Stalky & Co. - Rudyard Kipling (ebooks children's books free TXT) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
- Performer: -
Book online «Stalky & Co. - Rudyard Kipling (ebooks children's books free TXT) đ». Author Rudyard Kipling
âWhat for?â Beetle entered joyously into the libel.
âForty shillinâs or a month for hackinâ the chucker-out of the Pavvy on the shins. Bates always has a spree when he goes to town. Wish he was back, though. Iâm about sick oâ Kingâs âwhips anâ scorpionsâ anâ lectures on public-school spiritâyah!âand scholarship!â
ââCrass anâ materialized brutality of the middle-classesâreadinâ solely for marks. Not a scholar in the whole school,ââ McTurk quoted, pensively boring holes in the mantelpiece with a hot poker.
âThatâs rather a sickly way of spending an afternoon. Stinks too. Letâs come out anâ smoke. Hereâs a treat.â Stalky held up a long Indian cheroot. ââBagged it from my pater last holidays. Iâm a bit shy of it though; itâs heftier than a pipe. Weâll smoke it palaver-fashion. Hand it round, eh? Letâs lie up behind the old harrow on the Monkey-farm Road.â
âOut of bounds. Bounds beastly strict these days, too. Besides, we shall cat.â Beetle sniffed the cheroot critically. âItâs a regular Pomposo Stinkadore.â
âYou can; I shanât. What dâyou say, Turkey?â
âOh, mayâs well, I sâpose.â
âChuck on your cap, then. Itâs two to one. Beetle, out you come!â
They saw a group of boys by the notice-board in the corridor; little Foxy, the school sergeant, among them.
âMore bounds, I expect,â said Stalky. âHullo, Foxibus, who are you in mourninâ for?â There was a broad band of crape round Foxyâs arm.
âHe was in my old regiment,â said Foxy, jerking his head towards the notices, where a newspaper cutting was thumb-tacked between callover lists.
âBy gum!â quoth Stalky, uncovering as he read. âItâs old DuncanâFat-Sow Duncanâkilled on duty at something or other Kotal. âRallyinâhis_menwith conspicuousgallantry._â He would, of course. âThebodywasrecovered_.â Thatâs all right. They cut âem up sometimes, donât they, Foxy?â
âHorrid,â said the sergeant briefly.
âPoor old Fat-Sow! I was a fag when he left. How many does that make to us, Foxy?â
âMr. 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.â
The boys went out into the wet, walking swiftly.
âWonder how it feelsâto be shot and all that,â said Stalky, as they splashed down a lane. âWhere did it happen, Beetle?â
âOh, out in India somewhere. Weâre always rowinâ there. But look here, Stalky, what is the good oâ sittinâ under a hedge anâ cattinâ? Itâs be-eastly cold. Itâs be-eastly wet, and weâll be collared as sure as a gun.â
âShut up! Did you ever know your Uncle Stalky get you into a mess yet?â 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 dosed forefinger and thumb.
âGood job we hadnât one apiece, ainât it?â said Stalky, shivering through set teeth. To prove his words he immediately laid all before them, and they followed his exampleâŠ
âI told you,â moaned Beetle, sweating clammy drops. âOh, Stalky, you are a fool!â
âJecat_, tucat_, ilcat_. Nous cattons!â McTurk handed up his contribution and lay hopelessly on the cold iron.
âSomethingâs wrong with the beastly thing. I say, Beetle, have you been droppinâ ink on it?â
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. Thenâthey had heard nothingâthe Head himself stood before themâthe Head who should have been in town bribing examinersâthe Head fantastically attired in old tweeds and a deer-stalker!
âAh,â he said, fingering his mustache. âVery 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 oâclock to-morrow. You are also gated for a week. This is not exactly the time for breaking bounds. Extra-special, please.â
He disappeared over the hedge as lightly as he had come. There was a murmur of womenâs voices in the deep lane.
âOh, you Prooshan brute!â said McTurk as the voices died away. âStalky, itâs all your silly fault.â
âKill him! Kill him!â gasped Beetle.
âI ca-anât. Iâm going to cat again⊠I donât mind that, but Kingâll gloat over us horrid. Extra-special, ooh!â
Stalky made no answerânot 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.
ââStrange, how desire doth outrun performance,ââ said Beetle irreverently, quoting from some Shakespeare play that they were cramming that term. They regained their study and settled down to the imposition.
âYouâre quite right, Beetle.â Stalky spoke in silky and propitiating tones. âNow, if the Head had sent us up to a prefect, weâd have got something to remember!â
âLook here,â McTurk began with cold venom, âwe arenât goinâ to row you about this business, because itâs too bad for a row; but we want you to understand youâre jolly well excommunicated, Stalky. Youâre a plain ass.â
âHow was I to know that the Head âud collar us? What was he doinâ in those ghastly clothes, too?â
âDonât try to raise a side-issue,â Beetle grunted severely.
