bookssland.com Ā» Adventure Ā» Stalky & Co. - Rudyard Kipling (ebooks children's books free TXT) šŸ“—

Book online Ā«Stalky & Co. - Rudyard Kipling (ebooks children's books free TXT) šŸ“—Ā». Author Rudyard Kipling



1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... 34
Go to page:
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.

ā€œWhew! What a place! Talk of natural history; this is it,ā€ said Stalky, filling himself a pipe. ā€œIsnā€™t it scrumptious? Good old sea!ā€ He spat again approvingly, and was silent.

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.

ā€œHullo, hereā€™s a keeper,ā€ said Stalky, shutting ā€œHandley Crossā€ cautiously, and peering through the jungle. A man with a gun appeared on the sky-line to the east. ā€œConfound him, heā€™s going to sit down.ā€

ā€œHeā€™d swear we were poachinā€™, too,ā€ said Beetle. ā€œWhatā€™s the good of pheasantsā€™ eggs? Theyā€™re always addled, too.ā€

ā€œMight as well get up to the wood, I think,ā€ said Stalky. ā€œWe donā€™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.ā€

Beetle was already far up the tunnel. They heard him gasp indescribably: there was the crash of a heavy body leaping through the furze.

ā€œAie! yeou little red rascal. I see yeou!ā€ 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 Stalkyā€™s legs, and ran over the cliff-edge.

They said nothing till they reached the wood, torn, disheveled, hot, but unseen.

ā€œNarrow squeak,ā€ said Stalky. ā€œIā€™ll swear some of the pellets went through my hair.ā€

ā€œDid you see him?ā€ said Beetle. ā€œI almost put my hand on him. Wasnā€™t he a wopper! Didnā€™t he stink! Hullo, Turkey, whatā€™s the matter? Are you hit?ā€

McTurkā€™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.

ā€œDo you know that that was just as bad as murder?ā€ he said, in a grating voice, as he brushed prickles from his head.

ā€œWell, he didnā€™t hit us,ā€ said Stalky. ā€œI think it was rather a lark. Here, where are you going?ā€

ā€œIā€™m going up to the house, if there is one,ā€ said McTurk, pushing through the hollies. ā€œI am going to tell this Colonel Dabney.ā€

ā€œAre you crazy? Heā€™ll swear it served us jolly well right. Heā€™ll report us. Itā€™ll be a public lickinā€™. Oh, Turkey, donā€™t be an ass! Think of us!ā€

ā€œYou fool!ā€ said McTurk, turning savagely. ā€œDā€™you suppose Iā€™m thinkinā€™ of us? Itā€™s the keeper.ā€

ā€œHeā€™s cracked,ā€ said Beetle, miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this was a new Turkeyā€”a haughty, angular, nose-lifted Turkeyā€”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.

ā€œAre you Colonel Dabney?ā€ McTurk began in this new creaking voice of his.

ā€œIā€”I am, andā€”ā€ his eyes traveled up and down the boyā€”ā€œwhoā€”what the devil dā€™you want? Yeā€™ve been disturbing my pheasants. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. Ye neednā€™t laugh at it.ā€ (McTurkā€™s not too lovely features had twisted them. selves into a horrible sneer at the word pheasant.) ā€œYouā€™ve been birdsā€™-nesting. You neednā€™t hide your hat. I can see that you belong to the College. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. Ye do! Your name and number at once, sir. Ye want to speak to meā€”Eh? You saw my notice-boards? Must have. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. Ye did! Damnable, oh damnable!ā€

He choked with emotion. McTurkā€™s heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered a littleā€”two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should he, the offender, be angry?

ā€œLo-look here, sir. Doā€”do you shoot foxes? Because, if you donā€™t, your keeper does. Weā€™ve seen him! I do-donā€™t care what you call usā€”but itā€™s an awful thing. Itā€™s the ruin of good feelinā€™ among neighbors. A ma-man ought to say once and for all how he stands about preservinā€™. Itā€™s worse than murder, because thereā€™s no legal remedy.ā€ McTurk was quoting confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman made noises in his throat.

ā€œDo you know who I am?ā€ he gurgled at last; Stalky and Beetle quaking.

ā€œNo, 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?ā€

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 slainā€”once by the old gentleman and once by the Head. A public licking for the throe was the least they could expect. Yetā€”if their eyes and ears were to be trustedā€”the old gentleman had collapsed. It might be a lull before the storm, butā€”

ā€œI do not.ā€ He was still gurgling.

