knee, his knees were bound with a box-rope. In this posture, at a push + from Stalky he rolled over sideways, covering himself with dust. + </p> + <p> + “Ruffle his hair, Turkey. Now you get down, too. ‘The bleatin’ of the kid + excites the tiger.’ You two are in such a sweatin’ wax with me that you + only curse. ’Member that. I’ll tickle you up with a stump. You’ll have to + blub, Beetle.” + </p> + <p> + “Right O! I’ll work up to it in half a shake,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Now begin—and remember the bleatin’ o’ the kid.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you brutes! Let me up! You’ve nearly cut my knees off. Oh, you + <i>are</i> beastly cads! <i>Do</i> shut up. ’Tisn’t a joke!” Beetle’s + protest was, in tone, a work of art. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to him, Turkey! Kick him! Roll him over! Kill him! Don’t funk, + Beetle, you brute. Kick him again, Turkey.” + </p> + <p> + “He’s not blubbin’ really. Roll up, Beetle, or I’ll kick you into the + fender,” roared McTurk. They made a hideous noise among them, and the bait + allured their quarry. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo! What’s the giddy jest?” Sefton and Campbell entered to find Beetle + on his side, his head against the fender, weeping copiously, while McTurk + prodded him in the back with his toes. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only Beetle,” Stalky explained. “He’s shammin’ hurt. I can’t get + Turkey to go for him properly.” Sefton promptly kicked both boys, and his + face lighted. “All right, I’ll attend to ’em. Get up an’ cock-fight, you + two. Give me the stump. I’ll tickle ’em. Here’s a giddy jest! Come on, + Campbell. Let’s cook ’em.” + </p> + <p> + Then McTurk turned on Stalky and called him very evil names. + </p> + <p> + “You said you were goin’ to cock-fight too, Stalky. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + “More ass you for believin’ me, then!” shrieked Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Have you chaps had a row?” said Campbell. “Row?” said Stalky. “Huh! I’m + only educatin’ them. D’you know anythin’ about cock-fighting, Seffy?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I know? Why, at Maclagan’s, where I was crammin’ in town, we used to + cock-fight in his drawing-room, and little Maclagan daren’t say anything. + But we were just the same as men there, of course. Do I know? <i>I</i>’ll + show you.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t I get up?” moaned Beetle, as Stalky sat on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t jaw, you fat piffler. You’re going to fight Seffy.” + </p> + <p> + “He’ll slay me!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, lug ’em into our study,” said Campbell. “It’s nice an’ quiet in + there. I’ll cock-fight Turkey. This is an improvement on young Clewer.” + </p> + <p> + “Right O! I move it’s shoes-off for them an’ shoes-on for us,” said Sefton + joyously, and the two were flung down on the study floor. Stalky rolled + them behind an arm-chair. “Now I’ll tie you two up an’ direct the + bull-fight. Golly, what wrists you have, Seffy. They’re too thick for a + wipe; got a box-rope?” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Lots in the corner,” Sefton replied. “Hurry up! Stop blubbin’, you brute, + Beetle. We’re goin’ to have a giddy campaign. Losers have to sing for the + winners—sing odes in honor of the conqueror. You call yourself a + beastly poet, don’t you, Beetle? I’ll poet you.” + </p> + <p> + He wriggled into position by Campbell’s side. Swiftly and scientifically + the stumps were thrust through the natural crooks, and the wrists tied + with well-stretched box-ropes to an accompaniment of insults from McTurk, + bound, betrayed, and voluble behind the chair. Stalky set away Campbell + and Sefton, and strode over to his allies, locking the door on the way. + </p> + <p> + “And that’s all right,” said he in a changed voice. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil—?” Sefton began. Beetle’s false tears had ceased; + McTurk, smiling, was on his feet. Together they bound the knees and ankles + of the enemy even more straitly. + </p> + <p> + Stalky took the arm-chair and contemplated the scene with his blandest + smile. A man trussed for cock-fighting is, perhaps, the most helpless + thing in the world. + </p> + <p> + “‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ Oh, you frabjous asses!” He + lay back and laughed till he could no more. The victims took in the + situation but slowly. “We’ll give you the finest lickin’ you ever had in + your young lives when we get up!” thundered Sefton from the floor. “You’ll + laugh the other side of your mouth before you’ve done. What the deuce + d’you mean by this?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll see in two shakes,” said McTurk. “Don’t swear like that. What we + want to know is, why you two hulkin’ swine have been bullyin’ Clewer?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s none of your business.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you bully Clewer for?” The question was repeated with maddening + iteration by each in turn. They knew their work. + </p> + <p> + “Because we jolly well chose!” was the answer at last. “Let’s get up.” + Even then they could not realize the game. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now we’re goin’ to bully you because we jolly well choose. We’re + goin’ to be just as fair to you as you were to Clewer. He couldn’t do + anything against you. You can’t do anything to us. Odd, ain’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we? You wait an’ see.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Beetle reflectively, “that shows you’ve never been properly + jested with. A public lickin’ ain’t in it with a gentle jape. Bet a bob + you’ll weep an’ promise anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, young Beetle, we’ll half kill you when we get up. I’ll promise + you that, at any rate.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re going to be half killed first, though. Did you give Clewer + Head-knuckles?” + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?” McTurk echoed. At the twentieth + repetition—no boy can stand the torture of one unvarying query, + which is the essence of bullying—came confession. + </p> + <p> + “We did, confound you!” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ll be knuckled;” and knuckled they were, according to ancient + experience. Head-knuckling is no trifle; “Molly” Fairburn of the old days + could not have done better. + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Clewer Brush-drill?” This time the question was answered + sooner, and Brush-drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by + Stalky’s watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is + employed in Brush-drill. + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Clewer the Key?” + </p> + <p> + “No; we didn’t. I swear we didn’t!” from Campbell, rolling in agony. + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ll give it to you, so you can see what it would be like if you + had.” + </p> + <p> + The torture of the Key—which has no key at all—hurts + excessively. They endured several minutes of it, and their language + necessitated the gag. + </p> + <p> + “Did you give Clewer Corkscrews?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Oh, curse your silly souls! Let us alone, you cads.” + </p> + <p> + They were corkscrewed, and the torture of the Corkscrew—this has + nothing to do with corkscrews—is keener than the torture of the Key. + </p> + <p> + The method and silence of the attacks was breaking their nerves. Between + each new torture came the pitiless, dazing rain of questions, and when + they did not answer to the point, Isabella-colored handkerchiefs were + thrust into their mouths. + </p> + <p> + “Now are those all the things you did to Clewer? Take out the gag, Turkey, + and let ’em answer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I swear that was all. Oh, you’re killing us, Stalky!” cried + Campbell. + </p> + <p> + “Pre-cisely what Clewer said to you. I heard him. Now we’re goin’ to show + you what real bullyin’ is. ‘What I don’t like about you, Sefton, is, you + come to the Coll. with your stick-up collars an’ patent-leather boots, an’ + you think you can teach us something about bullying. <em>Do</em> you think you can + teach us anything about bullying? Take out the gag and let him answer.” + </p> + <p> + “No!”—ferociously. + </p> + <p> + “He says no. Rock him to sleep. Campbell can watch.” + </p> + <p> + It needs three boys and two boxing-gloves to rock a boy to sleep. Again + the operation has nothing to do with its name. Sefton was “rocked” till + his eyes set in his head and he gasped and crowed for breath, sick and + dizzy. + </p> + <p> + “My Aunt!” said Campbell, appalled, from his corner, and turned white. + </p> + <p> + “Put him away,” said Stalky. “Bring on Campbell. Now this <i>is</i> + bullyin’. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for? + Take out his gag and let him answer.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know. Oh, let me off! I swear I’ll make it <i>pax</i>. + Don’t ‘rock’ me!” + </p> + <p> + “‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ He says he don’t know. Set + him up, Beetle. Give me the glove an’ put in the gag.” + </p> + <p> + In silence Campbell was “rocked” sixty-four times. + </p> + <p> + “I believe I’m goin’ to die!” he gasped. “He says he is goin’ to die. Put + him away. Now, Sefton! Oh, I forgot! Sefton, what did you bully Clewer + for?” + </p> + <p> + The answer is unprintable; but it brought not the faintest flush to + Stalky’s downy cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Make him an Ag Ag, Turkey!” + </p> + <p> + And an Ag Ag was he made, forthwith. The hard-bought experience of nearly + eighteen years was at his disposal, but he did not seem to appreciate it. + </p> + <p> + “He says we are sweeps. Put him away! Now, Campbell! Oh, I forgot! I say, + Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?” + </p> + <p> + Then came the tears—scalding tears; appeals for mercy and abject + promises of peace. Let them cease the tortures and Campbell would never + lift hand against them. The questions began again—to an + accompaniment of small persuasions. + </p> + <p> + “You seem hurt, Campbell. Are you hurt?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Awfully!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is hurt. Are you broke?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes! I swear I am. Oh, stop!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is broke. Are you humble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is humble. Are you devilish humble?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is devilish humble. Will you bully Clewer any more?” + </p> + <p> + “No. No—ooh!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he won’t bully Clewer. Or any one else?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I swear I won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Or any one else. What about that lickin’ you and Sefton were goin’ to + give us?” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t! I won’t! I swear I won’t!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he won’t lick us. Do you esteem yourself to know anything about + bullyin’?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he doesn’t know anything about bullyin’. Haven’t we taught you a + lot?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes!” + </p> + <p> + “He says we’ve taught him a lot. Aren’t you grateful?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what + did you bully Clewer for?” + </p> + <p> + He wept anew; his nerves being raw. “Because I was a bully. I suppose + that’s what you want me to say?” + </p> + <p> + “He says he is a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more japes + for Campbell. Now, Sefton!” + </p> + <p> + “You devils! You young devils!” This and much more as Sefton was punted + across the carpet by skilful knees. + </p> + <p> + “‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ We’re goin’ to make you + beautiful. Where does he keep his shaving things? [Campbell told.] Beetle, + get some water. Turkey, make the lather. We’re goin’ to shave you, Seffy, + so you’d better lie jolly still, or you’ll get cut. I’ve never shaved any + one before.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t! Oh, don’t! Please don’t!” + </p> + <p> + “Gettin’ polite, eh? I’m only goin’ to take off one ducky little whisker—” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll—I’ll make it <i>pax</i>, if you don’t. I swear I’ll let you + off your lickin’ when I get up!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>And</i> half that mustache we’re so proud of. He says he’ll let us off + our lickin’. Isn’t he kind?” + </p> + <p> + McTurk laughed into the nickel-plated shaving-cup, and settled Sefton’s + head between Stalky’s vise-like knees. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a shake,” said Beetle, “you can’t shave long hairs. You’ve got to + cut all that mustache short first, an’ then scrape him.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m not goin’ to hunt about for scissors. Won’t a match do? Chuck + us the match-box. He <i>is</i> a hog, you know; we might as well singe + him. Lie still!” He lit a vesta, but checked his hand. “I only want to + take off half, though.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right.” Beetle waved the brush. “I’ll lather up to the middle—see? + and you can burn off the rest.” + </p> + <p> + The thin-haired first mustache of youth fluffed off in flame to the + lather-line in the centre of the lip, and Stalky rubbed away the burnt + stumpage with his thumb. It was not a very gentle shave, but it abundantly + accomplished its purpose. + </p> + <p> + “Now the whisker on the other side. Turn him over!” Between match and + razor this, too, was removed. “Give him his shaving-glass. Take the gag + out. I want to hear what he’ll say.” + </p> + <p> + But there were no words. Sefton gazed at the lop-sided wreck in horror and + despair. Two fat tears rolled down his cheek. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I forgot! I say, Sefton, what did you bully Clewer for?” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone! Oh, you infernal bullies, leave me alone! Haven’t I had + enough?” + </p> + <p> + “He says we must leave him alone,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “He says we are bullies, an’ we haven’t even begun yet,” said Beetle. + “You’re ungrateful, Seffy. Golly! You <em>do</em> look an atrocity and a half!” + </p> + <p> + “He says he has had enough,” said Stalky. “He errs!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, to work, to work!” chanted McTurk, waving a stump. “Come on, my + giddy Narcissus. Don’t fall in love with your own reflection!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, let him off,” said Campbell from his corner; “he’s blubbing, too.” + </p> + <p> + Sefton cried like a twelve-year-old with pain, shame, wounded vanity, and + utter helplessness. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll make it <i>pax</i>, Sefton, won’t you? You can’t stand up to those + young devils—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be rude, Campbell, de-ah,” said McTurk, “or you’ll catch it again!” + </p> + <p> + “You <i>are</i> devils, you know,” said Campbell. + </p> + <p> + “What? for a little bullyin’—same as you’ve been givin’ Clewer! How + long have you been jestin’ with him?” said Stalky. “All this term?” + </p> + <p> + “We didn’t always knock him about, though!” + </p> + <p> + “You did when you could catch him,” said Beetle, cross-legged on the + floor, dropping a stump from time to time across Sefton’s instep. “Don’t I + know it!” + </p> + <p> + “I—perhaps we did.” + </p> + <p> + “And you went out of your way to catch him? Don’t I know it! Because he + was an awful little beast, eh? Don’t I know it! Now, you see, <i>you</i>’re + awful beasts, and you’re gettin’ what he got—for bein’ a beast. Just + because we choose.” + </p> + <p> + “We never really bullied him—like you’ve done us.” + </p> + <p> + “Yah!” said Beetle. “They never really bully—‘Molly’ Fairburn + didn’t. Only knock ’em about a little bit. That’s what they say. Only kick + their souls out of ’em, and they go and blub in the box-rooms. Shove their + heads into the ulsters an’ blub. Write home three times a day—yes, + you brute, I’ve done that—askin’ to be taken away. You’ve never been + bullied properly, Campbell. I’m sorry you made <i>pax</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not!” said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. “Look out, you’re + slaying Sefton!” + </p> + <p> + In his excitement Beetle had used the stump unreflectingly, and Sefton was + now shouting for mercy. + </p> + <p> + “An’ you!” he cried, wheeling where he sat. “You’ve never been bullied, + either. Where were you before you came here?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I had a tutor.” + </p> + <p> + “Yah! You would. You never blubbed in your life. But you’re blubbin’ now, + by gum. Aren’t you blubbin’?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you see, you blind beast?” Sefton fell over sideways, tear-tracks + furrowing the dried lather. Crack came the cricket-stump on the curved + latter-end of him. + </p> + <p> + “Blind, am I,” said Beetle, “and a beast? Shut up, Stalky. I’m goin’ to + jape a bit with our friend, <i>à la</i> ‘Molly’ Fairburn. <i>I</i> think + I can see. Can’t I see, Sefton?” + </p> + <p> + “The point is well taken,” said McTurk, watching the strap at work. “You’d + better say that he sees, Seffy.” + </p> + <p> + “You do—you can! I swear you do!” yelled Sefton, for strong + arguments were coercing him. + </p> + <p> + “Aren’t my eyes lovely?” The stump rose and fell steadily throughout this + catechism. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “A gentle hazel, aren’t they?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “What a liar you are! They’re sky-blue. Ain’t they sky-blue?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know your mind from one minute to another. You must learn—you + must learn.” + </p> + <p> + “What a bait you’re in!” said Stalky. “Keep your hair on, Beetle.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had it done to me,” said Beetle. “Now—about my being a beast.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pax</i>—oh, <i>pax</i>!” cried Sefton; “make it <i>pax</i>. I’ll + give up! Let me off! I’m broke! I can’t stand it!” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh! Just when we were gettin’ our hand in!” grunted McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “They didn’t let Clewer off, I’ll swear.” + </p> + <p> + “Confess—apologize—quick!” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + From the floor Sefton made unconditional surrender, more abjectly even + than Campbell. He would never touch any one again. He would go softly all + the days of his life. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve got to take it, I suppose?” said Stalky. “All right, Sefton. You’re + broke? Very good. Shut up, Beetle! But before we let you up, you an’ + Campbell will kindly oblige us with ‘Kitty of Coleraine’—<i>à la</i> + Clewer.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s not fair,” said Campbell; “we’ve surrendered.” + </p> + <p> + “’Course you have. Now you’re goin’ to do what we tell you—same as + Clewer would. If you hadn’t surrendered you’d ha’ been really bullied. + Havin’ surrendered—do you follow, Seffy?—you sing odes in + honor of the conquerors. Hurry up!” + </p> + <p> + They dropped into chairs luxuriously. Campbell and Sefton looked at each + other, and, neither taking comfort from that view, struck up “Kitty of + Coleraine.” + </p> + <p> + “Vile bad,” said Stalky, as the miserable wailing ended. “If you hadn’t + surrendered it would have been our painful duty to buzz books at you for + singin’ out o’ tune. Now then.” + </p> + <p> + He freed them from their bonds, but for several minutes they could not + rise. Campbell was first on his feet, smiling uneasily. Sefton staggered + to the table, buried his head in his arms, and shook with sobs. There was + no shadow of fight in either—only amazement, distress, and shame. + </p> + <p> + “Ca—can’t he shave clean before tea, please?” said Campbell. “It’s + ten minutes to bell.” + </p> + <p> + Stalky shook his head. He meant to escort the half-shaved one to the meal. + </p> + <p> + McTurk yawned in his chair and Beetle mopped his face. They were all + dripping with excitement and exertion. + </p> + <p> + “If I knew anything about it, I swear I’d give you a moral lecture,” said + Stalky severely. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t jaw; they’ve surrendered,” said McTurk. “This moral suasion biznai + takes it out of a chap.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you see how gentle we’ve been? We might have called Clewer in to + look at you,” said Stalky. “‘The bleatin’ of the tiger excites the kid.’ + But we didn’t. We’ve only got to tell a few chaps in Coll. about this and + you’d be hooted all over the shop. Your life wouldn’t be worth havin’. But + we aren’t goin’ to do that, either. We’re strictly moral suasers, + Campbell; so, unless you or Seffy split about this, no one will.” + </p> + <p> + “I swear you’re a brick,” said Campbell. “I suppose I was rather a brute + to Clewer.” + </p> + <p> + “It looked like it,” said Stalky. “But I don’t think Seffy need come into + hall with cock-eye whiskers. Horrid bad for the fags if they saw him. He + can shave. Ain’t you grateful, Sefton?” + </p> + <p> + The head did not lift. Sefton was deeply asleep. + </p> + <p> + “That’s rummy,” said McTurk, as a snore mixed with a sob. “‘Cheek, <i>I</i> + think; or else he’s shammin’.” + </p> + <p> + “No, ’tisn’t,” said Beetle. “‘When ‘Molly’ Fairburn had attended to me for + an hour or so I used to go bung off to sleep on a form sometimes. Poor + devil! But he called me a beastly poet, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, come on.” Stalky lowered his voice. “Good-by, Campbell. ’Member, if + you don’t talk, nobody will.” + </p> + <p> + There should have been a war-dance, but that all three were so utterly + tired that they almost went to sleep above the tea-cups in their study, + and slept till prep. + </p> + <p> + “A most extraordinary letter. Are all parents incurably mad? What do you + make of it?” said the Head, handing a closely written eight pages to the + Reverend John. + </p> + <p> + “‘The only son of his mother, and she a widow.’ That is the least + reasonable sort.” The chaplain read with pursed lips. “If half those + charges are true he should be in the sick-house; whereas he is + disgustingly well. Certainly he has shaved. I noticed that.” + </p> + <p> + “Under compulsion, as his mother points out. How delicious! How salutary!” + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t to answer her. It isn’t often I don’t know what has happened + in the school; but this is beyond me.” + </p> + <p> + “If you asked me I should say seek not to propitiate. When one is forced + to take crammers’ pups—” + </p> + <p> + “He was perfectly well at extra-tuition—with me—this morning,” + said the Head, absently. “Unusually well behaved, too.” + </p> + <p> + “—they either educate the school, or the school, as in this case, + educates them. I prefer our own methods,” the chaplain concluded. + </p> + <p> + “You think it was that?” A lift of the Head’s eye-brow. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure of it! And nothing excuses his trying to give the College a bad + name.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s the line I mean to take with him,” the Head answered. + </p> + <p> + The Augurs winked. + </p> + <p> + A few days later the Reverend John called on Number Five. “Why haven’t we + seen you before, Padre?” said they. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been watching times and seasons and events and men—and boys,” + he replied. “I am pleased with my Tenth Legion. I make them my + compliments. Clewer was throwing ink-balls in form this morning, instead + of doing his work. He is now doing fifty lines for—unheard-of + audacity.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t blame us, sir,” said Beetle. “You told us to remove the—er—pressure. + That’s the worst of a fag.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve known boys five years his senior throw ink-balls, Beetle. To such an + one have I given two hundred lines—not so long ago. And now I come + to think of it, were those lines ever shown up?” + </p> + <p> + “Were they, Turkey?’ said Beetle unblushingly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you think Clewer looks a little cleaner, Padre?” Stalky + interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “We’re no end of moral reformers,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “It was all Stalky, but it was a lark,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “I have noticed the moral reform in several quarters. Didn’t I tell you + you had more influence than any boys in the Coll. if you cared to use it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a trifle exhaustin’ to use frequent—our kind of moral suasion. + Besides, you see, it only makes Clewer cheeky.” + </p> + <p> + “I wasn’t thinking of Clewer; I was thinking of—the other people, + Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we didn’t bother much about the other people,” said McTurk. “Did we?” