Part 27 (1/2)
”Poor old Fat-Sow! I was a f.a.g when he left. How many does that make to us, Foxy?”
”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.”
The boys went out into the wet, walking swiftly.
”Wonder how it feels--to be shot and all that,” said Stalky, as they splashed down a lane. ”Where did it happen, Beetle?”
”Oh, out in India somewhere. We're always rowin' there. But look here, Stalky, what _is_ 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.”
”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 pa.s.sing to the other between dosed forefinger and thumb.
”Good job we hadn't one apiece, ain't it?” said Stalky, s.h.i.+vering through set teeth. To prove his words he immediately laid all before them, and they followed his example...
”I told you,” moaned Beetle, sweating clammy drops. ”Oh, Stalky, you are a fool!”
”_Je cat_, _tu cat_, _il cat_. _Nous cattons_!” McTurk handed up his contribution and lay hopelessly on the cold iron.
”Something's wrong with the beastly thing. I say, Beetle, have you been droppin' ink on it?”
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!
”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. Extra-special, please.”
He disappeared over the hedge as lightly as he had come. There was a murmur of women's voices in the deep lane.
”Oh, you Prooshan brute!” said McTurk as the voices died away. ”Stalky, it's all your silly fault.”
”Kill him! Kill him!” gasped Beetle.
”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!”
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.
”'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.
”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!”
”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 a.s.s.”
”How was I to know that the Head 'ud collar us? What was he doin' in those ghastly clothes, too?”
”Don't try to raise a side-issue,” Beetle grunted severely.
”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?”
”Shut up! You're dead!” said Beetle. ”We've chopped your spurs off your beastly heels. We've c.o.c.ked your s.h.i.+eld upside down and---and I don't think you ought to be allowed to brew for a month.”
”Oh, stop jawin' at me. I want--”