âWell, it was all Stettson majorâs fault. If he hadnât gone anâ got diphtheria âtwouldnât have happened. But donât you think it rather rummyâthe Head droppinâ on us that way?â
âShut up! Youâre dead!â said Beetle. âWeâve chopped your spurs off your beastly heels. Weâve cocked your shield upside down andâand I donât think you ought to be allowed to brew for a month.â
âOh, stop jawinâ at me. I wantââ
âStop? Whyâwhy, weâre gated for a week.â McTurk almost howled as the agony of the situation overcame him. âA lickinâ from King, five hundred lines, and a gatinâ. Dâyou expect us to kiss you, Stalky, you beast?â
âDrop rottinâ for a minute. I want to find out about the Head beinâ where he was.â
âWell, you have. You found him quite well and fit. Found him makinâ love to Stettson majorâs mother. That was her in the laneâI heard her. And so we were ordered a lickinâ before a day-boyâs mother. Bony old widow, too,â said McTurk. âAnything else youâd like to find out?â
âI donât care. I swear Iâll get even with him some day,â Stalky growled.
âLooks like it,â said McTurk. âExtra-special, weekâs gatinâ and five hundred⊠and now youâre goinâ to row about it! Help scrag him, Beetle!â Stalky had thrown his Virgil at them.
The Head returned next day without explanation, to find the lines waiting for him and the school a little relaxed under Mr. Kingâs viceroyalty. Mr. King had been talking at and round and over the boysâ 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 littleâso little, indeed, that when, two days after the Headâs return, he chanced to come across Stalky & Co., gated but ever resourceful, playing marbles in the corridor, he said that he was not surprisedânot in the least surprised. This was what he had expected from persons of their morale.
âBut there isnât any rule against marbles, sir. Very interestinâ game,â 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.
This is what happened behind the closed doors of Flintâs study, and Flint was then Head of the Games:â
âOh, I say, Flint. King has sent me to you for playinâ marbles in the corridor anâ shoutinâ âalley torâ anâ âknuckle down.ââ
âWhat does he suppose I have to do with that?â was the answer.
âDunno. Well?â Beetle grinned wickedly. âWhat am I to tell him? Heâs rather wrathy about it.â
âIf the Head chooses to put a notice in the corridor forbiddinâ marbles, I can do something; but I canât move on a housemasterâs report. He knows that as well as I do.â
The sense of this oracle Beetle conveyed, all unsweetened, to King, who hastened to interview Flint.
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 bad 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.
âAm I to understand it is your intention to allow board-school games under your study windows, Flint? If so, I can only sayââ He said much, and Flint listened politely.
âWell, sir, if the Head sees fit to call a prefectsâ meeting we are bound to take the matter up. But the tradition of the school is that the prefects canât move in any matter affecting the whole school without the Headâs direct order.â
Much more was then delivered, both sides a little losing their temper.
After tea, at an informal gathering of prefects in his study, Flint related the adventure.
âHeâs been playinâ for this for a week, and now heâs got it. You know as well as I do that if he hadnât been gassing at us the way he has, that young devil Beetle wouldnât have dreamed of marbles.â
âWe know that,â said Perowne, âbut that isnât the question. On Flintâs showinâ King has called the prefects names enough to justify a first-class row. Crammersâ rejections, ill-regulated hobble-de-hoys, wasnât it? Now itâs impossible for prefectsââ
âRot,â said Flint. âKingâs the best classical cram weâve got; and âtisnât fair to bother the Head with a row. Heâs up to his eyes with extra-tu. and Army work as it is. Besides, as I told King, we arenât a public school. Weâre a limited liability company payinâ four per cent. My fatherâs a shareholder, too.â
âWhatâs that got to do with it?â said Venner, a red-headed boy of nineteen.
âWell, seems to me that we should be interferinâ with ourselves. Weâve got to get into the Army orâget out, havenât we? Kingâs hired by the Council to teach us. All the restâs gumdiddle. Canât you see?â
It might have been because he felt the air was a little thunderous that the Head took his after-dinner cheroot to Flintâs study; but he so often began an evening in a prefectâs room that nobody suspected when he drifted in pensively, after the knocks that etiquette demanded.
âPrefectsâ meeting?â A cock of one wise eyebrow.
âNot exactly, sir; weâre just talking things over. Wonât you take the easy chair?â
âThanks. Luxurious infants, you are.â He dropped into Flintâs big half-couch and puffed for a while in silence. âWell, since youâre all here, I may confess that Iâm the mute with the bowstring.â
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.
âYes, Iâve come for my pound of flesh. I ought to have had you out before the Exeter match; but itâs our sacred duty to beat
Comments (0)