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>I</i> did—from the beginning.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you knew, sir?” + </p> + <p> + A downward puff of smoke. “Boys educate each other, they say, more than we + can or dare. If I had used one half of the moral suasion you may or may + not have employed—” + </p> + <p> + “With the best motives in the world. Don’t forget our pious motives, + Padre,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I should be now languishing in Bideford jail, shouldn’t I? + Well, to quote the Head, in a little business which we have agreed to + forget, that strikes me as flagrant injustice... What are you laughing at, + you young sinners? Isn’t it true? I will not stay to be shouted at. What I + looked into this den of iniquity for was to find out if any one cared to + come down for a bathe off the Ridge. But I see you won’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t we, though! Half a shake, Padre Sahib, till we get our towels, and + <i>nous sommes avec vous</i>!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LITTLE PREP. + </h2> + <p> + Easter term was but a month old when Stettson major, a day-boy, contracted + diphtheria, and the Head was very angry. He decreed a new and narrower set + of bounds—the infection had been traced to an out-lying farmhouse—urged + the prefects severely to lick all trespassers, and promised extra + attentions from his own hand. There were no words bad enough for Stettson + major, quarantined at his mother’s house, who had lowered the + school-average of health. This he said in the gymnasium after prayers. + Then he wrote some two hundred letters to as many anxious parents and + guardians, and bade the school carry on. The trouble did not spread, but, + one night, a dog-cart drove to the Head’s door, and in the morning the + Head had gone, leaving all things in charge of Mr. King, senior + house-master. The Head often ran up to town, where the school devoutly + believed he bribed officials for early proofs of the Army Examination + papers; but this absence was unusually prolonged. + </p> + <p> + “Downy old bird!” said Stalky to the allies one wet afternoon in the + study. “He must have gone on a bend and been locked up under a false + name.” + </p> + <p> + “What for?” Beetle entered joyously into the libel. + </p> + <p> + “Forty shillin’s or a month for hackin’ the chucker-out of the Pavvy on + the shins. Bates always has a spree when he goes to town. Wish he was + back, though. I’m about sick o’ King’s ‘whips an’ scorpions’ an’ lectures + on public-school spirit—yah!—and scholarship!” + </p> + <p> + “‘Crass an’ materialized brutality of the middle-classes—readin’ + solely for marks. Not a scholar in the whole school,’” McTurk quoted, + pensively boring holes in the mantel-piece with a hot poker. + </p> + <p> + “That’s rather a sickly way of spending an afternoon. Stinks too. Let’s + come out an’ smoke. Here’s a treat.” Stalky held up a long Indian cheroot. + “’Bagged it from my pater last holidays. I’m a bit shy of it though; it’s + heftier than a pipe. We’ll smoke it palaver-fashion. Hand it round, eh? + Let’s lie up behind the old harrow on the Monkey-farm Road.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of bounds. Bounds beastly strict these days, too. Besides, we shall + cat.” Beetle sniffed the cheroot critically. “It’s a regular Pomposo + Stinkadore.” + </p> + <p> + “You can; I shan’t. What d’you say, Turkey?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, may’s well, I s’pose.” + </p> + <p> + “Chuck on your cap, then. It’s two to one. Beetle, out you come!” + </p> + <p> + They saw a group of boys by the notice-board in the corridor; little Foxy, + the school sergeant, among them. + </p> + <p> + “More bounds, I expect,” said Stalky. “Hullo, Foxibus, who are you in + mournin’ for?” There was a broad band of crape round Foxy’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “He was in my old regiment,” said Foxy, jerking his head towards the + notices, where a newspaper cutting was thumb-tacked between call-over + lists. + </p> + <p> + “By gum!” quoth Stalky, uncovering as he read. “It’s old Duncan—Fat-Sow + Duncan—killed on duty at something or other Kotal. ‘<i>Rallyin’ his + men with conspicuous gallantry.</i>’ He would, of course. ‘<i>The body was + recovered</i>.’ That’s all right. They cut ’em up sometimes, don’t they, + Foxy?” + </p> + <p> + “Horrid,” said the sergeant briefly. + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Fat-Sow! I was a fag when he left. How many does that make to + us, Foxy?” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Duncan, he is the ninth. He come here when he was no bigger than + little Grey tertius. My old regiment, too. Yiss, nine to us, Mr. Corkran, + up to date.” + </p> + <p> + The boys went out into the wet, walking swiftly. + </p> + <p> + “Wonder how it feels—to be shot and all that,” said Stalky, as they + splashed down a lane. “Where did it happen, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, out in India somewhere. We’re always rowin’ there. But look here, + Stalky, what <i>is</i> the good o’ sittin’ under a hedge an’ cattin’? It’s + be-eastly cold. It’s be-eastly wet, and we’ll be collared as sure as a + gun.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up! Did you ever know your Uncle Stalky get you into a mess yet?” + Like many other leaders, Stalky did not dwell on past defeats. They pushed + through a dripping hedge, landed among water-logged clods, and sat down on + a rust-coated harrow. The cheroot burned with sputterings of saltpetre. + They smoked it gingerly, each passing to the other between closed + forefinger and thumb. + </p> + <p> + “Good job we hadn’t one apiece, ain’t it?” said Stalky, shivering through + set teeth. To prove his words he immediately laid all before them, and + they followed his example... + </p> + <p> + “I told you,” moaned Beetle, sweating clammy drops. “Oh, Stalky, you are a + fool!” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Je cat</i>, <i>tu cat</i>, <i>il cat</i>. <i>Nous cattons</i>!” McTurk + handed up his contribution and lay hopelessly on the cold iron. + </p> + <p> + “Something’s wrong with the beastly thing. I say, Beetle, have you been + droppin’ ink on it?” + </p> + <p> + But Beetle was in no case to answer. Limp and empty, they sprawled across + the harrow, the rust marking their ulsters in red squares and the + abandoned cheroot-end reeking under their very cold noses. Then—they + had heard nothing—the Head himself stood before them—the Head + who should have been in town bribing examiners—the Head + fantastically attired in old tweeds and a deer-stalker! + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, fingering his mustache. “Very good. I might have guessed + who it was. You will go back to the College and give my compliments to Mr. + King and ask him to give you an extra-special licking. You will then do me + five hundred lines. I shall be back to-morrow. Five hundred lines by five + o’clock to-morrow. You are also gated for a week. This is not exactly the + time for breaking bounds. <em>Extra</em>-special, please.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared over the hedge as lightly as he had come. There was a + murmur of women’s voices in the deep lane. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Prooshan brute!” said McTurk as the voices died away. “Stalky, + it’s all your silly fault.” + </p> + <p> + “Kill him! Kill him!” gasped Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “I ca-an’t. I’m going to cat again... I don’t mind that, but King’ll gloat + over us horrid. Extra-special, ooh!” + </p> + <p> + Stalky made no answer—not even a soft one. They went to College and + received that for which they had been sent. King enjoyed himself most + thoroughly, for by virtue of their seniority the boys were exempt from his + hand, save under special order. Luckily, he was no expert in the gentle + art. + </p> + <p> + “‘Strange, how desire doth outrun performance,’” said Beetle irreverently, + quoting from some Shakespeare play that they were cramming that term. They + regained their study and settled down to the imposition. + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right, Beetle.” Stalky spoke in silky and propitiating + tones. “Now, if the Head had sent us up to a prefect, we’d have got + something to remember!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” McTurk began with cold venom, “we aren’t goin’ to row you + about this business, because it’s too bad for a row; but we want you to + understand you’re jolly well excommunicated, Stalky. You’re a plain ass.” + </p> + <p> + “How was I to know that the Head ’ud collar us? What was he doin’ in those + ghastly clothes, too?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to raise a side-issue,” Beetle grunted severely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it was all Stettson major’s fault. If he hadn’t gone an’ got + diphtheria ’twouldn’t have happened. But don’t you think it rather rummy—the + Head droppin’ on us that way?” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up! You’re dead!” said Beetle. “We’ve chopped your spurs off your + beastly heels. We’ve cocked your shield upside down and—-and I don’t + think you ought to be allowed to brew for a month.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, stop jawin’ at me. I want—” + </p> + <p> + “Stop? Why—why, we’re gated for a week.” McTurk almost howled as the + agony of the situation overcame him. “A lickin’ from King, five hundred + lines, <i>and</i> a gatin’. D’you expect us to kiss you, Stalky, you + beast?” + </p> + <p> + “Drop rottin’ for a minute. I want to find out about the Head bein’ where + he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you have. You found him quite well and fit. Found him makin’ love + to Stettson major’s mother. That was her in the lane—I heard her. + And so we were ordered a lickin’ before a day-boy’s mother. Bony old + widow, too,” said McTurk. “Anything else you’d like to find out?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care. I swear I’ll get even with him some day,” Stalky growled. + </p> + <p> + “Looks like it,” said McTurk. “Extra-special, week’s gatin’ and five + hundred... and now you’re goin’ to row about it! Help scrag him, Beetle!” + Stalky had thrown his Virgil at them. + </p> + <p> + The Head returned next day without explanation, to find the lines waiting + for him and the school a little relaxed under Mr. King’s viceroyalty. Mr. + King had been talking at and round and over the boys’ heads, in a lofty + and promiscuous style, of public-school spirit and the traditions of + ancient seats; for he always improved an occasion. Beyond waking in two + hundred and fifty young hearts a lively hatred of all other foundations, + he accomplished little—so little, indeed, that when, two days after + the Head’s return, he chanced to come across Stalky & Co., gated but + ever resourceful, playing marbles in the corridor, he said that he was not + surprised—not in the least surprised. This was what he had expected + from persons of their <i>morale</i>. + </p> + <p> + “But there isn’t any rule against marbles, sir. Very interestin’ game,” + said Beetle, his knees white with chalk and dust. Then he received two + hundred lines for insolence, besides an order to go to the nearest prefect + for judgment and slaughter. + </p> + <p> + This is what happened behind the closed doors of Flint’s study, and Flint + was then Head of the Games:— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I say, Flint. King has sent me to you for playin’ marbles in the + corridor an’ shoutin’ ‘alley tor’ an’ ‘knuckle down.’” + </p> + <p> + “What does he suppose I have to do with that?” was the answer. + </p> + <p> + “Dunno. Well?” Beetle grinned wickedly. “What am I to tell him? He’s + rather wrathy about it.” + </p> + <p> + “If the Head chooses to put a notice in the corridor forbiddin’ marbles, I + can do something; but I can’t move on a house-master’s report. He knows + that as well as I do.” + </p> + <p> + The sense of this oracle Beetle conveyed, all unsweetened, to King, who + hastened to interview Flint. + </p> + <p> + Now Flint had been seven and a half years at the College, counting six + months with a London crammer, from whose roof he had returned, homesick, + to the Head for the final Army polish. There were four or five other + seniors who had gone through much the same mill, not to mention boys, + rejected by other establishments on account of a certain overwhelmingness, + whom the Head had wrought into very fair shape. It was not a Sixth to be + handled without gloves, as King found. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand it is your intention to allow board-school games under + your study windows, Flint? If so, I can only say—” He said much, and + Flint listened politely. + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, if the Head sees fit to call a prefects’ meeting we are bound + to take the matter up. But the tradition of the school is that the + prefects can’t move in any matter affecting the whole school without the + Head’s direct order.” + </p> + <p> + Much more was then delivered, both sides a little losing their temper. + </p> + <p> + After tea, at an informal gathering of prefects in his study, Flint + related the adventure. + </p> + <p> + “He’s been playin’ for this for a week, and now he’s got it. You know as + well as I do that if he hadn’t been gassing at us the way he has, that + young devil Beetle wouldn’t have dreamed of marbles.” + </p> + <p> + “We know that,” said Perowne, “but that isn’t the question. On Flint’s + showin’ King has called the prefects names enough to justify a first-class + row. Crammers’ rejections, ill-regulated hobble-de-hoys, wasn’t it? Now + it’s impossible for prefects—” + </p> + <p> + “Rot,” said Flint. “King’s the best classical cram we’ve got; and ’tisn’t + fair to bother the Head with a row. He’s up to his eyes with extra-tu and + Army work as it is. Besides, as I told King, we <i>aren’t</i> a public + school. We’re a limited liability company payin’ four per cent. My + father’s a shareholder, too.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that got to do with it?” said Venner, a red-headed boy of + nineteen. + </p> + <p> + “Well, seems to me that we should be interferin’ with ourselves. We’ve got + to get into the Army or—get out, haven’t we? King’s hired by the + Council to teach us. All the rest’s gumdiddle. Can’t you see?” + </p> + <p> + It might have been because he felt the air was a little thunderous that + the Head took his after-dinner cheroot to Flint’s study; but he so often + began an evening in a prefect’s room that nobody suspected when he drifted + in pensively, after the knocks that etiquette demanded. + </p> + <p> + “Prefects’ meeting?” A cock of one wise eye-brow. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly, sir; we’re just talking things over. Won’t you take the easy + chair?” + </p> + <p> + “Thanks. Luxurious infants, you are.” He dropped into Flint’s big + half-couch and puffed for a while in silence. “Well, since you’re all + here, I may confess that I’m the mute with the bowstring.” + </p> + <p> + The young faces grew serious. The phrase meant that certain of their + number would be withdrawn from all further games for extra-tuition. It + might also mean future success at Sandhurst; but it was present ruin for + the First Fifteen. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’ve come for my pound of flesh. I ought to have had you out before + the Exeter match; but it’s our sacred duty to beat Exeter.” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t the Old Boys’ match sacred, too, sir?” said Perowne. The Old Boys’ + match was the event of the Easter term. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll hope they aren’t in training. Now for the list. First I want Flint. + It’s the Euclid that does it. You must work deductions with me. Perowne, + extra mechanical drawing. Dawson goes to Mr. King for extra Latin, and + Venner to me for German. Have I damaged the First Fifteen much?” He smiled + sweetly. + </p> + <p> + “Ruined it, I’m afraid, sir,” said Flint. “Can’t you let us off till the + end of the term?” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible. It will be a tight squeeze for Sandhurst this year.” + </p> + <p> + “And all to be cut up by those vile Afghans, too,” said Dawson. “Wouldn’t + think there’d be so much competition, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that reminds me. Crandall is coming down with the Old Boys—I’ve + asked twenty of them, but we shan’t get more than a weak team. I don’t + know whether he’ll be much use, though. He was rather knocked about, + recovering poor old Duncan’s body.” + </p> + <p> + “Crandall major—the Gunner?” Perowne asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, the minor—‘Toffee’ Crandall—in a native infantry + regiment. He was almost before your time, Perowne.” + </p> + <p> + “The papers didn’t say anything about him. We read about Fat-Sow, of + course. What’s Crandall done, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve brought over an Indian paper that his mother sent me. It was rather + a—hefty, I think you say—piece of work. Shall I read it?” The + Head knew how to read. When he had finished the quarter-column of close + type everybody thanked him politely. + </p> + <p> + “Good for the old Coll.!” said Perowne. “Pity he wasn’t in time to save + Fat-Sow, though. That’s nine to us, isn’t it, in the last three years?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes... And I took old Duncan off all games for extra-tu five years ago + this term,” said the Head. “By the way, who do you hand over the Games to, + Flint?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t thought yet. Who’d you recommend, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you. I’ve heard it casually hinted behind my back that the + Prooshan Bates is a downy bird, but he isn’t going to make himself + responsible for a new Head of the Games. Settle it among yourselves. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “And that’s the man,” said Flint, when the door shut, “that you want to + bother with a dame’s school row.” + </p> + <p> + “I was only pullin’ your fat leg,” Perowne returned, hastily. “You’re so + easy to draw, Flint.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, never mind that. The Head’s knocked the First Fifteen to bits, and + we’ve got to pick up the pieces, or the Old Boys will have a walk-over. + Let’s promote all the Second Fifteen and make Big Side play up. There’s + heaps of talent somewhere that we can polish up between now and the + match.” + </p> + <p> + The case was represented so urgently to the school that even Stalky and + McTurk, who affected to despise football, played one Big-Side game + seriously. They were forthwith promoted ere their ardor had time to cool, + and the dignity of their Caps demanded that they should keep some show of + virtue. The match-team was worked at least four days out of seven, and the + school saw hope ahead. + </p> + <p> + With the last week of the term the Old Boys began to arrive, and their + welcome was nicely proportioned to their worth. Gentlemen cadets from + Sandhurst and Woolwich, who had only left a year ago, but who carried + enormous side, were greeted with a cheerful “Hullo! What’s the Shop like?” + from those who had shared their studies. Militia subalterns had more + consideration, but it was understood they were not precisely of the true + metal. Recreants who, failing for the Army, had gone into business or + banks were received for old sake’s sake, but in no way made too much of. + But when the real subalterns, officers and gentlemen full-blown—who + had been to the ends of the earth and back again and so carried no side—came + on the scene strolling about with the Head, the school divided right and + left in admiring silence. And when one laid hands on Flint, even upon the + Head of the Games crying, “Good Heavens! What do you mean by growing in + this way? You were a beastly little fag when I left,” visible haloes + encircled Flint. They would walk to and fro in the corridor with the + little red school-sergeant, telling news of old regiments; they would + burst into form-rooms sniffing the well-remembered smells of ink and + whitewash; they would find nephews and cousins in the lower forms and + present them with enormous wealth; or they would invade the gymnasium and + make Foxy show off the new stock on the bars. + </p> + <p> + Chiefly, though, they talked with the Head, who was father-confessor and + agent-general to them all; for what they shouted in their unthinking + youth, they proved in their thoughtless manhood—to wit, that the + Prooshan Bates was “a downy bird.” Young blood who had stumbled into an + entanglement with a pastry-cook’s daughter at Plymouth; experience who had + come into a small legacy but mistrusted lawyers; ambition halting at + cross-roads, anxious to take the one that would lead him farthest; + extravagance pursued by the money-lender; arrogance in the thick of a + regimental row—each carried his trouble to the Head; and Chiron + showed him, in language quite unfit for little boys, a quiet and safe way + round, out, or under. So they overflowed his house, smoked his cigars, and + drank his health as they had drunk it all the earth over when two or three + of the old school had foregathered. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t stop smoking for a minute,” said the Head. “The more you’re out of + training the better for us. I’ve demoralized the First Fifteen with + extra-tu.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, but we’re a scratch lot. Have you told ’em we shall need a substitute + even if Crandall can play?” said a Lieutenant of Engineers with a D.S.O. + to his credit. + </p> + <p> + “He wrote me he’d play, so he can’t have been much hurt. He’s coming down + to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Crandall minor that was, and brought off poor Duncan’s body?” The Head + nodded. “Where are you going to put him? We’ve turned you out of house and + home already, Head Sahib.” This was a Squadron Commander of Bengal + Lancers, home on leave. + </p> + <p> + “I’m afraid he’ll have to go up to his old dormitory. You know old boys + can claim that privilege. Yes, I think little Crandall minor must bed down + there once more.” + </p> + <p> + “Bates Sahib “—a Gunner flung a heavy arm round the Head’s neck—“you’ve + got something up your sleeve. Confess! I know that twinkle.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you see, you cuckoo?” a Submarine Miner interrupted. “Crandall goes + up to the dormitory as an object-lesson, for moral effect and so forth. + Isn’t that true, Head Sahib?” + </p> + <p> + “It is. You know too much, Purvis. I licked you for that in ’79.” + </p> + <p> + “You did, sir, and it’s my private belief you chalked the cane.” + </p> + <p> + “N-no. But I’ve a very straight eye. Perhaps that misled you.” + </p> + <p> + That opened the flood-gates of fresh memories, and they all told tales out + of school. + </p> + <p> + When Crandall minor that was—Lieutenant R. Crandall of an ordinary + Indian regiment—arrived from Exeter on the morning of the match, he + was cheered along the whole front of the College, for the prefects had + repeated the sense of that which the Head had read them in Flint’s study. + When Prout’s house understood that he would claim his Old Boy’s right to a + bed for one night, Beetle ran into King’s house next door and executed a + public “gloat” up and down the enemy’s big form-room, departing in a haze + of ink-pots. + </p> + <p> + “What d’you take any notice of those rotters for?” said Stalky, playing + substitute for the Old Boys, magnificent in black jersey, white knickers, + and black stockings. “I talked to <i>him</i> up in the dormitory when he + was changin’. Pulled his sweater down for him. He’s cut about all over the + arms—horrid purply ones. He’s goin’ to tell us about it to-night. I + asked him to when I was lacin’ his boots.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you <i>have</i> got cheek,” said Beetle, enviously. + </p> + <p> + “Slipped out before I thought. But he wasn’t a bit angry. He’s no end of a + chap. I swear, I’m goin’ to play up like beans. Tell Turkey!” + </p> + <p> + The technique of that match belongs to a bygone age. Scrimmages were tight + and enduring; hacking was direct and to the purpose; and around the + scrimmage stood the school, crying, “Put down your heads and shove!” + Toward the end everybody lost all sense of decency, and mothers of + day-boys too close to the touch-line heard language not included in the + bills. No one was actually carried off the field, but both sides felt + happier when time was called, and Beetle helped Stalky and McTurk into + their overcoats. The two had met in the many-legged heart of things, and, + as Stalky said, had “done each other proud.” As they swaggered woodenly + behind the teams—substitutes do not rank as equals of hairy men—they + passed a pony-carriage near the wall, and a husky voice cried, “Well + played. Oh, played indeed!” It was Stettson major, white-checked and + hollow-eyed, who had fought his way to the ground under escort of an + impatient coachman. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Stettson,” said Stalky, checking. “Is it safe to come near you + yet?