ā€œThen you must sack your keeper. Heā€™s not fit to live in the same county with a God-fearinā€™ fox. Anā€™ a vixen, tooā€”at this time oā€™ year!ā€

ā€œDid ye come up on purpose to tell me this?ā€

ā€œOf course I did, ye silly man,ā€ with a stamp of the foot. ā€œWould you not have done as much for me if youā€™d seen that thing happen on my land, now?ā€

Forgottenā€”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 fatherā€™s shiftless tenantry. It was the landed man speaking to his equalā€”deep calling to deepā€”and the old gentleman acknowledged the cry.

ā€œI apologize,ā€ said he. ā€œI apologize unreservedlyā€”to you, and to the Old Country. Now, will you be good enough to tell me your story?ā€

ā€œWe were in your combe,ā€ 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: ā€œSo you see he must be in the habit of it. Iā€”weā€“one never wants to accuse a neighborā€™s man; but I took the liberty in this caseā€”ā€

ā€œI see. Quite so. For a reason ye had. Infamousā€“oh, infamous!ā€

The two had fallen into step beside each other on the lawn, and Colonel Dabney was talking as one man to another. ā€œThis comes of promoting a fishermanā€”a fishermanā€”from his lobster-pots. Itā€™s enough to ruin the reputation of an archangel. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. It is! Your father has brought you up well. He has. Iā€™d much like the pleasure of his acquaintance. Very much, indeed. And these young gentlemen? English they are. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. They came up with you, too? Extraordinary! Extraordinary, now! In the present state of education I shouldnā€™t have thought any three boys would be well enough grounded. But out of the mouths ofā€”Noā€”no! Not that by any odds. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. Yeā€™re not! Sherry always catches me under the liver, butā€”beer, now? Eh? What dā€™you say to beer, and something to eat? Itā€™s long since I was a boyā€”abominable nuisances; but exceptions prove the rule. And a vixen, too!ā€ 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.

ā€œMy dear man, of course 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. Donā€™t attempt to deny it. Theyā€™re not! Iā€™ll never allow another gun, though. Come and go as ye please. Iā€™ll not see you, and ye neednā€™t see me. Yeā€™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. Iā€™ll convoy you to the Lodge. My people are not preciselyā€”ahā€”broke to boy, but theyā€™ll know you again.ā€

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:ā€”ā€ Oh, Paddy dear, and did ye hear the news thatā€™s goinā€™ round?ā€

Under other circumstances Stalky and Beetle would have fallen upon him, for that song was barred utterlyā€”anathemaā€”the sin of witchcraft. But seeing what he had wrought, they danced round him in silence, waiting till it pleased him to touch earth.

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.

ā€œTurkey, it was immense!ā€ said Stalky, generously. ā€œI didnā€™t know you had it in you. Youā€™ve got us a hut for the rest of the term, where we simply canā€™t be collared. Fids! Fids! Oh, Fids! I gloat! Hear me gloat!ā€

They spun wildly on their heels, jodeling after the accepted manner of a ā€œgloat,ā€ which is not unremotely allied to the primitive manā€™s song of triumph, and dropped down the hill by the path from the gasometer just in time to meet their housemaster, who had spent the afternoon watching their abandoned hut in the ā€œwuzzy.ā€

Unluckily, all Mr. Proutā€™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 cricketā€”even house-matches; Beetleā€™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. Consequentlyā€”since human nature is what it isā€”those boys had been doing wrong somewhere. He hoped it was nothing very serious, butā€¦

ā€œTi-ra-ra-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!ā€ Stalky, still on his heels, whirled like a dancing dervish to the dining-hall.

ā€œTi-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!ā€ Beetle spun behind him with outstretched arms.

ā€œTi-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!ā€ McTurkā€™s voice cracked.

Now was there or was there not a distinct flavor of beer as they shot past Mr. Prout?

He was unlucky in that his conscience as a housemaster impelled him to consult his associates. Had he taken his pipe and his troubles to little Hartoppā€™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 housemaster, no friend of his, but a zealous hater of Stalky & Co.

ā€œAh-haa!ā€ said King, rubbing his hands when the tale was told. ā€œCurious! Now my house never dream of doing these things.ā€

ā€œBut you see Iā€™ve no proof, exactly.ā€

ā€œProof? 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.ā€

ā€œBut theyā€™ve no following in the school, and they are distinctlyā€”er

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 ... 34
Go to page:

Free e-book Ā«Stalky & Co. - Rudyard Kipling (ebooks children's books free TXT) šŸ“—Ā» - read online now

Comments (0)

There are no comments yet. You can be the first!
Add a comment