 Chapter 5 of Stokean Co. The Moral Reformers There was no disguising the defeat. The victory was to proud, 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. The Reverend John sought the earliest opportunity of talking things over. Members of a bachelor common-room of a school where master's studies are designedly dotted among studies and formrooms, 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 stray lictor. He never prosed, and he never carried over into official life the confidences of idle hours. Proud was ever an unmitigated nuisance. King came solely as an avenger of blood. Even little heart-hop, talking natural history, seldom forgot his office. But the Reverend John was a guest desired and beloved by number five. Behold him, then, in their only arm-chair, a bent briar between his teeth, chin down in three folds of his clerical collar, and blowing like an amiable wail, while number five discoursed of life as it appeared to them, and especially of that last interview with the head, in the matter of usury. One licking once a week would do you all an immense amount of good, he said, twinkling and shaking all over. As you say, you were entirely in the right. Rather, Padre, we could have proved it if he'd let us talk, said Storky, but he didn't. The heads are down, he burred. Heh, he understands you perfectly. Ho, ho, ho! Well, you worked hard enough for it. But he's awfully fair. He doesn't lick a chap in the morning, and preached him in the afternoon, said Beetle. He can't. He ain't in orders, thank goodness, said MacTurk. Number five held the very strongest views on clerical headmasters, and were ever ready to meet their pastor in argument. Almost all other schools have clerical heads, said the Reverend John, gently. It isn't fair on the chaps, Storky replied. Make some sulky. Of course it's different with you, sir. You belong to the school. Same as we do. I mean ordinary clergyman. Well, I am the most ordinary clergyman. And Mr. Hart hops in orders, too. Yes. But he took him right after he came to the call, and we saw him go up for his exam. That's all right, said Beetle. But just think if the head went and got ordained. What would happen, Beetle? Ho, the collar go to pieces in a year, sir. There's no doubt of that. How'd you know? Reverend John was smiling. We've been here six years now. There are precious few things about the call. We don't know, Storky replied. Why, even you came the term after I did, sir. I remember you're 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. Yes, we've changed a good deal in the common room. Huh! said Beetle with a grunt. They came here, and they went away to get married. Jolly good riddance, too. Doesn't our Beetle hold with matrimony? No, Padre. Don't make fun of me. I've met chaps in the holidays who've got married, housemasters. It's perfectly awful. They have babies, and teething, and measles, and all that sort of thing. Right bung in the school, and the master's wives give tea parties. Tea parties, Padre, and ask the chaps to breakfast. Oh, that don't matter so much, said Storky, but the housemasters let their houses alone, and they leave everything to the prefects. Why, in one school, the chap told me, there were big bays' doors and a passage about a mile long between the house and the master's house. They could do just what they pleased. Satan rebuking sin with a vengeance. Oh, larks are right enough. But you know what we mean, Padre. After a bit it gets worse and 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. Always the wrongs. Don't forget that. Have a cup of cocoa, Padre, said MacTurk, with the kettle. Oh, no thanks. I'm smoking. Always the wrongs. Proceed, my Storky. And then, Storky warmed to the work. Everybody says, Poda thought it. Shocking boys, wicked little kids. It all comes of having married housemasters, I think. The Daniel comes to judgment. But it does, MacTurk interrupted. I've met chaps in the holidays, and they've told me the same thing. It looks awful pretty for one's people to see, a nice separate house with a nice lady in charge, and all that. But it isn't. It takes the housemasters off their work. And it gives the prefects a heap too much power. And 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 Storky. We've got to do that to make our name, of course. And we get him into Santerst somehow or another, don't we? True, oh, Turk. Like a book thou talkest, Turkey. And so, we want rather different masters, don't you think so? To other places? We aren't like the rest of the schools. Leads to all sorts of bullying too, a chap told me, said Beatle. Well, you do 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? Oh, not exactly. In summer anyhow, Storky's eye rove contentedly to the window. Our bounds are pretty big too, and they leave us to ourselves a good deal. For example, here I am, sitting in your study, very much in your way, eh? Pint, did you aren't, Padre? Sit down, don't go, sir. You know we're glad whenever you come. There was no doubting the sincerity of the voices. The Reverend