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I’m all right. They wouldn’t let me out before, but I had to + come to the match. Your mouth looks pretty plummy.” + </p> + <p> + “Turkey trod on it accidental-done-a-purpose. Well, I’m glad you’re + better, because we owe you something. You and your membranes got us into a + sweet mess, young man.” + </p> + <p> + “I heard of that,” said the boy, giggling. “The Head told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Dooce he did! When?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on up to Coll. My shin’ll stiffen if we stay jawin’ here.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Turkey. I want to find out about this. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He was stayin’ at our house all the time I was ill.” + </p> + <p> + “What for? Neglectin’ the Coll. that way? ’Thought he was in town.” + </p> + <p> + “I was off my head, you know, and they said I kept on callin’ for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Cheek! You’re only a day-boy.” + </p> + <p> + “He came just the same, and he about saved my life. I was all bunged up + one night—just goin’ to croak, the doctor said—and they stuck + a tube or somethin’ in my throat, and the Head sucked out the stuff.” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh! ’Shot if <i>I</i> would!” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to have got diphtheria himself, the doctor said. So he stayed on + at our house instead of going back. I’d ha’ croaked in another twenty + minutes, the doctor says.” + </p> + <p> + Here the coachman, being under orders, whipped up and nearly ran over the + three. + </p> + <p> + “My Hat!” said Beetle. “That’s pretty average heroic.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty average!” McTurk’s knee in the small of his back cannoned him into + Stalky, who punted him back. “You ought to be hung!” + </p> + <p> + “And the Head ought to get the V.C.,” said Stalky. “Why, he might have + been dead <i>and</i> buried by now. But he wasn’t. But he didn’t. Ho! ho! + He just nipped through the hedge like a lusty old blackbird. + Extra-special, five hundred lines, an’ gated for a week—all sereno!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve read o’ somethin’ like that in a book,” said Beetle. “Gummy, what a + chap! Just think of it!” + </p> + <p> + “I’m thinking,” said McTurk; and he delivered a wild Irish yell that made + the team turn round. + </p> + <p> + “Shut your fat mouth,” said Stalky, dancing with impatience. “Leave it to + your Uncle Stalky, and he’ll have the Head on toast. If you say a word, + Beetle, till I give you leave, I swear I’ll slay you. <i>Habeo Capitem + crinibus minimis.</i> I’ve got him by the short hairs! Now look as if + nothing had happened.” + </p> + <p> + There was no need of guile. The school was too busy cheering the drawn + match. It hung round the lavatories regardless of muddy boots while the + team washed. It cheered Crandall minor whenever it caught sight of him, + and it cheered more wildly than ever after prayers, because the Old Boys + in evening dress, openly twirling their mustaches, attended, and instead + of standing with the masters, ranged themselves along the wall immediately + before the prefects; and the Head called them over, too—majors, + minors, and tertiuses, after their old names. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s all very fine,” he said to his guests after dinner, “but the + boys are getting a little out of hand. There will be trouble and sorrow + later, I’m afraid. You’d better turn in early, Crandall. The dormitory + will be sitting up for you. I don’t know to what dizzy heights you may + climb in your profession, but I do know you’ll never get such absolute + adoration as you’re getting now.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound the adoration. I want to finish my cigar, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s all pure gold. Go where glory waits, Crandall—minor.” + </p> + <p> + The setting of that apotheosis was a ten-bed attic dormitory, + communicating through doorless openings with three others. The gas + flickered over the raw pine washstands. There was an incessant whistling + of drafts, and outside the naked windows the sea beat on the Pebbleridge. + </p> + <p> + “Same old bed—same old mattress, I believe,” said Crandall, yawning. + “Same old everything. Oh, but I’m lame! I’d no notion you chaps could play + like this.” He caressed a battered shin. “You’ve given us all something to + remember you by.” + </p> + <p> + It needed a few minutes to put them at their ease; and, in some way they + could not understand, they were more easy when Crandall turned round and + said his prayers—a ceremony he had neglected for some years. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I <i>am</i> sorry. I’ve forgotten to put out the gas.” + </p> + <p> + “Please don’t bother,” said the prefect of the dormitory. “Worthington + does that.” + </p> + <p> + A nightgowned twelve-year-old, who had been waiting to show off, leaped + from his bed to the bracket and back again, by way of a washstand. + </p> + <p> + “How d’you manage when he’s asleep?” said Crandall, chuckling. + </p> + <p> + “Shove a cold cleek down his neck.” + </p> + <p> + “It was a wet sponge when I was junior in the dormitory... Hullo! What’s + happening?” + </p> + <p> + The darkness had filled with whispers, the sound of trailing rugs, bare + feet on bare boards, protests, giggles, and threats such as: + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet, you ass!... <em>Squattez-vous</em> on the floor, then!... I swear you + aren’t going to sit on <em>my</em> bed!... Mind the tooth-glass,” etc. + </p> + <p> + “Sta—Corkran said,” the prefect began, his tone showing his sense of + Stalky’s insolence, “that perhaps you’d tell us about that business with + Duncan’s body.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes—yes,” ran the keen whispers. “Tell us” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing to tell. What on earth are you chaps hoppin’ about in the + cold for?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind us,” said the voices. “Tell about Fat-Sow.” + </p> + <p> + So Crandall turned on his pillow and spoke to the generation he could not + see. + </p> + <p> + “Well, about three months ago he was commanding a treasure-guard—a + cart full of rupees to pay troops with—five thousand rupees in + silver. He was comin’ to a place called Fort Pearson, near Kalabagh.” + </p> + <p> + “I was born there,” squeaked a small fag. “It was called after my uncle.” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up—you and your uncle! Never mind him, Crandall.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ne’er mind. The Afridis found out that this treasure was on the + move, and they ambushed the whole show a couple of miles before he got to + the fort, and cut up the escort. Duncan was wounded, and the escort hooked + it. There weren’t more than twenty Sepoys all told, and there were any + amount of Afridis. As things turned out, I was in charge at Fort Pearson. + Fact was, I’d heard the firing and was just going to see about it, when + Duncan’s men came up. So we all turned back together. They told me + something about an officer, but I couldn’t get the hang of things till I + saw a chap under the wheels of the cart out in the open, propped up on one + arm, blazing away with a revolver. You see, the escort had abandoned the + cart, and the Afridis—they’re an awfully suspicious gang—thought + the retreat was a trap—sort of draw, you know—and the cart was + the bait. So they had left poor old Duncan alone. ’Minute they spotted how + few we were, it was a race across the flat who should reach old Duncan + first. We ran, and they ran, and we won, and after a little hackin’ about + they pulled off. I never knew it was one of us till I was right on top of + him. There are heaps of Duncans in the service, and of course the name + didn’t remind me. He wasn’t changed at all hardly. He’d been shot through + the lungs, poor old man, and he was pretty thirsty. I gave him a drink and + sat down beside him, and—funny thing, too—he said, ‘Hullo, + Toffee!’ and I said, ‘Hullo, Fat-Sow! hope you aren’t hurt,’ or something + of the kind. But he died in a minute or two—never lifted his head + off my knees... I say, you chaps out there will get your death of cold. + Better go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “All right. In a minute. But your cuts—your cuts. How did you get + wounded?” + </p> + <p> + “That was when we were taking the body back to the Fort. They came on + again, and there was a bit of a scrimmage.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you kill any one?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Shouldn’t wonder. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night. Thank you, Crandall. Thanks awf’ly, Crandall. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + The unseen crowds withdrew. His own dormitory rustled into bed and lay + silent for a while. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Crandall”—Stalky’s voice was tuned to a wholly foreign + reverence. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose a chap found another chap croaking with diphtheria—all + bunged up with it—and they stuck a tube in his throat and the chap + sucked the stuff out, what would you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Um,” said Crandall, reflectively. “I’ve only heard of one case, and that + was a doctor. He did it for a woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, this wasn’t a woman. It was just a boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Makes it all the finer, then. It’s about the bravest thing a man can do. + Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I heard of a chap doin’ it. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Then he’s a brave man.” + </p> + <p> + “Would <i>you</i> funk it?” + </p> + <p> + “Ra-ather. Anybody would. Fancy dying of diphtheria in cold blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—ah! Er! Look here!” The sentence ended in a grunt, for Stalky + had leaped out of bed and with McTurk was sitting on the head of Beetle, + who would have sprung the mine there and then. + </p> + <p> + Next day, which was the last of the term and given up to a few wholly + unimportant examinations, began with wrath and war. Mr. King had + discovered that nearly all his house—it lay, as you know, next door + but one to Prout’s in the long range of buildings—had unlocked the + doors between the dormitories and had gone in to listen to a story told by + Crandall. He went to the Head, clamorous, injured, appealing; for he never + approved of allowing so-called young men of the world to contaminate the + morals of boyhood. Very good, said the Head, he would attend to it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m awf’ly sorry,” said Crandall guiltily. “I don’t think I told + ’em anything they oughtn’t to hear. Don’t let them get into trouble on my + account.” + </p> + <p> + “Tck!” the Head answered, with the ghost of a wink. “It isn’t the boys + that make trouble; it’s the masters. However, Prout and King don’t approve + of dormitory gatherings on this scale, and one must back up the + house-masters. Moreover, it’s hopeless to punish two houses only, so late + in the term. We must be fair and include everybody. Let’s see. They have a + holiday task for the Easters, which, of course, none of them will ever + look at. We will give the whole school, except prefects and study-boys, + regular prep. to-night; and the Common-room will have to supply a master + to take it. We must be fair to all.” + </p> + <p> + “Prep. on the last night of the term. Whew!” said Crandall, thinking of + his own wild youth. “I fancy there will be larks.” + </p> + <p> + The school, frolicking among packed trunks, whooping down the corridor, + and “gloating” in form-rooms, received the news with amazement and rage. + No school in the world did prep. on the last night of the term. This thing + was monstrous, tyrannical, subversive of law, religion, and morality. They + would go into the form-rooms, and they would take their degraded holiday + task with them, but—here they smiled and speculated what manner of + man the Common-room would send up against them. The lot fell on Mason, + credulous and enthusiastic, who loved youth. No other master was anxious + to take that “prep.,” for the school lacked the steadying influence of + tradition; and men accustomed to the ordered routine of ancient + foundations found it occasionally insubordinate. The four long form-rooms, + in which all below the rank of study-boys worked, received him with + thunders of applause. Ere he had coughed twice they favored him with a + metrical summary of the marriage laws of Great Britain, as recorded by the + High Priest of the Israelites and commented on by the leader of the host. + The lower forms reminded him that it was the last day, and that therefore + he must “take it all in play.” When he dashed off to rebuke them, the + Lower Fourth and Upper Third began with one accord to be sick, loudly and + realistically. Mr. Mason tried, of all vain things under heaven, to argue + with them, and a bold soul at a back desk bade him “take fifty lines for + not ’olding up ’is ’and before speaking.” As one who prided himself upon + the perfection of his English this cut Mason to the quick, and while he + was trying to discover the offender, the Upper and Lower Second, three + form-rooms away, turned out the gas and threw ink-pots. It was a pleasant + and stimulating “prep.” The study-boys and prefects heard the echoes of it + far off, and the Common-room at dessert smiled. + </p> + <p> + Stalky waited, watch in hand, till half-past eight. “If it goes on much + longer the Head will come up,” said he. “We’ll tell the studies first, and + then the dorm-rooms. Look sharp!” + </p> + <p> + He allowed no time for Beetle to be dramatic or McTurk to drawl. They + poured into study after study, told their tale, and went again so soon as + they saw they were understood, waiting for no comment; while the noise of + that unholy “prep.” grew and deepened. By the door of Flint’s study they + met Mason flying towards the corridor.—“He’s gone to fetch the Head. + Hurry up! Come on!” They broke into Number Twelve form-room abreast and + panting. + </p> + <p> + “The Head! The Head! The Head!” That call stilled the tumult for a minute, + and Stalky, leaping to a desk, shouted, “He went and sucked the diphtheria + stuff out of Stettson major’s throat when we thought he was in town. Stop + rotting, you asses! Stettson major would have croaked if the Head hadn’t + done it. The Head might have died himself. Crandall says it’s the bravest + thing any livin’ man can do, and I”—his voice cracked—“the + Head don’t know we know!” + </p> + <p> + McTurk and Beetle, jumping from desk to desk, drove the news home among + the junior forms. There was a pause, and then, Mason behind him, the Head + entered. It was in the established order of things that no boy should + speak or move under his eye. He expected the hush of awe. He was received + with cheers—steady, ceaseless cheering. Being a wise man, he went + away, and the forms were silent and a little frightened. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right,” said Stalky. “He can’t do much. ’Tisn’t as if you’d + pulled the desks up like we did when old Carleton took prep. once. Keep it + up! Hear ’em cheering in the studies!” He rocketed out with a yell, to + find Flint and the prefects lifting the roof off the corridor. + </p> + <p> + When the Head of a limited liability company, paying four per cent., is + cheered on his saintly way to prayers, not only by four form-rooms of boys + waiting punishment, but by his trusted prefects, he can either ask for an + explanation or go his road with dignity, while the senior house-master + glares like an excited cat and points out to a white and trembling + mathematical master that certain methods—not his, thank God—-usually + produce certain results. Out of delicacy the Old Boys did not attend that + call-over; and it was to the school drawn up in the gymnasium that the + Head spoke icily. + </p> + <p> + “It is not often that I do not understand you; but I confess I do not + to-night. Some of you, after your idiotic performances at prep., seem to + think me a fit person to cheer. I am going to show you that I am not.” + </p> + <p> + Crash—crash—crash—came the triple cheer that disproved + it, and the Head glowered under the gas. “That is enough. You will gain + nothing. The little boys (the Lower School did not like that form of + address) will do me three hundred lines apiece in the holidays. I shall + take no further notice of them. The Upper School will do me one thousand + lines apiece in the holidays, to be shown up the evening of the day they + come back. And further—” + </p> + <p> + “Gummy, what a glutton!” Stalky whispered. + </p> + <p> + “For your behavior towards Mr. Mason I intend to lick the whole of the + Upper School to-morrow when I give you your journey-money. This will + include the three study-boys I found dancing on the form-room desks when I + came up. Prefects will stay after call-over.” + </p> + <p> + The school filed out in silence, but gathered in groups by the gymnasium + door waiting what might befall. + </p> + <p> + “And now, Flint,” said the Head, “will you be good enough to give me some + explanation of your conduct?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir,” said Flint desperately, “if you save a chap’s life at the + risk of your own when he’s dyin’ of diphtheria, and the Coll. finds it + out, wha-what can you expect, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Um, I see. Then that noise was not meant for—ah, cheek. I can + connive at immorality, but I cannot stand impudence. However, it does not + excuse their insolence to Mr. Mason. I’ll forego the lines this once, + remember; but the lickings hold good.” + </p> + <p> + When this news was made public, the school, lost in wonder and admiration, + gasped at the Head as he went to his house. Here was a man to be + reverenced. On the rare occasions when he caned he did it very + scientifically, and the execution of a hundred boys would be epic—immense. + </p> + <p> + “It’s all right, Head Sahib. <i>We</i> know,” said Crandall, as the Head + slipped off his gown with a grunt in his smoking-room. “I found out just + now from our substitute. He was gettin’ my opinion of your performance + last night in the dormitory. I didn’t know then that it was you he was + talkin’ about. Crafty young animal. Freckled chap with eyes—-Corkran, + I think his name is.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I know <i>him</i>, thank you,” said the Head, and reflectively. + “Ye-es, I should have included them even if I hadn’t seen ’em.” + </p> + <p> + “If the old Coll. weren’t a little above themselves already, we’d chair + you down the corridor,” said the Engineer. “Oh, Bates, how could you? You + might have caught it yourself, and where would we have been, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I always knew you were worth twenty of us any day. Now I’m sure of it,” + said the Squadron Commander, looking round for contradictions. + </p> + <p> + “He isn’t fit to manage a school, though. Promise you’ll never do it + again, Bates Sahib. We—we can’t go away comfy in our minds if you + take these risks,” said the Gunner. + </p> + <p> + “Bates Sahib, you aren’t ever goin’ to cane the whole Upper School, are + you?” said Crandall. + </p> + <p> + “I can connive at immorality, as I said, but I can’t stand impudence. + Mason’s lot is quite hard enough even when I back him. Besides, the men at + the golf-club heard them singing ‘Aaron and Moses.’ I shall have + complaints about that from the parents of day-boys. Decency must be + preserved.” + </p> + <p> + “We’re coming to help,” said all the guests. + </p> + <p> + The Upper School were caned one after the other, their overcoats over + their arms, the brakes waiting in the road below to take them to the + station, their journey-money on the table. The Head began with Stalky, + McTurk, and Beetle. He dealt faithfully by them. + </p> + <p> + “And here’s your journey-money. Good-by, and pleasant holidays.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-by. Thank you, sir. Good-by.” + </p> + <p> + They shook hands. “Desire don’t outrun performance—much—this + mornin’. We got the cream of it,” said Stalky. “Now wait till a few chaps + come out, and we’ll really cheer him.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t wait on our account, please,” said Crandall, speaking for the Old + Boys. “We’re going to begin now.” + </p> + <p> + It was very well so long as the cheering was confined to the corridor, but + when it spread to the gymnasium, when the boys awaiting their turn + cheered, the Head gave it up in despair, and the remnant flung themselves + upon him to shake hands. Then they seriously devoted themselves to + cheering till the brakes were hustled off the premises in dumb-show. + </p> +<p> +“Didn’t I say I’d get even with him?” said Stalky on the box-seat, as +they swung into the narrow Northam street. “Now all together—takin’ +time from your Uncle Stalky: +</p> +<p class="pre"> + It’s a way we have in the Army,<br /> + It’s a way we have in the Navy,<br /> + It’s a way we have at the Public Schools,<br /> + Which nobody can deny!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE FLAG OF THEIR COUNTRY. + </h2> + <p> + It was winter and bitter cold of mornings. Consequently Stalky and Beetle—McTurk + being of the offensive type that makes ornate toilet under all + circumstances—drowsed till the last moment before turning out to + call-over in the gas-lit gymnasium. It followed that they were often late; + and since every unpunctuality earned them a black mark, and since three + black marks a week meant defaulters’ drill, equally it followed that they + spent hours under the Sergeant’s hand. Foxy drilled the defaulters with + all the pomp of his old parade-ground. “Don’t think it’s any pleasure to + me” (his introduction never varied). “I’d much sooner be smoking a quiet + pipe in my own quarters—but I see we ’ave the Old Brigade on our + ’ands this afternoon. If I only ’ad you regular, Muster Corkran,” said he, + dressing the line. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve had me for nearly six weeks, you old glutton. Number off from the + right!” + </p> + <p> + “Not <i>quite</i> so previous, please. I’m taking this drill. Left, half—turn! + Slow—march.” Twenty-five sluggards, all old offenders, filed into + the gymnasium. “Quietly provide yourselves with the requisite dumb-bells; + returnin’ quietly to your place. Number off from the right, in a low + voice. Odd numbers one pace to the front. Even numbers stand fast. Now, + leanin’ forward from the ’ips, takin’ your time from me.” + </p> + <p> + The dumb-bells rose and fell, clashed and were returned as one. The boys + were experts at the weary game. + </p> + <p> + “Ve-ry good. I shall be sorry when any of you resume your ’abits of + punctuality. Quietly return dumb-bells. We will now try some simple + drill.” + </p> + <p> + “Ugh! I know that simple drill.” + </p> + <p> + “It would he ’ighly to your discredit if you did not, Muster Corkran. <i>At</i> + the same time, it is not so easy as it looks.” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you a bob, I can drill as well as you, Foxy.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll see later. Now try to imagine you ain’t defaulters at all, but an + ’arf company on parade, me bein’ your commandin’ officer. There’s no call + to laugh. If you’re lucky, most of you will ’ave to take drills ’arf your + life. Do me a little credit. You’ve been at it long enough, goodness + knows.” + </p> + <p> + They were formed into fours, marched, wheeled, and countermarched, the + spell of ordered motion strong on them. As Foxy said, they had been at it + a long time. + </p> + <p> + The gymnasium door opened, revealing McTurk in charge of an old gentleman. + </p> + <p> + The Sergeant, leading a wheel, did not see. “Not so bad,” he murmured. + “Not ’arf so bad. The pivot-man of the wheel <i>honly</i> marks time, + Muster Swayne. Now, Muster Corkran, you say you know the drill? Oblige me + by takin’ over the command and, reversin’ my words step by step, relegate + them to their previous formation.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s this? What’s this?” cried the visitor authoritatively. + </p> + <p> + “A—a little drill, sir,” stammered Foxy, saying nothing of first + causes. + </p> + <p> + “Excellent—excellent. I only wish there were more of it,” he + chirruped. “Don’t let me interrupt. You were just going to hand over to + someone, weren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + He sat down, breathing frostily in the chill air. “I shall muck it. I know + I shall,” whispered Stalky uneasily; and his discomfort was not lightened + by a murmur from the rear rank that the old gentleman was General + Collinson, a member of the College Board of Council. + </p> + <p> + “Eh—what?” said Foxy. + </p> + <p> + “Collinson, K.C.B.—He commanded the Pompadours—my father’s old + regiment,” hissed Swayne major. + </p> + <p> + “Take your time,” said the visitor. “<i>I</i> know how it feels. Your + first drill—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” He drew an unhappy breath. “’Tention. Dress!” The echo of his + own voice restored his confidence. + </p> + <p> + The wheel was faced about, flung back, broken into fours, and restored to + line without a falter. The official hour of punishment was long passed, + but no one thought of that. They were backing up Stalky—Stalky in + deadly fear lest his voice should crack. + </p> + <p> + “He does you credit, Sergeant,” was the visitor’s comment. “A good drill—and + good material to drill. Now, it’s an extraordinary thing: I’ve been + lunching with your head-master and he never told me you had a cadet-corps + in the College.” + </p> + <p> + “We ’aven’t, sir. This is only a little drill,” said the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “But aren’t they keen on it?” said McTurk, speaking for the first time, + with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Why aren’t <em>you</em> in it, though, Willy?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not punctual enough,” said McTurk. “The Sergeant only takes the + pick of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Dismiss! Break off!” cried Foxy, fearing an explosion in the ranks. “I—I + ought to have told you, sir, that—” + </p> + <p> + “But you should have a cadet-corps.” The General pursued his own line of + thought. “You <i>shall</i> have a cadet-corps, too, if my recommendation + in Council is any use. I don’t know when I’ve been so pleased. Boys + animated by a spirit like yours should set an example to the whole + school.” + </p> + <p> + “They do,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul! Can it be so late? I’ve kept my fly waiting half an hour. + Well, I must run away. Nothing like seeing things for one’s self. Which + end of the buildings does one get out at? Will you show me, Willy? Who was + that boy who took the drill?” + </p> + <p> + “Corkran, I think his name is.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to know him. That’s the kind of boy you should cultivate. + Evidently an unusual sort. A wonderful sight. Five and twenty boys, who, I + dare say, would much sooner be playing cricket”—(it was the depth of + winter; but grown people, especially those who have lived long in foreign + parts, make these little errors, and McTurk did not correct him)—“drilling + for the sheer love of it. A shame to waste so much good stuff; but I think + I can carry my point.” + </p> + <p> + “An’ who’s your friend with the white whiskers?” demanded Stalky, on + McTurk’s return to the study. + </p> + <p> + “General Collinson. He comes over to shoot with my father sometimes. + Rather a decent old bargee, too. He said I ought to cultivate your + acquaintance, Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tip you?” McTurk exhibited a blessed whole sovereign. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Stalky, annexing it, for he was treasurer. “We’ll have a hefty + brew. You’d pretty average cool cheek, Turkey, to jaw about our keenness + an’ punctuality.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t the old boy know we were defaulters?” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Not him. He came down to lunch with the Head. I found him pokin’ about + the place on his own hook afterwards, an’ I thought I’d show him the giddy + drill. When I found he was so pleased, I wasn’t goin’ to damp his giddy + ardor. He mightn’t ha’ given me the quid if I had.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasn’t old Foxy pleased? Did you see him get pink behind the ears?” said + Beetle. “It was an awful score for him. Didn’t we back him up beautifully? + Let’s go down to Keyte’s and get some cocoa and sassingers.” + </p> + <p> + They overtook Foxy, speeding down to retail the adventure to Keyte, who in + his time had been Troop Sergeant-Major in a cavalry regiment, and now, + war-worn veteran, was local postmaster and confectioner. + </p> + <p> + “You owe us something,” said Stalky, with meaning. + </p> + <p> + “I’m ’ighly grateful, Muster Corkran. I’ve ’ad to run against you pretty + hard in the way o’ business, now and then, but I <em>will</em> say that outside o’ + business—bounds an’ smokin’, an’ such like—I don’t wish to + have a more trustworthy young gentleman to ’elp me out of a hole. The way + you ’andled the drill was beautiful, though I say it. Now, if you come + regular henceforward—” + </p> + <p> + “But he’ll have to be late three times a week,” said Beetle. “You can’t + expect a chap to do that—just to please you, Foxy.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s true. Still, if you could manage it—and you, Muster + Beetle—it would give you a big start when the cadet-corps is formed. + I expect the General will recommend it.” + </p> + <p> + They raided Keyte’s very much at their own sweet will, for the old man, + who knew them well, was deep in talk with Foxy. “I make what we’ve taken + seven and six,” Stalky called at last over the counter; “but you’d better + count for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no. I’d take your word any day, Muster Corkran.—In the + Pompadours, was he, Sergeant? We lay with them once at Umballa, I think it + was.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know whether this ham-and-tongue tin is eighteen pence or one an’ + four.” + </p> + <p> + “Say one an’ fourpence, Muster Corkran... Of course, Sergeant, if it was + any use to give my time, I’d be pleased to do it, but I’m too old. I’d + like to see a drill again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on, Stalky,” cried McTurk. “He isn’t listenin’ to you. Chuck + over the money.” + </p> + <p> + “I want the quid changed, you ass. Keyte! Private Keyte! Corporal Keyte! + Terroop-Sergeant-Major Keyte, will you give me change for a quid?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes, of course. Seven an’ six.” He stared abstractedly, pushed + the silver over, and melted away into the darkness of the back room. + </p> + <p> + “Now those two’ll jaw about the Mutiny till tea-time,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Old Keyte was at Sobraon,” said Stalky. “Hear him talk about that + sometimes! Beats Foxy hollow.” + </p> + <p> + The Head’s face, inscrutable as ever, was bent over a pile of letters. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think?” he said at last to the Reverend John Gillett. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a good idea. There’s no denying that—an estimable idea.” + </p> + <p> + “We concede that much. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I have my doubts about it—that’s all. The more I know of boys the + less do I profess myself capable of following their moods; but I own I + shall be very much surprised if the scheme takes. It—it isn’t the + temper of the school. We prepare for the Army.” + </p> + <p> + “My business—in <i>this</i> matter—is to carry out the wishes + of the Council. They demand a volunteer cadet-corps. A volunteer + cadet-corps will be furnished. I have suggested, however, that we need not + embark upon the expense of uniforms till we are drilled. General Collinson + is sending us fifty lethal weapons—cut-down Sniders, he calls them—all + carefully plugged.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that is necessary in a school that uses loaded saloon-pistols to the + extent we do.” The Reverend John smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore there will be no outlay except the Sergeant’s time.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he fails you will be blamed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, assuredly. I shall post a notice in the corridor this afternoon, and—” + </p> + <p> + “I shall watch the result.” + </p> + <p> + “Kindly keep your ’ands off the new arm-rack.” Foxy wrestled with a + turbulent crowd in the gymnasium. “Nor it won’t do even a condemned Snider + any good to be continual snappin’ the lock, Mr. Swayne.—Yiss, the + uniforms will come later, when we’re more proficient; at present we will + confine ourselves to drill. I am ’ere for the purpose o’ takin’ the names + o’ those willin’ to join.—Put down that Snider, Muster Hogan!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you goin’ to do, Beetle?” said a voice. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had all the drill <i>I</i> want, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “What! After all you’ve learned? Come on! Don’t be a scab! They’ll make + you corporal in a week,” cried Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not goin’ up for the Army.” Beetle touched his spectacles. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on a shake, Foxy,” said Hogan. “Where are you goin’ to drill us?” + </p> + <p> + “Here—in the gym—till you are fit an’ capable to be taken out + on the road.” The Sergeant threw a chest. + </p> + <p> + “For all the Northam cads to look at? Not good enough, Foxibus.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we won’t make a point of it. You learn your drill first, an’ later + we’ll see.” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo,” said Ansell of Macrea’s, shouldering through the mob. “What’s all + this about a giddy cadet-corps?” + </p> + <p> + “It will save you a lot o’ time at Sandhurst,” the Sergeant replied + promptly. “You’ll be dismissed your drills early if you go up with a good + groundin’ before’and.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm! ’Don’t mind learnin’ my drill, but I’m not goin’ to ass about the + country with a toy Snider. Perowne, what are you goin’ to do? Hogan’s + joinin’.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t know whether I’ve the time,” said Perowne. “I’ve got no end of + extra-tu as it is.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, call this extra-tu,” said Ansell. “’Twon’t take us long to mug up + the drill.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s right enough, but what about marchin’ in public?” said Hogan, + not foreseeing that three years later he should die in the Burmese + sunlight outside Minhla Fort. + </p> + <p> + “Afraid the uniform won’t suit your creamy complexion?” McTurk asked with + a villainous sneer. + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, Turkey. You aren’t goin’ up for the Army.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I’m goin’ to send a substitute. Hi! Morrell an’ Wake! You two + fags by the arm-rack, you’ve got to volunteer.” + </p> + <p> + Blushing deeply—they had been too shy to apply before—the + youngsters sidled towards the Sergeant. + </p> + <p> + “But I don’t want the little chaps—not at first,” said the Sergeant + disgustedly. “I want—I’d like some of the Old Brigade—the defaulters—to + stiffen ’em a bit.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be ungrateful, Sergeant. They’re nearly as big as you get ’em in + the Army now.” McTurk read the papers of those years and could be trusted + for general information, which he used as he used his “tweaker.” Yet he + did not know that Wake minor would be a bimbashi of the Egyptian Army ere + his thirtieth year. + </p> + <p> + Hogan, Swayne, Stalky, Perowne, and Ansell were deep in consultation by + the vaulting-horse, Stalky as usual laying down the law. The Sergeant + watched them uneasily, knowing that many waited on their lead. + </p> + <p> + “Foxy don’t like my recruits,” said McTurk, in a pained tone, to Beetle. + “You get him some.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing loath, Beetle pinioned two more fags—each no taller than a + carbine. “Here you are, Foxy. Here’s food for powder. Strike for your + hearths an’ homes, you young brutes—an’ be jolly quick about it.” + </p> + <p> + “Still he isn’t happy,” said McTurk. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “For the way we have with our Army<br /> + Is the way we have with our Navy.” + </p> + <p> + Here Beetle joined in. They had found the poem in an old volume of + “Punch,” and it seemed to cover the situation: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “An’ both of ’em led to adversity,<br /> + Which nobody can deny!” + </p> + <p> + “You be quiet, young gentlemen. If you can’t ’elp—don’t ’inder.” + Foxy’s eye was still on the council by the horse. Carter, White, and + Tyrrell, all boys of influence, had joined it. The rest fingered the + rifles irresolutely. “Wait a shake,” cried Stalky. “Can’t we turn out + those rotters before we get to work?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Foxy. “Any one wishful to join will stay ’ere. Those who + do not so intend will go out, quietly closin’ the door be’ind ’em.” + </p> + <p> + Half a dozen of the earnest-minded rushed at them, and they had just time + to escape into the corridor. + </p> + <p> + “Well, why don’t you join?” Beetle asked, resettling his collar. + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the good? We aren’t goin’ up for the Army. Besides, I know the + drill—all except the manual, of course. ’Wonder what they’re doin’ + inside?” + </p> + <p> + “Makin’ a treaty with Foxy. Didn’t you hear Stalky say: ‘That’s what we’ll + do—an’ if he don’t like it he can lump it’? They’ll use Foxy for a + cram. Can’t you see, you idiot? They’re goin’ up for Sandhurst or the Shop + in less than a year. They’ll learn their drill an’ then they’ll drop it + like a shot. D’you suppose chaps with their amount of extra-tu are takin’ + up volunteerin’ for fun?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I don’t know. I thought of doin’ a poem about it—rottin’ ’em, + you know—‘The Ballad of the Dogshooters’—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you can, because King’ll be down on the corps like a + cartload o’ bricks. He hasn’t been consulted, he’s sniffin’ round the + notice-board now. Let’s lure him.” They strolled up carelessly towards the + house-master—a most meek couple. + </p> + <p> + “How’s this?” said King with a start of feigned surprise. “Methought you + would be learning to fight for your country.” + </p> + <p> + “I think the company’s full, sir,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a great pity,” sighed Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Forty valiant defenders, have we, then? How noble! What devotion! I + presume that it is possible that a desire to evade their normal + responsibilities may be at the bottom of this zeal. Doubtless they will be + accorded special privileges, like the Choir and the Natural History + Society—one must not say Bug-hunters.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I suppose so, sir,” said McTurk, cheerily. “The Head hasn’t said + anything about it yet, but he will, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, sure to.” + </p> + <p> + “It is just possible, my Beetle,” King wheeled on the last speaker, “that + the house-masters—a necessary but somewhat neglected factor in our + humble scheme of existence—may have a word to say on the matter. + Life, for the young at least, is not all weapons and munitions of war. + Education is incidentally one of our aims.” + </p> + <p> + “What a consistent pig he is,” cooed McTurk, when they were out of + earshot. “One always knows where to have him. Did you see how he rose to + that draw about the Head and special privileges?” + </p> + <p> + “Confound him, he might have had the decency to have backed the scheme. I + could do such a lovely ballad, rottin’ it; and now I’ll have to be a giddy + enthusiast. It don’t bar our pulling Stalky’s leg in the study, does it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; but in the Coll. we must be pro-cadet-corps like anything. Can’t + you make up a giddy epigram, <i>à la Catullus</i>, about King objectin’ + to it?” Beetle was at this noble task when Stalky returned all hot from + his first drill. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, my ramrod-bunger!” began McTurk. “Where’s your dead dog? Is it + Defence or Defiance?” + </p> + <p> + “Defiance,” said Stalky, and leaped on him at that word. “Look here, + Turkey, you mustn’t rot the corps. We’ve arranged it beautifully. Foxy + swears he won’t take us out into the open till we say we want to go.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Dis</i>-gustin’ exhibition of immature infants apin’ the + idiosyncrasies of their elders. Snff!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you drawn King, Beetle?” Stalky asked in a pause of the scuffle. + </p> + <p> + “Not exactly; but that’s his genial style.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, listen to your Uncle Stalky—who is a great man. Moreover and + subsequently, Foxy’s goin’ to let us drill the corps in turn—<i>privatim + et seriatim</i>—so that we’ll all know how to handle a half company + anyhow. <i>Ergo</i>, an’ <i>propter hoc</i>, when we go to the Shop we + shall be dismissed drill early; thus, my beloved ’earers, combinin’ + education with wholesome amusement.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you’d make a sort of extra-tu of it, you cold-blooded brute,” said + McTurk. “Don’t you want to die for your giddy country?” + </p> + <p> + “Not if I can jolly well avoid it. So you mustn’t rot the corps.” + </p> + <p> + “We’d decided on that, years ago,” said Beetle, scornfully. “King’ll do + the rottin’.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you’ve got to rot King, my giddy poet. Make up a good catchy + Limerick, and let the fags sing it.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, you stick to volunteerin’, and don’t jog the table.” + </p> + <p> + “He won’t have anything to take hold of,” said Stalky, with dark + significance. + </p> + <p> + They did not know what that meant till, a few days later, they proposed to + watch the corps at drill. They found the gymnasium door locked and a fag + on guard. “This is sweet cheek,” said McTurk, stooping. + </p> + <p> + “Mustn’t look through the key-hole,” said the sentry. + </p> + <p> + “I like that. Why, Wake, you little beast, I made you a volunteer.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t help it. My orders are not to allow any one to look.” + </p> + <p> + “S’pose we do?” said McTurk. “S’pose we jolly well slay you?” + </p> + <p> + “My orders are, I am to give the name of anybody who interfered with me on + my post, to the corps, an’ they’d deal with him after drill, accordin’ to + martial law.” + </p> + <p> + “What a brute Stalky is!” said Beetle. They never doubted for a moment who + had devised that scheme. + </p> + <p> + “You esteem yourself a giddy centurion, don’t you?” said Beetle, listening + to the crash and rattle of grounded arms within. + </p> + <p> + “My orders are, not to talk except to explain my orders—they’ll lick + me if I do.” + </p> + <p> + McTurk looked at Beetle. The two shook their heads and turned away. + </p> + <p> + “I swear Stalky <i>is</i> a great man,” said Beetle after a long pause. + “One consolation is that this sort of secret-society biznai will drive + King wild.” + </p> + <p> + It troubled many more than King, but the members of the corps were muter + than oysters. Foxy, being bound by no vow, carried his woes to Keyte. + </p> + <p> + “I never come across such nonsense in my life. They’ve tiled the lodge, + inner and outer guard, all complete, and then they get to work, keen as + mustard.” + </p> + <p> + “But what’s it all for?” asked the ex-Troop Sergeant-Major. + </p> + <p> + “To learn their drill. You never saw anything like it. They begin after + I’ve dismissed ’em—practisin’ tricks; but out into the open they + will <i>not</i> come—not for ever so. The ’ole thing is + pre-posterous. If you’re a cadet-corps, <i>I</i> say, be a cadet-corps, + instead o’ hidin’ be’ind locked doors.” + </p> + <p> + “And what do the authorities say about it?” + </p> + <p> + “That beats me again.” The Sergeant spoke fretfully. “I go to the ’Ead an’ + ’e gives me no help. There’s times when I think he’s makin’ fun o’ me. + I’ve never been a Volunteer-sergeant, thank God—but I’ve always had + the consideration to pity ’em. I’m glad o’ that.” + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to see ’em,” said Keyte. “From your statements, Sergeant, I + can’t get at what they’re after.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me, Major! Ask that freckle-faced young Corkran. He’s their + generalissimo.” + </p> + <p> + One does not refuse a warrior of Sobraon, or deny the only pastry-cook + within bounds. So Keyte came, by invitation, leaning upon a stick, + tremulous with old age, to sit in a corner and watch. + </p> + <p> + “They shape well. They shape uncommon well,” he whispered between + evolutions. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, <em>this</em> isn’t what they’re after. Wait till I dismiss ’em.” + </p> + <p> + At the “break-off” the ranks stood fast. Perowne fell out, faced them, + and, refreshing his memory by glimpses at a red-bound, metal-clasped book, + drilled them for ten minutes. (This is that Perowne who was shot in + Equatorial Africa by his own men.) Ansell followed him, and Hogan followed + Ansell. All three were implicitly obeyed. Then Stalky laid aside his + Snider, and, drawing a long breath, favored the company with a blast of + withering invective. + </p> + <p> + “’Old ’ard, Muster Corkran. That ain’t in any drill,” cried Foxy. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Sergeant. You never know what you may have to say to your men.—For + pity’s sake, try to stand up without leanin’ against each other, you + blear-eyed, herrin’-gutted gutter-snipes. It’s no pleasure to me to comb + you out. That ought to have been done before you came here, you—you + militia broom-stealers.” + </p> + <p> + “The old touch—the old touch. <i>We</i> know it,” said Keyte, wiping + his rheumy eyes. “But where did he pick it up?” + </p> + <p> + “From his father—or his uncle. Don’t ask me! Half of ’em must have + been born within earshot o’ the barracks.” (Foxy was not far wrong in his + guess.) “I’ve heard more back-talk since this volunteerin’ nonsense began + than I’ve heard in a year in the service.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s a rear-rank man lookin’ as though his belly were in the + pawn-shop. Yes, you, Private Ansell,” and Stalky tongue-lashed the victim + for three minutes, in gross and in detail. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” He returned to his normal tone. “First blood to me. You flushed, + Ansell. You wriggled.” + </p> + <p> + “Couldn’t help flushing,” was the answer. “Don’t think I wriggled, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s your turn now.” Stalky resumed his place in the ranks. + </p> + <p> + “Lord, Lord! It’s as good as a play,” chuckled the attentive Keyte. + Ansell, too, had been blessed with relatives in the service, and slowly, + in a lazy drawl—his style was more reflective than Stalky’s—descended + the abysmal depths of personality. + </p> + <p> + “Blood to me!” he shouted triumphantly. “You couldn’t stand it, either.” + Stalky was a rich red, and his Snider shook visibly. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think I would,” he said, struggling for composure, “but after a + bit I got in no end of a bait. Curious, ain’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Good for the temper,” said the slow-moving Hogan, as they returned arms + to the rack. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever?” said Foxy, hopelessly, to Keyte. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know much about volunteers, but it’s the rummiest show I ever + saw. I can see what they’re gettin’ at, though. Lord! how often I’ve been + told off an’ dressed down in my day! They shape well—extremely well + they shape.” + </p> + <p> + “If I could get ’em out into the open, there’s nothing I couldn’t do with + ’em, Major. Perhaps when the uniforms come down, they’ll change their + mind.” + </p> + <p> + Indeed it was time that the corps made some concession to the curiosity of + the school. Thrice had the guard been maltreated and thrice had the corps + dealt out martial law to the offender. The school raged. What was the use, + they asked, of a cadet-corps which none might see? Mr. King congratulated + them on their invisible defenders, and they could not parry his thrusts. + Foxy was growing sullen and restive. A few of the corps expressed openly + doubts as to the wisdom of their course; and the question of uniforms + loomed on the near horizon. If these were issued, they would be forced to + wear them. + </p> + <p> + But, as so often happens in this life, the matter was suddenly settled + from without. + </p> + <p> + The Head had duly informed the Council that their recommendation had been + acted upon, and that, so far as he could learn, the boys were drilling. He + said nothing of the terms on which they drilled. Naturally, General + Collinson was delighted and told his friends. One of his friends rejoiced + in a friend, a Member of Parliament—a zealous, an intelligent, and, + above all, a patriotic person, anxious to do the most good in the shortest + possible time. But we cannot answer, alas! for the friends of our friends. + If Collinson’s friend had introduced him to the General, the latter would + have taken his measure and saved much. But the friend merely spoke of his + friend; and since no two people in the world see eye to eye, the picture + conveyed to Collinson was inaccurate. Moreover, the man was an M.P., an + impeccable Conservative, and the General had the English soldier’s lurking + respect for any member of the Court of Last Appeal. He was going down into + the West country, to spread light in somebody’s benighted constituency. + Wouldn’t it be a good idea if, armed with the General’s recommendation, + he, taking the admirable and newly established cadet-corps for his text, + spoke a few words—“Just talked to the boys a little—eh? You + know the kind of thing that would be acceptable; and he’d be the very man + to do it. The sort of talk that boys understand, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “They didn’t talk to ’em much in my time,” said the General, suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but times change—with the spread of education and so on. The + boys of to-day are the men of to-morrow. An impression in youth is likely + to be permanent. And in these times, you know, with the country going to + the dogs?” + </p> + <p> + “You’re quite right.” The island was then entering on five years of Mr. + Gladstone’s rule; and the General did not like what he had seen of it. He + would certainly write to the Head, for it was beyond question that the + boys of to-day made the men of to-morrow. That, if he might say so, was + uncommonly well put. + </p> + <p> + In reply, the Head stated that he should be delighted to welcome Mr. + Raymond Martin, M.P., of whom he had heard so much; to put him up for the + night, and to allow him to address the school on any subject that he + conceived would interest them. If Mr. Martin had not yet faced an audience + of this particular class of British youth, the Head had no doubt that he + would find it an interesting experience. + </p> + <p> + “And I don’t think I am very far wrong in that last,” he confided to the + Reverend John. “Do you happen to know anything of one Raymond Martin?” + </p> + <p> + “I was at College with a man of that name,” the chaplain replied. “He was + without form and void, so far as I remember, but desperately earnest.” + </p> + <p> + “He will address the Coll. on ‘Patriotism’ next Saturday.” + </p> + <p> + “If there is one thing our boys detest more than another it is having + their Saturday evenings broken into. Patriotism has no chance beside + ‘brewing.’” + </p> + <p> + “Nor art either. D’you remember our ‘Evening with Shakespeare’?” The + Head’s eyes twinkled. “Or the humorous gentleman with the magic lantern?” + </p> + <p> + “An’ who the dooce is this Raymond Martin, M.P.?” demanded Beetle, when he + read the notice of the lecture in the corridor. “Why do the brutes always + turn up on a Saturday?” + </p> + <p> + “Ouh! Reomeo, Reomeo. Wherefore art thou Reomeo?” said McTurk over his + shoulder, quoting the Shakespeare artiste of last term. “Well, he won’t be + as bad as <i>her</i>, I hope. Stalky, are you properly patriotic? Because + if you ain’t, this chap’s goin’ to make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope he won’t take up the whole of the evening. I suppose we’ve got to + listen to him.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn’t miss him for the world,” said McTurk. “A lot of chaps thought + that Romeo-Romeo woman was a bore. <i>I</i> didn’t. I liked her! ’Member + when she began to hiccough in the middle of it? P’raps he’ll hiccough. + Whoever gets into the Gym first, bags seats for the other two.” + </p> + <p> + There was no nervousness, but a brisk and cheery affability about Mr. + Raymond Martin, M.P., as he drove up, watched by many eyes, to the Head’s + house. + </p> + <p> + “Looks a bit of a bargee,” was McTurk’s comment. “Shouldn’t be surprised + if he was a Radical. He rowed the driver about the fare. I heard him.” + </p> + <p> + “That was his giddy patriotism,” Beetle explained. After tea they joined + the rush for seats, secured a private and invisible corner, and began to + criticise. Every gas-jet was lit. On the little dais at the far end stood + the Head’s official desk, whence Mr. Martin would discourse, and a ring of + chairs for the masters. + </p> + <p> + Entered then Foxy, with official port, and leaned something like a cloth + rolled round a stick against the desk. No one in authority was yet + present, so the school applauded, crying: “What’s that, Foxy? What are you + stealin’ the gentleman’s brolly for?—We don’t birch here. We cane! + Take away that bauble!—Number off from the right”—and so + forth, till the entry of the Head and the masters ended all + demonstrations. + </p> + <p> + “One good job—the Common-room hate this as much as we do. Watch King + wrigglin’ to get out of the draft.” + </p> + <p> + “Where’s the Raymondiferous Martin? Punctuality, my beloved ’earers, is + the image o’ war—” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up. Here’s the giddy Dook. Golly, what a dewlap!” Mr. Martin, in + evening dress, was undeniably throaty—a tall, generously designed, + pink-and-white man. Still, Beetle need not have been coarse. + </p> + <p> + “Look at his back while he’s talkin’ to the Head. Vile bad form to turn + your back on the audience! He’s a Philistine—a Bopper—a + Jebusite—an’ a Hivite.” McTurk leaned back and sniffed + contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + In a few colorless words, the Head introduced the speaker and sat down + amid applause. When Mr. Martin took the applause to himself, they + naturally applauded more than ever. It was some time before he could + begin. He had no knowledge of the school—its tradition or heritage. + He did not know that the last census showed that eighty per cent. of the + boys had been born abroad—in camp, cantonment, or upon the high + seas; or that seventy-five per cent. were sons of officers in one or other + of the services—Willoughbys, Paulets, De Castros, Maynes, Randalls, + after their kind—looking to follow their fathers’ profession. The + Head might have told him this, and much more; but, after an hour-long + dinner in his company, the Head decided to say nothing whatever. Mr. + Raymond Martin seemed to know so much already. + </p> + <p> + He plunged into his speech with a long-drawn, rasping “Well, boys,” that, + though they were not conscious of it, set every young nerve ajar. He + supposed they knew—hey?—what he had come down for? It was not + often that he had an opportunity to talk to boys. He supposed that boys + were very much the same kind of persons—some people thought them + rather funny persons—as they had been in his youth. + </p> + <p> + “This man,” said McTurk, with conviction, “is <i>the</i> Gadarene Swine.” + </p> + <p> + But they must remember that they would not always be boys. They would grow + up into men, because the boys of to-day made the men of to-morrow, and + upon the men of to-morrow the fair fame of their glorious native land + depended. + </p> + <p> + “If this goes on, my beloved ’earers, it will be my painful duty to rot + this bargee.” Stalky drew a long breath through his nose. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t do that,” said McTurk. “He ain’t chargin’ anything for his Romeo.” + </p> + <p> + And so they ought to think of the duties and responsibilities of the life + that was opening before them. Life was not all—he enumerated a few + games, and, that nothing might be lacking to the sweep and impact of his + fall, added “marbles.” “Yes, life was not,” he said, “all marbles.” + </p> + <p> + There was one tense gasp—among the juniors almost a shriek—of + quivering horror, he was a heathen—an outcast—-beyond the + extremest pale of toleration—self-damned before all men. Stalky + bowed his head in his hands. McTurk, with a bright and cheerful eye, drank + in every word, and Beetle nodded solemn approval. + </p> + <p> + Some of them, doubtless, expected in a few years to have the honor of a + commission from the Queen, and to wear a sword. Now, he himself had had + some experience of these duties, as a Major in a volunteer regiment, and + he was glad to learn that they had established a volunteer corps in their + midst. The establishment of such an establishment conduced to a proper and + healthy spirit, which, if fostered, would be of great benefit to the land + they loved and were so proud to belong to. Some of those now present + expected, he had no doubt—some of them anxiously looked forward to + leading their men against the bullets of England’s foes; to confronting + the stricken field in all the pride of their youthful manhood. + </p> + <p> + Now the reserve of a boy is tenfold deeper than the reserve of a maid, she + being made for one end only by blind Nature, but man for several. With a + large and healthy hand, he tore down these veils, and trampled them under + the well-intentioned feet of eloquence. In a raucous voice, he cried aloud + little matters, like the hope of Honor and the dream of Glory, that boys + do not discuss even with their most intimate equals, cheerfully assuming + that, till he spoke, they had never considered these possibilities. He + pointed them to shining goals, with fingers which smudged out all radiance + on all horizons. He profaned the most secret places of their souls with + outcries and gesticulations, he bade them consider the deeds of their + ancestors in such a fashion that they were flushed to their tingling ears. + Some of them—the rending voice cut a frozen stillness—might + have had relatives who perished in defence of their country. They thought, + not a few of them, of an old sword in a passage, or above a breakfast-room + table, seen and fingered by stealth since they could walk. He adjured them + to emulate those illustrious examples; and they looked all ways in their + extreme discomfort. + </p> + <p> + Their years forbade them even to shape their thoughts clearly to + themselves. They felt savagely that they were being outraged by a fat man + who considered marbles a game. + </p> + <p> + And so he worked towards his peroration—which, by the way, he used + later with overwhelming success at a meeting of electors—while they + sat, flushed and uneasy, in sour disgust. After many, many words, he + reached for the cloth-wrapped stick and thrust one hand in his bosom. This—this + was the concrete symbol of their land—worthy of all honor and + reverence! Let no boy look on this flag who did not purpose to worthily + add to its imperishable lustre. He shook it before them—a large + calico Union Jack, staring in all three colors, and waited for the thunder + of applause that should crown his effort. + </p> + <p> + They looked in silence. They had certainly seen the thing before—down + at the coastguard station, or through a telescope, half-mast high when a + brig went ashore on Braunton Sands; above the roof of the Golf-club, and + in Keyte’s window, where a certain kind of striped sweetmeat bore it in + paper on each box. But the College never displayed it; it was no part of + the scheme of their lives; the Head had never alluded to it; their fathers + had not declared it unto them. It was a matter shut up, sacred and apart. + What, in the name of everything caddish, was he driving at, who waved that + horror before their eyes? Happy thought! Perhaps he was drunk. + </p> + <p> + The Head saved the situation by rising swiftly to propose a vote of + thanks, and at his first motion, the school clapped furiously, from a + sense of relief. + </p> + <p> + “And I am sure,” he concluded, the gaslight full on his face, “that you + will all join me in a very hearty vote of thanks to Mr. Raymond Martin for + the most enjoyable address he has given us.” + </p> + <p> + To this day we shall never know the rights of the case. The Head vows that + he did no such thing; or that, if he did, it must have been something in + his eye; but those who were present are persuaded that he winked, once, + openly and solemnly, after the word “enjoyable.” Mr. Raymond Martin got + his applause full tale. As he said, “Without vanity, I think my few words + went to their hearts. I never knew boys could cheer like that.” + </p> + <p> + He left as the prayer-bell rang, and the boys lined up against the wall. + The flag lay still unrolled on the desk, Foxy regarding it with pride, for + he had been touched to the quick by Mr. Martin’s eloquence. The Head and + the Common-room, standing back on the dais, could not see the glaring + offence, but a prefect left the line, rolled it up swiftly, and as swiftly + tossed it into a glove and foil locker. + </p> + <p> + Then, as though he had touched a spring, broke out the low murmur of + content, changing to quick-volleyed hand-clapping. + </p> + <p> + They discussed the speech in the dormitories. There was not one + dissentient voice. Mr. Raymond Martin, beyond question, was born in a + gutter, and bred in a board-school, where they played marbles. He was + further (I give the barest handful from great store) a Flopshus Cad, an + Outrageous Stinker, a Jelly-bellied Flag-flapper (this was Stalky’s + contribution), and several other things which it is not seemly to put + down. + </p> + <p> + The volunteer cadet-corps fell in next Monday, depressedly, with a face of + shame. Even then, judicious silence might have turned the corner. + </p> + <p> + Said Foxy: “After a fine speech like what you ’eard night before last, you + ought to take ’old of your drill with <i>re</i>-newed activity. I don’t + see how you can avoid comin’ out an’ marchin’ in the open now.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t we get out of it, then, Foxy?” Stalky’s fine old silky tone should + have warned him. + </p> + <p> + “No, not with his giving the flag so generously. He told me before he left + this morning that there was no objection to the corps usin’ it as their + own. It’s a handsome flag.” + </p> + <p> + Stalky returned his rifle to the rack in dead silence, and fell out. His + example was followed by Hogan and Ansell. Perowne hesitated. “Look here, + oughtn’t we—?” he began. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll get it out of the locker in a minute,” said the Sergeant, his back + turned. “Then we can—” + </p> + <p> + “Come on!” shouted Stalky. “What the devil are you waiting for? Dismiss! + Break off.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—what the—where the—?” + </p> + <p> + The rattle of Sniders, slammed into the rack, drowned his voice, as boy + after boy fell out. + </p> + <p> + “I—I don’t know that I shan’t have to report this to the Head,” he + stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Report, then, and be damned to you,” cried Stalky, white to the lips, and + ran out. + </p> + <p> + “Rummy thing!” said Beetle to McTurk. “I was in the study, doin’ a simply + lovely poem about the Jelly-Bellied Flag-Flapper, an’ Stalky came in, an’ + I said ‘Hullo!’ an’ he cursed me like a bargee, and then he began to blub + like anything. Shoved his head on the table and howled. Hadn’t we better + do something?” + </p> + <p> + McTurk was troubled. “P’raps he’s smashed himself up somehow.” + </p> + <p> + They found him, with very bright eyes, whistling between his teeth. + </p> + <p> + “Did I take you in, Beetle? I thought I would. Wasn’t it a good draw? + Didn’t you think I was blubbin’? Didn’t I do it well? Oh, you fat old + ass!” And he began to pull Beetle’s ears and checks, in the fashion that + was called “milking.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew you were blubbin’,” Beetle replied, composedly. “Why aren’t you at + drill?” + </p> + <p> + “Drill! What drill?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to be a clever fool. Drill in the Gym.” + </p> + <p> + “’Cause there isn’t any. The volunteer cadet-corps is broke up—disbanded—dead—putrid—corrupt—-stinkin’. + An’ if you look at me like that, Beetle, I’ll slay you too... Oh, yes, an’ + I’m goin’ to be reported to the Head for swearin’.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LAST TERM. + </h2> + <p> + It was within a few days of the holidays, the term-end examinations, and, + more important still, the issue of the College paper which Beetle edited. + He had been cajoled into that office by the blandishments of Stalky and + McTurk and the extreme rigor of study law. Once installed, he discovered, + as others have done before him, that his duty was to do the work while his + friends criticized. Stalky christened it the “Swillingford Patriot,” in + pious memory of Sponge—and McTurk compared the output unfavorably + with Ruskin and De Quincey. Only the Head took an interest in the + publication, and his methods were peculiar. He gave Beetle the run of his + brown-bound, tobacco-scented library; prohibiting nothing, recommending + nothing. There Beetle found a fat arm-chair, a silver inkstand, and + unlimited pens and paper. There were scores and scores of ancient + dramatists; there were Hakluyt, his voyages; French translations of + Muscovite authors called Pushkin and Lermontoff; little tales of a heady + and bewildering nature, interspersed with unusual songs—Peacock was + that writer’s name; there was Borrow’s “Lavengro”; an odd theme, + purporting to be a translation of something, called a “Ruba’iyat,” which + the Head said was a poem not yet come to its own; there were hundreds of + volumes of verse—-Crashaw; Dryden; Alexander Smith; L. E. L.; Lydia + Sigourney; Fletcher and a purple island; Donne; Marlowe’s “Faust”; and—this + made McTurk (to whom Beetle conveyed it) sheer drunk for three days—Ossian; + “The Earthly Paradise”; “Atalanta in Calydon”; and Rossetti—to name + only a few. Then the Head, drifting in under pretense of playing censor to + the paper, would read here a verse and here another of these poets, + opening up avenues. And, slow breathing, with half-shut eyes above his + cigar, would he speak of great men living, and journals, long dead, + founded in their riotous youth; of years when all the planets were little + new-lit stars trying to find their places in the uncaring void, and he, + the Head, knew them as young men know one another. So the regular work + went to the dogs, Beetle being full of other matters and meters, hoarded + in secret and only told to McTurk of an afternoon, on the sands, walking + high and disposedly round the wreck of the Armada galleon, shouting and + declaiming against the long-ridged seas. + </p> + <p> + Thanks in large part to their house-master’s experienced distrust, the + three for three consecutive terms had been passed over for promotion to + the rank of prefect—an office that went by merit, and carried with + it the honor of the ground-ash, and liberty, under restrictions, to use + it. + </p> + <p> + “<i>But</i>,” said Stalky, “come to think of it, we’ve done more giddy + jesting with the Sixth since we’ve been passed over than any one else in + the last seven years.” + </p> + <p> + He touched his neck proudly. It was encircled by the stiffest of stick-up + collars, which custom decreed could be worn only by the Sixth. And the + Sixth saw those collars and said no word. “Pussy,” Abanazar, or Dick Four + of a year ago would have seen them discarded in five minutes or... But the + Sixth of that term was made up mostly of young but brilliantly clever + boys, pets of the house-masters, too anxious for their dignity to care to + come to open odds with the resourceful three. So they crammed their caps + at the extreme back of their heads, instead of a trifle over one eye as + the Fifth should, and rejoiced in patent-leather boots on week-days, and + marvellous made-up ties on Sundays—no man rebuking. McTurk was going + up for Cooper’s Hill, and Stalky for Sandhurst, in the spring; and the + Head had told them both that, unless they absolutely collapsed during the + holidays, they were safe. As a trainer of colts, the Head seldom erred in + an estimate of form. + </p> + <p> + He had taken Beetle aside that day and given him much good advice, not one + word of which did Beetle remember when he dashed up to the study, white + with excitement, and poured out the wondrous tale. It demanded a great + belief. + </p> + <p> + “You begin on a hundred a year?” said McTurk unsympathetically. “Rot!” + </p> + <p> + “<em>And</em> my passage out! It’s all settled. The Head says he’s been breaking me + in for this for ever so long, and I never knew—I never knew. One + don’t begin with writing straight off, y’know. Begin by filling in + telegrams and cutting things out o’ papers with scissors.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Scissors! What an ungodly mess you’ll make of it,” said Stalky. “But, + anyhow, this will be your last term, too. Seven years, my dearly beloved + ’earers—though not prefects.” + </p> + <p> + “Not half bad years, either,” said McTurk. “I shall be sorry to leave the + old Coll.; shan’t you?” + </p> + <p> + They looked out over the sea creaming along the Pebbleridge in the clear + winter light. “Wonder where we shall all be this time next year?” said + Stalky absently. + </p> + <p> + “This time five years,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” said Beetle, “my leavin’s between ourselves. The Head hasn’t told + any one. I know he hasn’t, because Prout grunted at me to-day that if I + were more reasonable—yah!—I might be a prefect next term. I + s’ppose he’s hard up for his prefects.” + </p> + <p> + “Let’s finish up with a row with the Sixth,” suggested McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “Dirty little schoolboys!” said Stalky, who already saw himself a + Sandhurst cadet. “What’s the use?” + </p> + <p> + “Moral effect,” quoth McTurk. “Leave an imperishable tradition, and all + the rest of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Better go into Bideford an’ pay up our debts,” said Stalky. “I’ve got + three quid out of my father—<i>ad hoc</i>. Don’t owe more than + thirty bob, either. Cut along, Beetle, and ask the Head for leave. Say you + want to correct the ‘Swillingford Patriot.’” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I do,” said Beetle. “It’ll be my last issue, and I’d like it to + look decent. I’ll catch him before he goes to his lunch.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes later they wheeled out in line, by grace released from five + o’clock call-over, and all the afternoon lay before them. So also + unluckily did King, who never passed without witticisms. But brigades of + Kings could not have ruffled Beetle that day. + </p> + <p> + “Aha! Enjoying the study of light literature, my friends,” said he, + rubbing his hands. “Common mathematics are not for such soaring minds as + yours, are they?” + </p> + <p> + (“One hundred a year,” thought Beetle, smiling into vacancy.) + </p> + <p> + “Our open incompetence takes refuge in the flowery paths of inaccurate + fiction. But a day of reckoning approaches, Beetle mine. I myself have + prepared a few trifling foolish questions in Latin prose which can hardly + be evaded even by your practised acts of deception. Ye-es, Latin prose. I + think, if I may say so—but we shall see when the papers are set—‘Ulpian + serves <em>your</em> need.’ Aha! ‘<i>Elucescebat</i>, quoth our friend.’ We shall + see! We shall see!” + </p> + <p> + Still no sign from Beetle. He was on a steamer, his passage paid into the + wide and wonderful world—a thousand leagues beyond Lundy Island. + </p> + <p> + King dropped him with a snarl. + </p> + <p> + “He doesn’t know. He’ll go on correctin’ exercises an’ jawin’ an’ showin’ + off before the little boys next term—and next.” Beetle hurried after + his companions up the steep path of the furze-clad hill behind the + College. + </p> + <p> + They were throwing pebbles on the top of the gasometer, and the grimy + gas-man in charge bade them desist. They watched him oil a turncock sunk + in the ground between two furze-bushes. + </p> + <p> + “Cokey, what’s that for?” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “To turn the gas on to the kitchens,” said Cokey. “If so be I didn’t turn + her on, yeou young gen’lemen ’ud be larnin’ your book by candlelight.” + </p> + <p> + “Um!” said Stalky, and was silent for at least a minute. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo! Where are you chaps going?” A bend of the lane brought them face + to face with Tulke, senior prefect of King’s house—a smallish, + white-haired boy, of the type that must be promoted on account of its + intellect, and ever afterwards appeals to the Head to support its + authority when zeal has outrun discretion. + </p> + <p> + The three took no sort of notice. They were on lawful pass. Tulke repeated + his question hotly, for he had suffered many slights from Number Five + study, and fancied that he had at last caught them tripping. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil is that to you?” Stalky replied with his sweetest smile. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, I’m not goin’—I’m not goin’ to be sworn at by the + Fifth!” sputtered Tulke. + </p> + <p> + “Then cut along and call a prefects’ meeting,” said McTurk, knowing + Tulke’s weakness. + </p> + <p> + The prefect became inarticulate with rage. + </p> + <p> + “Mustn’t yell at the Fifth that way,” said Stalky. “It’s vile bad form.” + </p> + <p> + “Cough it up, ducky!” McTurk said calmly. + </p> + <p> + “I—I want to know what you chaps are doing out of bounds?” This with + an important flourish of his ground-ash. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” said Stalky. “Now we’re gettin’ at it. Why didn’t you ask that + before?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I ask it now. What are you doing?” + </p> + <p> + “We’re admiring you, Tulke,” said Stalky. “We think you’re no end of a + fine chap, don’t we?” + </p> + <p> + “We do! We do!” A dog-cart with some girls in it swept round the corner, + and Stalky promptly kneeled before Tulke in the attitude of prayer; so + Tulke turned a color. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve reason to believe—” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!” shouted Beetle, after the manner of Bideford’s town + crier, “Tulke has reason to believe! Three cheers for Tulke!” + </p> + <p> + They were given. “It’s all our giddy admiration,” said Stalky. “You know + how we love you, Tulke. We love you so much we think you ought to go home + and die. You’re too good to live, Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said McTurk. “<em>Do</em> oblige us by dyin’. Think how lovely you’d look + stuffed!” + </p> + <p> + Tulke swept up the road with an unpleasant glare in his eye. + </p> + <p> + “That means a prefects’ meeting—sure pop,” said Stalky. “Honor of + the Sixth involved, and all the rest of it. Tulke’ll write notes all this + afternoon, and Carson will call us up after tea. They daren’t overlook + that.” + </p> + <p> + “Bet you a bob he follows us!” said McTurk. “He’s King’s pet, and it’s + scalps to both of ’em if we’re caught out. We must be virtuous.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I move we go to Mother Yeo’s for a last gorge. We owe her about ten + bob, and Mary’ll weep sore when she knows we’re leaving,” said Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “She gave me an awful wipe on the head last time—Mary,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “She does if you don’t duck,” said McTurk. “But she generally kisses one + back. Let’s try Mother Yeo.” + </p> + <p> + They sought a little bottle-windowed half dairy, half restaurant, a + dark-brewed, two-hundred-year-old house, at the head of a narrow side + street. They had patronized it from the days of their fagdom, and were + very much friends at home. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve come to pay our debts, mother,” said Stalky, sliding his arm round + the fifty-six-inch waist of the mistress of the establishment. “To pay our + debts and say good-by—and—and we’re awf’ly hungry.” + </p> + <p> + “Aie!” said Mother Yeo, “makkin’ love to me! I’m shaamed of ’ee.” + </p> + <p> + “’Rackon us wouldn’t du no such thing if Mary was here,” said McTurk, + lapsing into the broad North Devon that the boys used on their campaigns. + </p> + <p> + “Who’m takin’ my name in vain?” The inner door opened, and Mary, + fair-haired, blue-eyed, and apple-checked, entered with a bowl of cream in + her hands. McTurk kissed her. Beetle followed suit, with exemplary calm. + Both boys were promptly cuffed. + </p> + <p> + “Niver kiss the maid when ’e can kiss the mistress,” said Stalky, + shamelessly winking at Mother Yeo, as he investigated a shelf of jams. + </p> + <p> + “Glad to see one of ’ee don’t want his head slapped no more?” said Mary + invitingly, in that direction. + </p> + <p> + “Neu! Reckon I can get ’em give me,” said Stalky, his back turned. + </p> + <p> + “Not by me—yeou little masterpiece!” + </p> + <p> + “Niver asked ’ee. There’s maids to Northam. Yiss—an’ Appledore.” An + unreproducible sniff, half contempt, half reminiscence, rounded the + retort. + </p> + <p> + “Aie! Yeou won’t niver come to no good end. Whutt be ’baout, smellin’ the + cream?” + </p> + <p> + “’Tees bad,” said Stalky. “Zmell ’un.” + </p> + <p> + Incautiously Mary did as she was bid. + </p> + <p> + “Bidevoor kiss.” + </p> + <p> + “Niver amiss,” said Stalky, taking it without injury. + </p> + <p> + “Yeou—yeou—yeou—” Mary began, bubbling with mirth. + </p> + <p> + “They’m better to Northam—more rich, laike an’ us gets them give + back again,” he said, while McTurk solemnly waltzed Mother Yeo out of + breath, and Beetle told Mary the sad news, as they sat down to clotted + cream, jam, and hot bread. + </p> + <p> + “Yiss. Yeou’ll niver zee us no more, Mary. We’re goin’ to be passons an’ + missioners.” + </p> + <p> + “Steady the Buffs!” said McTurk, looking through the blind. “Tulke <em>has</em> + followed us. He’s comin’ up the street now.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve niver put us out o’ bounds,” said Mother Yeo. “Bide yeou still, + my little dearrs.” She rolled into the inner room to make the score. + </p> + <p> + “Mary,” said Stalky, suddenly, with tragic intensity. “Do ’ee lov’ me, + Mary?” + </p> + <p> + “Iss—fai! Talled ’ee zo since yeou was zo high!” the damsel replied. + </p> + <p> + “Zee ’un comin’ up street, then?” Stalky pointed to the unconscious Tulke. + “He’ve niver been kissed by no sort or manner o’ maid in hees borned + laife, Mary. Oh, ’tees shaamful!” + </p> + <p> + “Whutt’s to do with me? ’Twill come to ’un in the way o’ nature, I + rackon.” She nodded her head sagaciously. “You niver want me to kiss un—sure-<i>ly</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “Give ’ee half-a-crown if ’ee will,” said Stalky, exhibiting the coin. + </p> + <p> + Half-a-crown was much to Mary Yeo, and a jest was more; but— + </p> + <p> + “Yeu’m afraid,” said McTurk, at the psychological moment. + </p> + <p> + “Aie!” Beetle echoed, knowing her weak point. “There’s not a maid to + Northam ’ud think twice. An’ yeou such a fine maid, tu!” + </p> + <p> + McTurk planted one foot firmly against the inner door lest Mother Yeo + should return inopportunely, for Mary’s face was set. It was then that + Tulke found his way blocked by a tall daughter of Devon—that county + of easy kisses, the pleasantest under the sun. He dodged aside politely. + She reflected a moment, and laid a vast hand upon his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Where be ’ee gwaine tu, my dearr?” said she. + </p> + <p> + Over the handkerchief he had crammed into his mouth Stalky could see the + boy turn scarlet. + </p> + <p> + “Gie I a kiss! Don’t they larn ’ee manners to College?” + </p> + <p> + Tulke gasped and wheeled. Solemnly and conscientiously Mary kissed him + twice, and the luckless prefect fled. + </p> + <p> + She stepped into the shop, her eyes full of simple wonder. “Kissed ’un?” + said Stalky, handing over the money. + </p> + <p> + “Iss, fai! But, oh, my little body, he’m no Colleger. ’Zeemed tu-minded to + cry, like.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we won’t. Yell couldn’t make us cry that way,” said McTurk. “Try.” + </p> + <p> + Whereupon Mary cuffed them all round. + </p> + <p> + As they went out with tingling ears, said Stalky generally, “Don’t think + there’ll be much of a prefects’ meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Won’t there, just!” said Beetle. “Look here. If he kissed her—which + is our tack—he is a cynically immoral hog, and his conduct is + blatant indecency. <i>Confer orationes Regis furiosissimi</i>, when he + collared me readin’ ‘Don Juan.’” + </p> + <p> + “’Course he kissed her,” said McTurk. “In the middle of the street. With + his house-cap on!” + </p> + <p> + “Time, 3.57 p.m. Make a note o’ that. What d’you mean, Beetle?” said + Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Well! He’s a truthful little beast. He may say he was kissed.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, then!” Beetle capered at the mere thought of it. “Don’t you see? The + corollary to the giddy proposition is that the Sixth can’t protect + ’emselves from outrages an’ ravishin’s. Want nursemaids to look after ’em! + We’ve only got to whisper that to the Coll. Jam for the Sixth! Jam for us! + Either way it’s jammy!” + </p> + <p> + “By Gum!” said Stalky. “Our last term’s endin’ well. Now you cut along an’ + finish up your old rag, and Turkey and me will help. We’ll go in the back + way. No need to bother Randall.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t play the giddy garden-goat, then?” Beetle knew what help meant, + though he was by no means averse to showing his importance before his + allies. The little loft behind Randall’s printing office was his own + territory, where he saw himself already controlling the “Times.” Here, + under the guidance of the inky apprentice, he had learned to find his way + more or less circuitously about the case, and considered himself an expert + compositor. + </p> + <p> + The school paper in its locked formes lay on a stone-topped table, a proof + by the side; but not for worlds would Beetle have corrected from the mere + proof. With a mallet and a pair of tweezers, he knocked out mysterious + wedges of wood that released the forme, picked a letter here and inserted + a letter there, reading as he went along and stopping much to chuckle over + his own contributions. + </p> + <p> + “You won’t show off like that,” said McTurk, “when you’ve got to do it for + your living. Upside down and backwards, isn’t it? Let’s see if I can read + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Get out!” said Beetle. “Go and read those formes in the rack there, if + you think you know so much.” + </p> + <p> + “Formes in a rack! What’s that? Don’t be so beastly professional.” + </p> + <p> + McTurk drew off with Stalky to prowl about the office. They left little + unturned. + </p> + <p> + “Come here a shake, Beetle. What’s this thing?” said Stalky, in a few + minutes. “Looks familiar.” + </p> + <p> + Said Beetle, after a glance: “It’s King’s Latin prose exam. paper. <i>In—In + Verrem: actio prima</i>. What a lark!” + </p> + <p> + “Think o’ the pure-souled, high-minded boys who’d give their eyes for a + squint at it!” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “No, Willie dear,” said Stalky; “that would be wrong and painful to our + kind teachers. You wouldn’t crib, Willie, would you?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t read the beastly stuff, anyhow,” was the reply. “Besides, we’re + leavin’ at the end o’ the term, so it makes no difference to us.” + </p> + <p> + “’Member what the Considerate Bloomer did to Spraggon’s account of the + Puffin’ton Hounds? We must sugar Mr. King’s milk for him,” said Stalky, + all lighted from within by a devilish joy. “Let’s see what Beetle can do + with those forceps he’s so proud of.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t see now you can make Latin prose much more cock-eye than it is, but + we’ll try,” said Beetle, transposing an <i>aliud</i> and <i>Asiae</i> from + two sentences. “Let’s see! We’ll put that full-stop a little further on, + and begin the sentence with the next capital. Hurrah! Here’s three lines + that can move up all in a lump.” + </p> + <p> + “‘One of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so + justly celebrated.’” Stalky knew the Puffington run by heart. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on! Here’s a <i>vol</i>—<i>voluntate quidnam</i> all by + itself,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll attend to her in a shake. <i>Quidnam</i> goes after <i>Dolabella</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old Dolabella,” murmured Stalky. “Don’t break him. Vile prose Cicero + wrote, didn’t he? He ought to be grateful for—” + </p> + <p> + “Hullo!” said McTurk, over another forme. “What price a giddy ode? <i>Qui</i>—<i>quis</i>—oh, + it’s <i>Quis multa gracilis</i>, o’ course.” + </p> + <p> + “Bring it along. We’ve sugared the milk here,” said Stalky, after a few + minutes’ zealous toil. “Never thrash your hounds unnecessarily.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Quis munditiis</i>? I swear that’s not bad,” began Beetle, plying the + tweezers. “Don’t that interrogation look pretty? <i>Heu quoties fidem</i>! + That sounds as if the chap were anxious an’ excited. <i>Cui flavam religas + in rosa</i>—Whose flavor is relegated to a rose. <i>Mutatosque Deos + flebit in antro</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “Mute gods weepin’ in a cave,” suggested Stalky. “’Pon my Sam, Horace + needs as much lookin’ after as—Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + They edited him faithfully till it was too dark to see. + </p> + <p> + “‘Aha! <em>Elucescebat</em>, quoth our friend.’ Ulpian serves my need, does it? If + King can make anything out of <i>that</i>, I’m a blue-eyed squatteroo,” + said Beetle, as they slid out of the loft window into a back alley of old + acquaintance and started on a three-mile trot to the College. But the + revision of the classics had detained them too long. They halted, blown + and breathless, in the furze at the back of the gasometer, the College + lights twinkling below, ten minutes at least late for tea and lock-up. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good,” puffed McTurk. “Bet a bob Foxy is waiting for defaulters + under the lamp by the Fives Court. It’s a nuisance, too, because the Head + gave us long leave, and one doesn’t like to break it.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Let me now from the bonded ware’ouse of my knowledge,’” began Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rot! Don’t Jorrock. Can we make a run for it?” snapped McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “‘Bishops’ boots Mr. Radcliffe also condemned, an’ spoke ’ighly in favor + of tops cleaned with champagne an’ abricot jam.’ Where’s that thing Cokey + was twiddlin’ this afternoon?” + </p> + <p> + They heard him groping in the wet, and presently beheld a great miracle. + The lights of the Coastguard cottages near the sea went out; the + brilliantly illuminated windows of the Golf-club disappeared, and were + followed by the frontages of the two hotels. Scattered villas dulled, + twinkled, and vanished. Last of all, the College lights died also. They + were left in the pitchy darkness of a windy winter’s night. + </p> + <p> + “‘Blister my kidneys. It <i>is</i> a frost. The dahlias are dead!’” said + Stalky. “Bunk!” + </p> + <p> + They squattered through the dripping gorse as the College hummed like an + angry hive and the dining-rooms chorused, “Gas! gas! gas!” till they came + to the edge of the sunk path that divided them from their study. Dropping + that ha-ha like bullets, and rebounding like boys, they dashed to their + study, in less than two minutes had changed into dry trousers and coat, + and, ostentatiously slippered, joined the mob in the dining-hall, which + resembled the storm-centre of a South American revolution. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hellish dark and smells of cheese.’” Stalky elbowed his way into the + press, howling lustily for gas. “Cokey must have gone for a walk. Foxy’ll + have to find him.” + </p> + <p> + Prout, as the nearest house-master, was trying to restore order, for rude + boys were flicking butter-pats across chaos, and McTurk had turned on the + fags’ tea-urn, so that many were parboiled and wept with an unfeigned + dolor. The Fourth and Upper Third broke into the school song, the “<em>Vive la + Compagnie</em>,” to the accompaniment of drumming knife-handles; and the junior + forms shrilled bat-like shrieks and raided one another’s victuals. Two + hundred and fifty boys in high condition, seeking for more light, are + truly earnest inquirers. + </p> + <p> + When a most vile smell of gas told them that supplies had been renewed, + Stalky, waistcoat unbuttoned, sat gorgedly over what might have been his + fourth cup of tea. “And that’s all right,” he said. “Hullo! ’Ere’s + Pomponius Ego!” + </p> + <p> + It was Carson, the head of the school, a simple, straight-minded soul, and + a pillar of the First Fifteen, who crossed over from the prefects’ table + and in a husky, official voice invited the three to attend in his study in + half an hour. “Prefects’ meetin’! Prefects’ meetin’!” hissed the tables, + and they imitated barbarically the actions and effects of the ground-ash. + </p> + <p> + “How are we goin’ to jest with ’em?” said Stalky, turning half-face to + Beetle. “It’s your play this time!” + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” was the answer, “all I want you to do is not to laugh. I’m + goin’ to take charge o’ young Tulke’s immorality—<i>à la</i> King, + and it’s goin’ to be serious. If you can’t help laughin’ don’t look at me, + or I’ll go pop.” + </p> + <p> + “I see. All right,” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + McTurk’s lank frame stiffened in every muscle and his eyelids dropped half + over his eyes. That last was a war-signal. + </p> + <p> + The eight or nine seniors, their faces very set and sober, were ranged in + chairs round Carson’s severely Philistine study. Tulke was not popular + among them, and a few who had had experience of Stalky and Company doubted + that he might, perhaps, have made an ass of himself. But the dignity of + the Sixth was to be upheld. So Carson began hurriedly: “Look here, you + chaps, I’ve—we’ve sent for you to tell you you’re a good deal too + cheeky to the Sixth—have been for some time—and—and + we’ve stood about as much as we’re goin’ to, and it seems you’ve been + cursin’ and swearin’ at Tulke on the Bideford road this afternoon, and + we’re goin’ to show you you can’t do it. That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that’s awfully good of you,” said Stalky, “but we happen to have a + few rights of our own, too. You can’t, just because you happen to be made + prefects, haul up seniors and jaw ’em on spec., like a house-master. <em>We</em> + aren’t fags, Carson. This kind of thing may do for Davies Tertius, but it + won’t do for us.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s only old Prout’s lunacy that we weren’t prefects long ago. You know + that,” said McTurk. “You haven’t any tact.” + </p> + <p> + “Hold on,” said Beetle. “A prefects’ meetin’ has to be reported to the + Head. I want to know if the Head backs Tulke in this business?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—well, it isn’t exactly a prefects’ meeting,” said Carson. “We + only called you in to warn you.” + </p> + <p> + “But all the prefects are here,” Beetle insisted. “Where’s the + difference?” + </p> + <p> + “My Gum!” said Stalky. “Do you mean to say you’ve just called us in for a + jaw—after comin’ to us before the whole school at tea an’ givin’ ’em + the impression it was a prefects’ meeting? ’Pon my Sam, Carson, you’ll get + into trouble, you will.” + </p> + <p> + “Hole-an’-corner business—hole-an’-corner business,” said McTurk, + wagging his head. “Beastly suspicious.” + </p> + <p> + The Sixth looked at each other uneasily. Tulke had called three prefects’ + meetings in two terms, till the Head had informed the Sixth that they were + expected to maintain discipline without the recurrent menace of his + authority. Now, it seemed that they had made a blunder at the outset, but + any right-minded boy would have sunk the legality and been properly + impressed by the Court. Beetle’s protest was distinct “cheek.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you chaps deserve a lickin’,” cried one Naughten incautiously. Then + was Beetle filled with a noble inspiration. + </p> + <p> + “For interferin’ with Tulke’s amours, eh?” Tulke turned a rich sloe color. + “Oh, no, you don’t!” Beetle went on. “You’ve had your innings. We’ve been + sent up for cursing and swearing at you, and we’re goin’ to be let off + with a warning! <i>Are</i> we? Now then, you’re going to catch it.” + </p> + <p> + “I—I—I—” Tulke began. “Don’t let that young devil start + jawing.” + </p> + <p> + “If you’ve anything to say you must say it decently,’’ said Carson. + </p> + <p> + “Decently? I will. Now look here. When we went into Bideford we met this + ornament of the Sixth—is that decent enough?—hanging about on + the road with a nasty look in his eye. We didn’t know <em>then</em> why he + was so anxious to stop us, <em>but</em> at five minutes to four, when we + were in Yeo’s shop, we saw Tulke in broad daylight, <em>with</em> his house-cap on, + kissin’ an’ huggin’ a woman on the pavement. Is that decent enough for + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t—I wasn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “We saw you!” said Beetle. “And now—I’ll be decent, Carson—you + sneak back with her kisses” (not for nothing had Beetle perused the later + poets) “hot on your lips and call prefects’ meetings, which aren’t + prefects’ meetings, to uphold the honor of the Sixth.” A new and + heaven-cleft path opened before him that instant. “And how do we know,” he + shouted—“how do we know how many of the Sixth are mixed up in this + abominable affair?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s what we want to know,” said McTurk, with simple dignity. + </p> + <p> + “We meant to come to you about it quietly, Carson, but you <em>would</em> have the + meeting,” said Stalky sympathetically. + </p> + <p> + The Sixth were too taken aback to reply. So, carefully modelling his + rhetoric on King, Beetle followed up the attack, surpassing and surprising + himself, “It—it isn’t so much the cynical immorality of the biznai, + as the blatant indecency of it, that’s so awful. As far as we can see, + it’s impossible for us to go into Bideford without runnin’ up against some + prefect’s unwholesome amours. There’s nothing to snigger over, Naughten. <em>I</em> + don’t pretend to know much about these things—but it seems to me a + chap must be pretty far dead in sin” (that was a quotation from the school + chaplain) “when he takes to embracing his paramours” (that was Hakluyt) + “before all the city” (a reminiscence of Milton). “He might at least have + the decency—you’re authorities on decency, I believe—to wait + till dark. But he didn’t. You didn’t! Oh, Tulke. You—you incontinent + little animal!” + </p> + <p> + “Here, shut up a minute. What’s all this about, Tulke?” said Carson. + </p> + <p> + “I—look here. I’m awfully sorry. I never thought Beetle would take + this line.” + </p> + <p> + “Because—you’ve—no decency—you—thought—I + hadn’t,” cried Beetle all in one breath. + </p> + <p> + “Tried to cover it all up with a conspiracy, did you?” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Direct insult to all three of us,” said McTurk. “A most filthy mind you + have, Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll shove you fellows outside the door if you go on like this,” said + Carson angrily. + </p> + <p> + “That proves it’s a conspiracy,” said Stalky, with the air of a virgin + martyr. + </p> + <p> + “I—I was goin’ along the street—I swear I was,” cried Tulke, + “and—and I’m awfully sorry about it—a woman came up and kissed + me. I swear I didn’t kiss her.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, filled by Stalky’s long, liquid whistle of contempt, + amazement, and derision. + </p> + <p> + “On my honor,” gulped the persecuted one. “Oh, do stop him jawing.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good,” McTurk interjected. “We are compelled, of course, to accept + your statement.” + </p> + <p> + “Confound it!” roared Naughten. “You aren’t head-prefect here, McTurk.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, well,” returned the Irishman, “you know Tulke better than we do. I am + only speaking for ourselves. <i>We</i> accept Tulke’s word. But all I can + say is that if I’d been collared in a similarly disgustin’ situation, and + had offered the same explanation Tulke has, I—I wonder what you’d + have said. However, it seems on Tulke’s word of honor—” + </p> + <p> + “And Tulkus—beg pardon—<i>kiss</i>, of course—-Tulkiss + is an honorable man,” put in Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “—that the Sixth can’t protect ’emselves from bein’ kissed when they + go for a walk!” cried Beetle, taking up the running with a rush. “Sweet + business, isn’t it? Cheerful thing to tell the fags, ain’t it? We aren’t + prefects, of course, but we aren’t kissed very much. Don’t think that sort + of thing ever enters our heads; does it, Stalky?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no!” said Stalky, turning aside to hide his emotions. McTurk’s face + merely expressed lofty contempt and a little weariness. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you seem to know a lot about it,” interposed a prefect. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t help it—when you chaps shove it under our noses.” Beetle + dropped into a drawling parody of King’s most biting colloquial style—the + gentle rain after the thunder-storm. “Well, it’s all very sufficiently + vile and disgraceful, isn’t it? I don’t know who comes out of it worst: + Tulke, who happens to have been caught; or the other fellows who haven’t. + And we—” here he wheeled fiercely on the other two—“we’ve got + to stand up and be jawed by them because we’ve disturbed their intrigues.” + </p> + <p> + “Hang it! I only wanted to give you a word of warning,” said Carson, + thereby handing himself bound to the enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Warn? You?” This with the air of one who finds loathsome gifts in his + locker. “Carson, <em>would</em> you be good enough to tell us what conceivable + thing there is that you are entitled to warn us about after this exposure? + Warn? Oh, it’s a little too much! Let’s go somewhere where it’s clean.” + </p> + <p> + The door banged behind their outraged innocence. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Beetle! Beetle! Beetle! Golden Beetle!” sobbed Stalky, hurling + himself on Beetle’s panting bosom as soon as they reached the study. + “However did you do it?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear-r man” said McTurk, embracing Beetle’s head with both arms, while he + swayed it to and fro on the neck, in time to this ancient burden— + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “Pretty lips—sweeter than—cherry or plum.<br /> + Always look—jolly and—never look glum;<br /> + Seem to say—Come away. Kissy!—come, come!<br /> + Yummy-yum! Yummy-yum! Yummy-yum-yum!” + </p> + <p> + “Look out. You’ll smash my gig-lamps,” puffed Beetle, emerging. “Wasn’t it + glorious? Didn’t I ‘Eric’ ’em splendidly? Did you spot my cribs from King? + Oh, blow!” His countenance clouded. “There’s one adjective I didn’t use—obscene. + Don’t know how I forgot that. It’s one of King’s pet ones, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. They’ll be sendin’ ambassadors round in half a shake to beg + us not to tell the school. It’s a deuced serious business for them,” said + McTurk. “Poor Sixth—poor old Sixth!” + </p> + <p> + “Immoral young rips,” Stalky snorted. “What an example to pure-souled boys + like you and me!” + </p> + <p> + And the Sixth in Carson’s study sat aghast, glowering at Tulke, who was on + the edge of tears. “Well,” said the head-prefect acidly. “You’ve made a + pretty average ghastly mess of it, Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—why didn’t you lick that young devil Beetle before he began + jawing?” Tulke wailed. + </p> + <p> + “I knew there’d be a row,” said a prefect of Prout’s house. “But you would + insist on the meeting, Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and a fat lot of good it’s done us,” said Naughten. “They come in + here and jaw our heads off when we ought to be jawin’ them. Beetle talks + to us as if we were a lot of blackguards and—and all that. And when + they’ve hung us up to dry, they go out and slam the door like a + house-master. All your fault, Tulke.” + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t kiss her.” + </p> + <p> + “You ass! If you’d said you <i>had</i> and stuck to it, it would have been + ten times better than what you did,” Naughten retorted. “Now they’ll tell + the whole school—and Beetle’ll make up a lot of beastly rhymes and + nick-names.” + </p> + <p> + “But, hang it, she kissed me!” Outside of his work, Tulke’s mind moved + slowly. + </p> + <p> + “I’m not thinking of you. I’m thinking of us. I’ll go up to their study + and see if I can make ’em keep quiet!” + </p> + <p> + “Tulke’s awf’ly cut up about this business,” Naughten began, + ingratiatingly, when he found Beetle. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s kissed him this time?” + </p> + <p> + “—and I’ve come to ask you chaps, and especially you, Beetle, not to + let the thing be known all over the school. Of course, fellows as senior + as you are can easily see why.” + </p> + <p> + “Um!” said Beetle, with the cold reluctance of one who foresees an + unpleasant public duty. “I suppose I must go and talk to the Sixth again.” + </p> + <p> + “Not the least need, my dear chap, I assure you,” said Naughten hastily. + “I’ll take any message you care to send.” + </p> + <p> + But the chance of supplying the missing adjective was too tempting. So + Naughten returned to that still undissolved meeting, Beetle, white, icy, + and aloof, at his heels. + </p> + <p> + “There seems,” he began, with laboriously crisp articulation, “there seems + to be a certain amount of uneasiness among you as to the steps we may + think fit to take in regard to this last revelation of the—ah—obscene. + If it is any consolation to you to know that we have decided—for the + honor of the school, you understand—to keep our mouths shut as to + these—ah—obscenities, you—ah—have it.” + </p> + <p> + He wheeled, his head among the stars, and strode statelily back to his + study, where Stalky and McTurk lay side by side upon the table wiping + their tearful eyes—too weak to move. + </p> + <p> + The Latin prose paper was a success beyond their wildest dreams. Stalky + and McTurk were, of course, out of all examinations (they did + extra-tuition with the Head), but Beetle attended with zeal. + </p> + <p> + “This, I presume, is a par-ergon on your part,” said King, as he dealt out + the papers. “One final exhibition ere you are translated to loftier + spheres? A last attack on the classics? It seems to confound you already.” + </p> + <p> + Beetle studied the print with knit brows. “<em>I</em> can’t make head or tail of + it,” he murmured. “What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” said King, with scholastic coquetry. “We depend upon <em>you</em> to give + us the meaning. This is an examination, Beetle mine, not a + guessing-competition. You will find your associates have no difficulty in—” + </p> + <p> + Tulke left his place and laid the paper on the desk. King looked, read, + and turned a ghastly green. + </p> + <p> + “Stalky’s missing a heap,” thought Beetle. “Wonder how King’ll get out of + it!” + </p> + <p> + “There seems,” King began with a gulp, “a certain modicum of truth in our + Beetle’s remark. I am—er—inclined to believe that the worthy + Randall must have dropped this in ferule—if you know what that + means. Beetle, you purport to be an editor. Perhaps you can enlighten the + form as to formes.” + </p> + <p> + “What, sir! Whose form! I don’t see that there’s any verb in this sentence + at all, an’—an’—the Ode is all different, somehow.” + </p> + <p> + “I was about to say, before you volunteered your criticism, that an + accident must have befallen the paper in type, and that the printer reset + it by the light of nature. No—” he held the thing at arm’s length—“our + Randall is not an authority on Cicero or Horace.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather mean to shove it off on Randall,” whispered Beetle to his + neighbor. “King must ha’ been as screwed as an owl when he wrote it out.” + </p> + <p> + “But we can amend the error by dictating it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir.” The answer came pat from a dozen throats at once. “That cuts + the time for the exam. Only two hours allowed, sir. ’Tisn’t fair. It’s a + printed-paper exam. How’re we goin’ to be marked for it! It’s all + Randall’s fault. It isn’t <em>our</em> fault, anyhow. An exam.’s an exam.,” etc., + etc. + </p> + <p> + Naturally Mr. King considered this was an attempt to undermine his + authority, and, instead of beginning dictation at once, delivered a + lecture on the spirit in which examinations should be approached. As the + storm subsided, Beetle fanned it afresh. + </p> + <p> + “Eh? What? What was that you were saying to MacLagan?” + </p> + <p> + “I only said I thought the papers ought to have been looked at before they + were given out, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Hear, hear!” from a back bench. Mr. King wished to know whether Beetle + took it upon himself personally to conduct the traditions of the school. + His zeal for knowledge ate up another fifteen minutes, during which the + prefects showed unmistakable signs of boredom. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it was a giddy time,” said Beetle, afterwards, in dismantled Number + Five. “He gibbered a bit, and I kept him on the gibber, and then he + dictated about a half of Dolabella & Co.” + </p> + <p> + “Good old Dolabella! Friend of mine. Yes?” said Stalky, pensively. + </p> + <p> + “Then we had to ask him how every other word was spelt, of course, and he + gibbered a lot more. He cursed me and MacLagan (Mac played up like a + trump) and Randall, and the ‘materialized ignorance of the unscholarly + middle classes,’ ‘lust for mere marks,’ and all the rest. It was what you + might call a final exhibition—a last attack—a giddy + par-ergon.” + </p> + <p> + “But o’ course he was blind squiffy when he wrote the paper. I hope you + explained <em>that</em>?” said Stalky. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. I told Tulke so. I said an immoral prefect an’ a drunken + house-master were legitimate inferences. Tulke nearly blubbed. He’s + awfully shy of us since Mary’s time.” + </p> + <p> + Tulke preserved that modesty till the last moment—till the + journey-money had been paid, and the boys were filling the brakes that + took them to the station. Then the three tenderly constrained him to wait + a while. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Tulke, you may be a prefect,” said Stalky, “but I’ve left the + Coll. Do you see, Tulke, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see. Don’t bear malice, Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “Stalky? Curse your impudence, you young cub,” shouted Stalky, magnificent + in top-hat, stiff collar, spats, and high-waisted, snuff-colored ulster. + “I want you to understand that <i>I’m</i> Mister Corkran, an’ you’re a + dirty little schoolboy.” + </p> + <p> + “Besides bein’ frabjously immoral,” said McTurk. “Wonder you aren’t + ashamed to foist your company on pure-minded boys like us.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Tulke,’ cried Naughten, from the prefects’ brake. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we’re comin’. Shove up and make room, you Collegers. You’ve all got + to be back next term, with your ‘Yes, sir,’ and ‘Oh, sir,’ an’ ‘No sir’ + an’ ‘Please sir’; but before we say good-by we’re going to tell you a + little story. Go on, Dickie” (this to the driver); “we’re quite ready. + Kick that hat-box under the seat, an’ don’t crowd your Uncle Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “As nice a lot of high-minded youngsters as you’d wish to see,” said + McTurk, gazing round with bland patronage. “A trifle immoral, but then—boys + will be boys. It’s no good tryin’ to look stuffy, Carson. <i>Mister</i> + Corkran will now oblige with the story of Tulke an’ Mary Yeo!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + SLAVES OF THE LAMP. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Part II. + </h2> + <p> + That very Infant who told the story of the capture of Boh Na Ghee [<i>A + Conference</i> <i>of the Powers</i>: “Many Inventions”] to Eustace + Cleaver, novelist, inherited an estateful baronetcy, with vast revenues, + resigned the service, and became a landholder, while his mother stood + guard over him to see that he married the right girl. But, new to his + position, he presented the local volunteers with a full-sized + magazine-rifle range, two miles long, across the heart of his estate, and + the surrounding families, who lived in savage seclusion among woods full + of pheasants, regarded him as an erring maniac. The noise of the firing + disturbed their poultry, and Infant was cast out from the society of + J.P.’s and decent men till such time as a daughter of the county might + lure him back to right thinking. He took his revenge by filling the house + with choice selections of old schoolmates home on leave—affable + detrimentals, at whom the bicycle-riding maidens of the surrounding + families were allowed to look from afar. I knew when a troop-ship was in + port by the Infant’s invitations. Sometimes he would produce old friends + of equal seniority; at others, young and blushing giants whom I had left + small fags far down in the Lower Second; and to these Infant and the + elders expounded the whole duty of man in the Army. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve had to cut the service,” said the Infant; “but that’s no reason why + my vast stores of experience should be lost to posterity.” He was just + thirty, and in that same summer an imperious wire drew me to his baronial + castle: “Got good haul; ex <i>Tamar</i>. Come along.” + </p> + <p> + It was an unusually good haul, arranged with a single eye to my benefit. + There was a baldish, broken-down captain of Native Infantry, shivering + with ague behind an indomitable red nose—and they called him Captain + Dickson. There was another captain, also of Native Infantry, with a fair + mustache; his face was like white glass, and his hands were fragile, but + he answered joyfully to the cry of Tertius. There was an enormously big + and well-kept man, who had evidently not campaigned for years, + clean-shaved, soft-voiced, and cat-like, but still Abanazar for all that + he adorned the Indian Political Service; and there was a lean Irishman, + his face tanned blue-black with the suns of the Telegraph Department. + Luckily the baize doors of the bachelors’ wing fitted tight, for we + dressed promiscuously in the corridor or in each other’s rooms, talking, + calling, shouting, and anon waltzing by pairs to songs of Dick Four’s own + devising. + </p> + <p> + There were sixty years of mixed work to be sifted out between us, and + since we had met one another from time to time in the quick scene-shifting + of India—a dinner, camp, or a race-meeting here; a dak-bungalow or + railway station up country somewhere else—we had never quite lost + touch. Infant sat on the banisters, hungrily and enviously drinking it in. + He enjoyed his baronetcy, but his heart yearned for the old days. + </p> + <p> + It was a cheerful babel of matters personal, provincial, and imperial, + pieces of old call-over lists, and new policies, cut short by the roar of + a Burmese gong, and we went down not less than a quarter of a mile of + stairs to meet Infant’s mother, who had known us all in our school-days + and greeted us as if those had ended a week ago. But it was fifteen years + since, with tears of laughter, she had lent me a gray princess-skirt for + amateur theatricals. + </p> + <p> + That was a dinner from the “Arabian Nights,” served in an eighty-foot hall + full of ancestors and pots of flowering roses, and, what was more + impressive, heated by steam. When it was ended and the little mother had + gone away—(“You boys want to talk, so I shall say good-night now”)—we + gathered about an apple-wood fire, in a gigantic polished steel grate, + under a mantel-piece ten feet high, and the Infant compassed us about with + curious liqueurs and that kind of cigarette which serves best to introduce + your own pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, bliss!” grunted Dick Four from a sofa, where he had been packed with + a rug over him. “First time I’ve been warm since I came home.” + </p> + <p> + We were all nearly on top of the fire, except Infant, who had been long + enough at home to take exercise when he felt chilled. This is a grisly + diversion, but much affected by the English of the Island. + </p> + <p> + “If you say a word about cold tubs and brisk walks,” drawled McTurk, “I’ll + kill you, Infant. I’ve got a liver, too. ’Member when we used to think it + a treat to turn out of our beds on a Sunday morning—thermometer + fifty-seven degrees if it was summer—and bathe off the Pebbleridge? + Ugh!” + </p> + <p> + “’Thing I don’t understand,” said Tertius, “was the way we chaps used to + go down into the lavatories, boil ourselves pink, and then come up with + all our pores open into a young snow-storm or a black frost. Yet none of + our chaps died, that I can remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Talkin’ of baths,” said McTurk, with a chuckle, “’member our bath in + Number Five, Beetle, the night Rabbits-Eggs rocked King? What wouldn’t I + give to see old Stalky now! He is the only one of the two Studies not + here.” + </p> + <p> + “Stalky is the great man of his Century,” said Dick Four. + </p> + <p> + “How d’you know?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “How do I know?” said Dick Four, scornfully. “If you’ve ever been in a + tight place with Stalky you wouldn’t ask.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t seen him since the camp at Pindi in ’87,” I said. “He was goin’ + strong then—about seven feet high and four feet through.” + </p> + <p> + “Adequate chap. Infernally adequate,” said Tertius, pulling his mustache + and staring into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Got dam’ near court-martialed and broke in Egypt in ’84,” the Infant + volunteered. “I went out in the same trooper with him—as raw as he + was. Only <i>I</i> showed it, and Stalky didn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “What was the trouble?” said McTurk, reaching forward absently to twitch + my dress-tie into position. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing. His colonel trusted him to take twenty Tommies out to wash, + or groom camels, or something at the back of Suakin, and Stalky got + embroiled with Fuzzies five miles in the interior. He conducted a masterly + retreat and wiped up eight of ’em. He knew jolly well he’d no right to go + out so far, so he took the initiative and pitched in a letter to his + colonel, who was frothing at the mouth, complaining of the ’paucity of + support accorded to him in his operations.’ Gad, it might have been one + fat brigadier slangin’ another! Then he went into the Staff Corps.” + </p> + <p> + “That—is—entirely—Stalky,” said Abanazar from his + arm-chair. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve come across him, too?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes,” he replied in his softest tones. “I was at the tail of that—that + epic. Don’t you chaps know?” + </p> + <p> + We did not—Infant, McTurk, and I; and we called for information very + politely. + </p> + <p> + “’Twasn’t anything,” said Tertius. “We got into a mess up in the + Khye-Kheen Hills a couple o’ years ago, and Stalky pulled us through. + That’s all.” + </p> + <p> + McTurk gazed at Tertius with all an Irishman’s contempt for the + tongue-tied Saxon. + </p> + <p> + “Heavens!” he said. “And it’s you and your likes govern Ireland. Tertius, + aren’t you ashamed?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t tell a yarn. I can chip in when the other fellow starts <i>bukhing</i>. + Ask him.” He pointed to Dick Four, whose nose gleamed scornfully over the + rug. + </p> + <p> + “I knew you wouldn’t,” said Dick Four. “Give me a whiskey and soda. I’ve + been drinking lemon-squash and ammoniated quinine while you chaps were + bathin’ in champagne, and my head’s singin’ like a top.” + </p> + <p> + He wiped his ragged mustache above the drink; and, his teeth chattering in + his head, began: “You know the Khye-Kheen-Malôt expedition, when we + scared the souls out of ’em with a field force they daren’t fight against? + Well, both tribes—there was a coalition against us—came in + without firing a shot; and a lot of hairy villains, who had no more power + over their men than I had, promised and vowed all sorts of things. On that + very slender evidence, Pussy dear—” + </p> + <p> + “I was at Simla,” said Abanazar, hastily. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, you’re tarred with the same brush. On the strength of those + tuppenny-ha’penny treaties, your asses of Politicals reported the country + as pacified, and the Government, being a fool, as usual, began road-makin’—dependin’ + on local supply for labor. ’Member <i>that</i>, Pussy? ’Rest of our chaps + who’d had no look-in during the campaign didn’t think there’d be any more + of it, and were anxious to get back to India. But I’d been in two of these + little rows before, and I had my suspicions. I engineered myself, <i>summa + ingenio</i>, into command of a road-patrol—no shovellin’, only + marching up and down genteelly with a guard. They’d withdrawn all the + troops they could, but I nucleused about forty Pathans, recruits chiefly, + of my regiment, and sat tight at the base-camp while the road-parties went + to work, as per Political survey.” + </p> + <p> + “Had some rippin’ sing-songs in camp, too,” said Tertius. + </p> + <p> + “My pup”—thus did Dick Four refer to his subaltern—“was a + pious little beast. He didn’t like the sing-songs, and so he went down + with pneumonia. I rootled round the camp, and found Tertius gassing about + as a D.A.Q.M.G., which, God knows, he isn’t cut out for. There were six or + eight of the old Coll. at base-camp (we’re always in force for a frontier + row), but I’d heard of Tertius as a steady old hack, and I told him he had + to shake off his D.A.Q.M.G. breeches and help <i>me</i>. Tertius + volunteered like a shot, and we settled it with the authorities, and out + we went—forty Pathans, Tertius, and me, looking up the road-parties. + Macnamara’s—’member old Mac, the Sapper, who played the fiddle so + damnably at Umballa?—Mac’s party was the last but one. The last was + Stalky’s. He was at the head of the road with some of his pet Sikhs. Mac + said he believed he was all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Stalky <i>is</i> a Sikh,” said Tertius. “He takes his men to pray at the + Durbar Sahib at Amritzar, regularly as clockwork, when he can.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t interrupt, Tertius. It was about forty miles beyond Mac’s before I + found him; and my men pointed out gently, but firmly, that the country was + risin’. What kind o’ country, Beetle? Well, <i>I</i>’m no word-painter, + thank goodness, but <i>you</i> might call it a hellish country! When we + weren’t up to our necks in snow, we were rolling down the khud. The + well-disposed inhabitants, who were to supply labor for the road-making + (don’t forget that, Pussy dear), sat behind rocks and took pot-shots at + us. ‘Old, old story! We all legged it in search of Stalky. I had a feeling + that he’d be in good cover, and about dusk we found him and his + road-party, as snug as a bug in a rug, in an old Malôt stone fort, with a + watch-tower at one corner. It overhung the road they had blasted out of + the cliff fifty feet below; and under the road things went down pretty + sheer, for five or six hundred feet, into a gorge about half a mile wide + and two or three miles long. There were chaps on the other side of the + gorge scientifically gettin’ our range. So I hammered on the gate and + nipped in, and tripped over Stalky in a greasy, bloody old poshteen, + squatting on the ground, eating with his men. I’d only seen him for half a + minute about three months before, but I might have met him yesterday. He + waved his hand all sereno. + </p> + <p> + “‘Hullo, Aladdin! Hullo, Emperor!’ he said. ‘You’re just in time for the + performance.’” + </p> + <p> + “I saw his Sikhs looked a bit battered. ‘Where’s your command? Where’s + your subaltern?’ I said. + </p> + <p> + “‘Here—all there is of it,’ said Stalky. ‘If you want young Everett, + he’s dead, and his body’s in the watch-tower. They rushed our road-party + last week, and got him and seven men. We’ve been besieged for five days. I + suppose they let you through to make sure of you. The whole country’s up. + ’Strikes me you’ve walked into a first-class trap.’ He grinned, but + neither Tertius nor I could see where the deuce the fun was. We hadn’t any + grub for our men, and Stalky had only four days’ whack for his. That came + of dependin’ upon your asinine Politicals, Pussy dear, who told us that + the inhabitants were friendly. + </p> + <p> + “To make us <i>quite</i> comfy, Stalky took us up to the watch-tower to + see poor Everett’s body, lyin’ in a foot o’ drifted snow. It looked like a + girl of fifteen—not a hair on the little fellow’s face. He’d been + shot through the temple, but the Malôts had left their mark on him. + Stalky unbuttoned the tunic, and showed it to us—a rummy + sickle-shaped cut on the chest. ’Member the snow all white on his + eyebrows, Tertius? ’Member when Stalky moved the lamp and it looked as if + he was alive?” + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es,” said Tertius, with a shudder. “’Member the beastly look on + Stalky’s face, though, with his nostrils all blown out, same as he used to + look when he was bullyin’ a fag? That was a lovely evening.” + </p> + <p> + “We held a council of war up there over Everett’s body. Stalky said the + Malôts and Khye-Kheens were up together; havin’ sunk their blood feuds to + settle us. The chaps we’d seen across the gorge were Khye-Kheens. It was + about half a mile from them to us as a bullet flies, and they’d made a + line of sungars under the brow of the hill to sleep in and starve us out. + The Malôts, he said, were in front of us promiscuous. There wasn’t good + cover behind the fort, or they’d have been there, too. Stalky didn’t mind + the Malôts half as much as he did the Khye-Kheens. He said the Malôts + were treacherous curs. What I couldn’t understand was, why in the world + the two gangs didn’t join in and rush us. There must have been at least + five hundred of ’em. Stalky said they didn’t trust each other very well, + because they were ancestral enemies when they were at home; and the only + time they’d tried a rush he’d hove a couple of blasting-charges among ’em, + and that had sickened ’em a bit. + </p> + <p> + “It was dark by the time we finished, and Stalky, always serene, said: + ‘You command now. I don’t suppose you mind my taking any action I may + consider necessary to reprovision the fort?’ I said, ‘Of course not,’ and + then the lamp blew out. So Tertius and I had to climb down the tower steps + (we didn’t want to stay with Everett) and got back to our men. Stalky had + gone off—to count the stores, I supposed. Anyhow, Tertius and I sat + up in case of a rush (they were plugging at us pretty generally, you + know), relieving each other till the mornin’. + </p> + <p> + “Mornin’ came. No Stalky. Not a sign of him. I took counsel with his + senior native officer—a grand, white-whiskered old chap—Rutton + Singh, from Jullunder-way. He only grinned, and said it was all right. + Stalky had been out of the fort twice before, somewhere or other, + accordin’ to him. He said Stalky ’ud come back unchipped, and gave me to + understand that Stalky was an invulnerable <i>Guru</i> of sorts. All the + same, I put the whole command on half rations, and set ’em to pickin’ out + loopholes. + </p> + <p> + “About noon there was no end of a snow-storm, and the enemy stopped + firing. We replied gingerly, because we were awfully short of ammunition. + Don’t suppose we fired five shots an hour, but we generally got our man. + Well, while I was talking with Rutton Singh I saw Stalky coming down from + the watch-tower, rather puffy about the eyes, his poshteen coated with + claret-colored ice. + </p> + <p> + “‘No trustin’ these snow-storms,’ he said. ‘Nip out quick and snaffle what + you can get. There’s a certain amount of friction between the Khye-Kheens + and the Malôts just now.’ + </p> + <p> + “I turned Tertius out with twenty Pathans, and they bucked about in the + snow for a bit till they came on to a sort of camp about eight hundred + yards away, with only a few men in charge and half a dozen sheep by the + fire. They finished off the men, and snaffled the sheep and as much grain + as they could carry, and came back. No one fired a shot at ’em. There + didn’t seem to be anybody about, but the snow was falling pretty thick. + </p> + <p> + “‘That’s good enough,’ said Stalky when we got dinner ready and he was + chewin’ mutton-kababs off a cleanin’ rod. ‘There’s no sense riskin’ men. + They’re holding a pow-wow between the Khye-Kheens and the Malôts at the + head of the gorge. I don’t think these so-called coalitions are much + good.’ + </p> + <p> + “Do you know what that maniac had done? Tertius and I shook it out of him + by instalments. There was an underground granary cellar-room below the + watch-tower, and in blasting the road Stalky had blown a hole into one + side of it. Being no one else <i>but</i> Stalky, he’d kept the hole open + for his own ends; and laid poor Everett’s body slap over the well of the + stairs that led down to it from the watch-tower. He’d had to move and + replace the corpse every time he used the passage. The Sikhs wouldn’t go + near the place, of course. Well, he’d got out of this hole, and dropped on + to the road. Then, in the night <i>and</i> a howling snow-storm, he’d + dropped over the edge of the khud, made his way down to the bottom of the + gorge, forded the nullah, which was half frozen, climbed up on the other + side along a track he’d discovered, and come out on the right flank of the + Khye-Kheens. He had then—listen to this!—crossed over a ridge + that paralleled their rear, walked half a mile behind that, and come out + on the left of their line where the gorge gets shallow and where there was + a regular track between the Malôt and the Khye-Kheen camps. That was + about two in the morning, and, as it turned out, a man spotted him—a + Khye-Kheen. So Stalky abolished him quietly, and left him—<i>with</i> + the Malôt mark on his chest, same as Everett had. + </p> + <p> + “‘I was just as economical as I could be,’ Stalky said to us. ‘If he’d + shouted I should have been slain. I’d never had to do that kind of thing + but once before, and that was the first time I tried that path. It’s + perfectly practicable for infantry, you know.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘What about your first man?’ I said. + </p> + <p> + “‘Oh, that was the night after they killed Everett, and I went out lookin’ + for a line of retreat for my men. A man found me. I abolished him—<i>privatim</i>—scragged + him. But on thinkin’ it over it occurred to me that if I could find the + body (I’d hove it down some rocks) I might decorate it with the Malôt + mark and leave it to the Khye-Kheens to draw inferences. So I went out + again the next night and did. The Khye-Kheens are shocked at the Malôts + perpetratin’ these two dastardly outrages after they’d sworn to sink all + bleed feuds. I lay up behind their sungars early this morning and watched + ’em. They all went to confer about it at the head of the gorge. Awf’ly + annoyed they are. Don’t wonder.’ You know the way Stalky drops out his + words, one by one.” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” said the Infant, explosively, as the full depth of the strategy + dawned on him. + </p> + <p> + “Dear-r man!” said McTurk, purring rapturously. + </p> + <p> + “Stalky stalked,” said Tertius. “That’s all there is to it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, he didn’t,” said Dick Four. “Don’t you remember how he insisted that + he had only applied his luck? Don’t you remember how Rutton Singh grabbed + his boots and grovelled in the snow, and how our men shouted?” + </p> + <p> + “None of our Pathans believed that was luck,” said Tertius. “They swore + Stalky ought to have been born a Pathan, and—’member we nearly had a + row in the fort when Rutton Singh said Stalky was a Pathan? Gad, how + furious the old chap was with my Jemadar! But Stalky just waggled his + finger and they shut up. + </p> + <p> + “Old Rutton Singh’s sword was half out, though, and he swore he’d cremate + every Khye-Kheen and Malôt he killed. That made the Jemadar pretty wild, + because he didn’t mind fighting against his own creed, but he wasn’t going + to crab a fellow Mussulman’s chances of Paradise. Then Stalky jabbered + Pushtu and Punjabi in alternate streaks. Where the deuce did he pick up + his Pushtu from, Beetle?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind his language, Dick,” said I. “Give us the gist of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I flatter myself I can address the wily Pathan on occasion, but, hang it + all, I can’t make puns in Pushtu, or top off my arguments with a smutty + story, as he did. He played on those two old dogs o’ war like a—like + a concertina. Stalky said—and the other two backed up his knowledge + of Oriental nature—that the Khye-Kheens and the Malôts between ’em + would organize a combined attack on us that night, as a proof of good + faith. They wouldn’t drive it home, though, because neither side would + trust the other on account, as Rutton Singh put it, of the little + accidents. Stalky’s notion was to crawl out at dusk with his Sikhs, + manoeuvre ’em along this ungodly goat-track that he’d found, to the back + of the Khye-Kheen position, and then lob in a few long shots at the + Malôts when the attack was well on. ‘That’ll divert their minds and help + to agitate ’em,’ he said. ‘Then you chaps can come out and sweep up the + pieces, and we’ll rendezvous at the head of the gorge. After that, I move + we get back to Mac’s camp and have something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> were commandin’?” the Infant suggested. + </p> + <p> + “I was about three months senior to Stalky, and two months Tertius’s + senior,” Dick Four replied. “<i>But</i> we were all from the same old + Coll. I should say ours was the only little affair on record where some + one wasn’t jealous of some one else.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>We</i> weren’t,” Tertius broke in, “but there was another row between + Gul Sher Khan and Rutton Singh. Our Jemadar said—he was quite right—that + no Sikh living could stalk worth a damn; and that Koran Sahib had better + take out the Pathans, who understood that kind of mountain work. Rutton + Singh said that Koran Sahib jolly well knew every Pathan was a born + deserter, and every Sikh was a gentleman, even if he couldn’t crawl on his + belly. Stalky struck in with some woman’s proverb or other, that had the + effect of doublin’ both men up with a grin. He said the Sikhs and the + Pathans could settle their claims on the Khye-Kheens and Malôts later on, + but he was going to take his Sikhs along for this mountain-climbing job, + because Sikhs could shoot. They can, too. Give ’em a mule-load of + ammunition apiece, and they’re perfectly happy.” + </p> + <p> + “And out he gat,” said Dick Four. “As soon as it was dark, and he’d had a + bit of a snooze, him and thirty Sikhs went down through the staircase in + the tower, every mother’s son of ’em salutin’ little Everett where It + stood propped up against the wall. The last I heard him say was, + ‘Kubbadar! tumbleinga! [Look out; you’ll fall!] and they tumbleingaed over + the black edge of nothing. Close upon 9 p.m. the combined attack + developed; Khye-Kheens across the valley, and Malôts in front of us, + pluggin’ at long range and yellin’ to each other to come along and cut our + infidel throats. Then they skirmished up to the gate, and began the old + game of calling our Pathans renegades, and invitin’ ’em to join the holy + war. One of our men, a young fellow from Dera Ismail, jumped on the wall + to slang ’em back, and jumped down, blubbing like a child. He’d been hit + smack in the middle of the hand. ‘Never saw a man yet who could stand a + hit in the hand without weepin’ bitterly. It tickles up all the nerves. So + Tertius took his rifle and smote the others on the head to keep them quiet + at the loopholes. The dear children wanted to open the gate and go in at + ’em generally, but that didn’t suit our book. + </p> + <p> + “At last, near midnight, I heard the wop, wop, wop, of Stalky’s Martinis + across the valley, and some general cursing among the Malôts, whose main + body was hid from us by a fold in the hillside. Stalky was brownin’ ’em at + a great rate, and very naturally they turned half right and began to blaze + at their faithless allies, the Khye-Kheens—regular volley firin’. In + less than ten minutes after Stalky opened the diversion they were going it + hammer and tongs, both sides the valley. When we could see, the valley was + rather a mixed-up affair. The Khye-Kheens had streamed out of their + sungars above the gorge to chastise the Malôts, and Stalky—I was + watching him through my glasses—had slipped in behind ’em. Very + good. The Khye-Kheens had to leg it along the hillside up to where the + gorge got shallow and they could cross over to the Malôts, who were + awfully cheered to see the Khye-Kheens taken in the rear. + </p> + <p> + “Then it occurred to me to comfort the Khye-Kheens. So I turned out the + whole command, and we advanced <i>à la pas de charge</i>, doublin’ up + what, for the sake of argument, we’ll call the Malôts’ left flank. Even + then, if they’d sunk their differences, they could have eaten us alive; + but they’d been firin’ at each other half the night, and they went on + firin’. Queerest thing you ever saw in your born days! As soon as our men + doubled up to the Malôts, they’d blaze at the Khye-Kheens more zealously + than ever, to show they were on our side, run up the valley a few hundred + yards, and halt to fire again. The moment Stalky saw our game he + duplicated it his side the gorge; and, by Jove! the Khye-Kheens did just + the same thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but,” said Tertius, “you’ve forgot him playin’ ’Arrah, Patsy, mind + the baby’ on the bugle to hurry us up.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he?” roared McTurk. Somehow we all began to sing it, and there was an + interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Rather,” said Tertius, when we were quiet. No one of the Aladdin company + could forget that tune. “Yes, he played ‘Patsy.’ Go on, Dick.” + </p> + <p> + “Finally,” said Dick Four, “we drove both mobs into each other’s arms on a + bit of level ground at the head of the valley, and saw the whole crew + whirl off, fightin’ and stabbin’ and swearin’ in a blindin’ snow-storm. + They were a heavy, hairy lot, and we didn’t follow ’em. + </p> + <p> + “Stalky had captured one prisoner—an old pensioned Sepoy of + twenty-five years’ service, who produced his discharge—an awf’ly + sportin’ old card. He had been tryin’ to make his men rush us early in the + day. He was sulky—angry with his own side for their cowardice, and + Rutton Singh wanted to bayonet him—Sikhs don’t understand fightin’ + against the Government after you’ve served it honestly—but Stalky + rescued him, and froze on to him tight—with ulterior motives, I + believe. When we got back to the fort, we buried young Everett—Stalky + wouldn’t hear of blowin’ up the place—and bunked. We’d only lost ten + men, all told.” + </p> + <p> + “Only ten, out of seventy. How did you lose ’em?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there was a rush on the fort early in the night, and a few Malôts + got over the gate. It was rather a tight thing for a minute or two, but + the recruits took it beautifully. Lucky job we hadn’t any badly wounded + men to carry, because we had forty miles to Macnamara’s camp. By Jove, how + we legged it! Half way in, old Rutton Singh collapsed, so we slung him + across four rifles and Stalky’s overcoat; and Stalky, his prisoner, and a + couple of Sikhs were his bearers. After that I went to sleep. You can, you + know, on the march, when your legs get properly numbed. Mac swears we all + marched into his camp snoring and dropped where we halted. His men lugged + us into the tents like gram-bags. I remember wakin’ up and seeing Stalky + asleep with his head on old Rutton Singh’s chest. <i>He</i> slept + twenty-four hours. I only slept seventeen, but then I was coming down with + dysentery.” + </p> + <p> + “Coming down? What rot! He had it on him before we joined Stalky in the + fort,” said Tertius. + </p> + <p> + “Well, <i>you</i> needn’t talk! You hove your sword at Macnamara and + demanded a drum-head court-martial every time you saw him. The only thing + that soothed you was putting you under arrest every half hour. You were + off your head for three days.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t remember a word of it,” said Tertius, placidly. “I remember my + orderly giving me milk, though.” + </p> + <p> + “How did Stalky come out?” McTurk demanded, purling hard over his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “Stalky? Like a serene Brahmini bull. Poor old Mac was at his Royal + Engineers’ wits’ end to know what to do. You see I was putrid with + dysentery, Tertius was ravin’, half the men had frost-bite, and + Macnamara’s orders were to break camp and come in before winter. So + Stalky, who hadn’t turned a hair, took half his supplies to save him the + bother o’ luggin’ ’em back to the plains, and all the ammunition he could + get at, and, <i>consilio et auxilio</i> Rutton Singhi, tramped back to his + fort with all his Sikhs and his precious prisoners, <em>and</em> a lot of dissolute + hangers-on that he and the prisoner had seduced into service. He had sixty + men of sorts—and his brazen cheek. Mac nearly wept with joy when he + went. You see there weren’t any explicit orders to Stalky to come in + before the passes were blocked: Mac is a great man for orders, and + Stalky’s a great man for orders—when they suit his book.” + </p> + <p> + “He told me he was goin’ to the Engadine,” said Tertius. “Sat on my cot + smokin’ a cigarette, and makin’ me laugh till I cried. Macnamara bundled + the whole lot of us down to the plains next day. We were a walkin’ + hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “Stalky told me that Macnamara was a simple godsend to him,” said Dick + Four. “I used to see him in Mac’s tent listenin’ to Mac playin’ the + fiddle, and, between the pieces, wheedlin’ Mac out of picks and shovels + and dynamite cartridges hand-over-fist. Well, that was the last we saw of + Stalky. A week or so later the passes were shut with snow, and I don’t + think Stalky wanted to be found particularly just then.” + </p> + <p> + “He didn’t,” said the fair and fat Abanazar. “He didn’t. Ho, ho!” + </p> + <p> + Dick Four threw up his thin, dry hand with the blue veins at the back of + it. “Hold on a minute, Pussy; I’ll let you in at the proper time. I went + down to my regiment, and that spring, five mouths later, I got off with a + couple of companies on detachment: nominally to look after some friends of + ours across the border; actually, of course, to recruit. It was a bit + unfortunate, because an ass of a young Naick carried a frivolous + blood-feud he’d inherited from his aunt into those hills, and the local + gentry wouldn’t volunteer into my corps. Of course, the Naick had taken + short leave to manage the business; that was all regular enough; <i>but</i> + he’d stalked my pet orderly’s uncle. It was an infernal shame, because I + knew Harris of the Ghuznees would be covering that ground three months + later, and he’d snaffle all the chaps I had my eyes on. Everybody was down + on the Naick, because they felt he ought to have had the decency to + postpone his—his disgustful amours till our companies were full + strength. + </p> + <p> + “Still the beast had a certain amount of professional feeling left. He + sent one of his aunt’s clan by night to tell me that, if I’d take + safeguard, he’d put me on to a batch of beauties. I nipped over the border + like a shot, and about ten miles the other side, in a nullah, my + rapparee-in-charge showed me about seventy men variously armed, but + standing up like a Queen’s company. Then one of ’em stepped out and lugged + round an old bugle, just like—who’s the man?—Bancroft, ain’t + it?—feeling for his eye-glass in a farce, and played ’Arrah, Patsy, + mind the baby. Arrah, Patsy, mind’—that was as for as he could get.” + </p> + <p> + That, also, was as far as Dick Four could get, because we had to sing the + old song through twice, again and once more, and subsequently, in order to + repeat it. + </p> + <p> + “He explained that if I knew the rest of the song he had a note for me + from the man the song belonged to. Whereupon, my children, I finished that + old tune on that bugle, and <i>this</i> is what I got. I knew you’d like + to look at it. Don’t grab.” (We were all struggling for a sight of the + well-known unformed handwriting.) “I’ll read it aloud. + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘Fort Everett, February 19. +</p> + <p> + “‘Dear Dick, or Tertius: The bearer of this is in charge of seventy-five + recruits, all pukka devils, but desirous of leading new lives. They have + been slightly polished, and after being boiled may shape well. I want you + to give thirty of them to my adjutant, who, though God’s own ass, will + need men this spring. The rest you can keep. You will be interested to + learn that I have extended my road to the end of the Malôt country. All + headmen and priests concerned in last September’s affair worked one month + each, supplying road metal from their own houses. Everett’s grave is + covered by a forty-foot mound, which should serve well as a base for + future triangulations. Rutton Singh sends his best salaams. I am making + some treaties, and have given my prisoner—who also sends his salaams—local + rank of Khan Bahadur. “‘A. L. Cockran.’ + </p> + <p> + “Well, that was all,” said Dick Four, when the roaring, the shouting, the + laughter, and, I think, the tears, had subsided. “I chaperoned the gang + across the border as quick as I could. They were rather homesick, but they + cheered up when they recognized some of my chaps, who had been in the + Khye-Kheen row, and they made a rippin’ good lot. It’s rather more than + three hundred miles from Fort Everett to where I picked ’em up. Now, + Pussy, tell ’em the latter end o’ Stalky as you saw it.” + </p> + <p> + Abanazar laughed a little nervous, misleading, official laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it wasn’t much. I was at Simla in the spring, when our Stalky, out of + his snows, began corresponding direct with the Government.” + </p> + <p> + “After the manner of a king,” suggested Dick Four. “My turn now, Dick. + He’d done a whole lot of things he shouldn’t have done, and constructively + pledged the Government to all sorts of action.” + </p> + <p> + “’Pledged the State’s ticker, eh?” said McTurk, with a nod to me. + </p> + <p> + “About that; but the embarrassin’ part was that it was all so thunderin’ + convenient, so well reasoned, don’t you know? Came in as pat as if he’d + had access to all sorts of information—which he couldn’t, of + course.” + </p> + <p> + “Pooh!” said Tertius, “I back Stalky against the Foreign Office any day.” + </p> + <p> + “He’d done pretty nearly everything he could think of, except strikin’ + coins in his own image and superscription, all under cover of buildin’ + this infernal road and bein’ blocked by the snow. His report was simply + amazin’. Von Lennaert tore his hair over it at first, and then he gasped, + ‘Who the dooce is this unknown Warren Hastings? He must be slain. He must + be slain officially! The Viceroy’ll never stand it. It’s unheard of. He + must be slain by his Excellency in person. Order him up here and pitch in + a stinger.’ Well, I sent him no end of an official stinger, and I pitched + in an unofficial telegram at the same time.” + </p> + <p> + “You!” This with amazement from the Infant, for Abanazar resembled nothing + so much as a fluffy Persian cat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—me,” said Abanazar. “’Twasn’t much, but after what you’ve said, + Dicky, it was rather a coincidence, because I wired: + </p> +<p class="pre"> + “‘Aladdin now has got his wife,<br /> + Your Emperor is appeased.<br /> + I think you’d better come to life:<br /> + We hope you’ve all been pleased.’<br /> +</p> + <p> + “Funny how that old song came up in my head. That was fairly non-committal + and encouragin’. The only flaw was that his Emperor wasn’t appeased by + very long chalks. Stalky extricated himself from his mountain fastnesses + and loafed up to Simla at his leisure, to be offered up on the horns of + the altar.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” I began, “surely the Commander-in-Chief is the proper—” + </p> + <p> + “His Excellency had an idea that if he blew up one single junior captain—same + as King used to blow us up—he was holdin’ the reins of empire, and, + of course, as long as he had that idea, Von Lennaert encouraged him. I’m + not sure Von Lennaert didn’t put that notion into his head.” + </p> + <p> + “They’ve changed the breed, then, since my time,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “P’r’aps. Stalky was sent up for his wiggin’ like a bad little boy. I’ve + reason to believe that His Excellency’s hair stood on end. He walked into + Stalky for one hour—Stalky at attention in the middle of the floor, + and (so he vowed) Von Lennaert pretending to soothe down His Excellency’s + topknot in dumb show in the background. Stalky didn’t dare to look up, or + he’d have laughed.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, wherefore was Stalky not broken publicly?” said the Infant, with a + large and luminous leer. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, wherefore?” said Abanazar. “To give him a chance to retrieve his + blasted career, and not to break his father’s heart. Stalky hadn’t a + father, but that didn’t matter. He behaved like a—like the Sanawar + Orphan Asylum, and His Excellency graciously spared him. Then he came + round to my office and sat opposite me for ten minutes, puffing out his + nostrils. Then he said, ‘Pussy, if I thought that basket-hanger—’” + </p> + <p> + “Hah! He remembered <em>that</em>,” said McTurk. + </p> + <p> + “‘That two-anna basket-hanger governed India, I swear I’d become a + naturalized Muscovite to-morrow. I’m a <i>femme incomprise</i>. This + thing’s broken my heart. It’ll take six months’ shootin’-leave in India to + mend it. Do you think I can get it, Pussy?’ + </p> + <p> + “He got it in about three minutes and a half, and seventeen days later he + was back in the arms of Rutton Singh—horrid disgraced—with + orders to hand over his command, etc., to Cathcart MacMonnie.” + </p> + <p> + “Observe!” said Dick Four. “One colonel of the Political Department in + charge of thirty Sikhs, on a hilltop. Observe, my children!” + </p> + <p> + “Naturally, Cathcart not being a fool, even if he <i>is</i> a Political, + let Stalky do his shooting within fifteen miles of Fort Everett for the + next six months, and I always understood they and Rutton Singh <em>and</em> the + prisoner were as thick as thieves. Then Stalky loafed back to his + regiment, I believe. I’ve never seen him since.” + </p> + <p> + “I have, though,” said McTurk, swelling with pride. + </p> + <p> + We all turned as one man. “It was at the beginning of this hot weather. I + was in camp in the Jullunder doab and stumbled slap on Stalky in a Sikh + village; sitting on the one chair of state, with half the population + grovellin’ before him, a dozen Sikh babies on his knees, an old harridan + clappin’ him on the shoulder, and a garland o’ flowers round his neck. + Told me he was recruitin’. We dined together that night, but he never said + a word of the business at the Fort. Told me, though, that if I wanted any + supplies I’d better say I was Koran Sahib’s <i>bhai</i>; and I did, and + the Sikhs wouldn’t take my money.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That must have been one of Rutton Singh’s villages,” said Dick Four; + and we smoked for some time in silence. + </p> + <p> + “I say,” said McTurk, casting back through the years, “did Stalky ever + tell you <i>how</i> Rabbits-Eggs came to rock King that night?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Dick Four. Then McTurk told. “I see,” said Dick Four, nodding. + “Practically he duplicated that trick over again. There’s nobody like + Stalky.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s just where you make the mistake,” I said. “India’s full of + Stalkies—Cheltenham and Haileybury and Marlborough chaps—that + we don’t know anything about, and the surprises will begin when there is + really a big row on.” + </p> + <p> + “Who will be surprised?” said Dick Four. + </p> + <p> + “The other side. The gentlemen who go to the front in first-class + carriages. Just imagine Stalky let loose on the south side of Europe with + a sufficiency of Sikhs and a reasonable prospect of loot. Consider it + quietly.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s something in that, but you’re too much of an optimist, Beetle,” + said the Infant. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve a right to be. Ain’t I responsible for the whole thing? You + needn’t laugh. Who wrote ‘Aladdin now has got his wife’—eh?” + </p> + <p> + “What’s that got to do with it?” said Tertius. + </p> + <p> + “Everything,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “Prove it,” said the Infant. + </p> + <p> + And I have. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STALKY & CO. ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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