John flushed a little with pleasure and refilled his briar. And we generally know where the common room are, said Beatle triumphantly. Didn't you come through our lower dormitories last night after ten, sir? I went to smoke a pipe with your house-master. No, I didn't give him any impressions. I took a shortcut through your dormitories. Ah, I sniffed a wick for backy this morning. Yours is stronger than Mr. Prout's. I knew, said Beatle wagging his head. Good heavens, said the Reverend John absently. It was some years before Beatle 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. Beatle had never dreamed that there might be a purpose in this steady policing. A talking about bullying, the Reverend John resumed. You all caught it pretty hot when you were fags, didn't you? Well, we must have been rather awful little beasts, said Beatle. Looking serenely over the gulf between eleven and sixteen. My hack what bullies they were then. Fairburn, gobbymorsel, and all that gang. Remember when gobbie called us the three blind mice, and we had to get up on the lockers, and sing while he buzzed in pots at us, said Storky. They were bullies, if you like. But there isn't any of it now, said McTurk, soothingly. That's where you make a mistake. We're all inclined to say that everything is all right, as long as we aren't ourselves hurt. I sometimes wonder if it is extinct. Bullying. Fags bully each other horrid. But the upper forms are supposed to be swattened for exams. We've got something else to think about, said Beatle. Why? What do you think? Storky was watching the chaplain's face. 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 housemaster, to see what lay under your noses when you were in the form rooms last week. What, sir? I swear we didn't see anything, said Beatle. Then I'd advise you to look. When a little chap is whimpering in a corner, wears his clothes like rags, and never does any work, and is notoriously the dirtiest little corridor caution in the call. Something's wrong somewhere. That's Cluwe, said Bacturk under his breath. Yes, Cluwe. He comes to me for his French. It's his first term, and he's almost as complete a wreck as you were, Beatle. He's not naturally clever, but he's been hammered till he's nearly an idiot. Oh, no. They sham silly to get off more tickens, said Beatle. I know that. I've never actually seen him knocked about, said the Reverend John. For the genuine article, don't do that in public, said Beatle. Fairburn never touched me while anyone was looking on. You needn't swagger about it, Beatle, said Bacturk. We all caught it in our time. But I got it worse than anyone, said Beatle. If you want an authority on bullying, Padre, come to me. Corkscrews, brush drill, keys, head-knuckling, arm-twisting, rocking, ag-ags, all the rest of it. Yes, I do want you as an authority, or rather I want your authority to stop it, all of you. What about a Barner and Paffa, Padre, Harrison and Cray? They are Mr. Prout's pets, said Bacturk a little bitterly. We aren't even sub-prefects. I've considered that, but on the other hand, since most bullying is mere thoughtlessness. Not a little bit of it, Padre, said Bacturk. Bullies like bullying, they mean it. They think it up in lesson and practice it in the quarters. 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 Clure, made to look fairly clean and decent. Load if I wash him, whispered Storky. 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 dissuade him. That's all. I'll leave it with you. Good night, pez-enfant. Well, what are we going to do? Number five stared at each other. Young Clure would give his eyes for a place to be quiet in. I know that, said Beatle. If we made him a study-fag, eh? No, said Bacturk firmly. He's a dirty little brute, and he'd mess up everything. Besides, we ain't going to have any beastly Eric King. Do you want to walk about with your arm round his neck? He'd clean out the jam pots anyhow. And the burnt porridge saucepan, it's filthy now. Not good enough, said Storky. Bringing up both heels with a crash on the table. If we find the merry jester who's been bullying him and make him happy, that'll be all right. Why didn't we spot him when we were in the form room, though? Maybe a lot of fags. May the dead set at Clure. They do that sometimes. And then we'll have to kick the whole of the lower school in our house on spec. Come on, said Bacturk. Keep your hair on. You mustn't make a fuss about the business eye. Whoever it is, he's kept quiet or we'd have seen him, said Storky. We'll walk round and sniff about till we're sure. 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 to save Clure. Rum, said Storky, pausing outside a study door. Golly! A thin piping mixed with tears came muffled through the panels. As beautiful kitty one morning was tripping. Loud are you, young devil, or I'll buzz a book at you. With a pitcher of milk, oh Campbell, please don't, to be fair of. A book crashed on something soft and squeals arouse. 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. That's swine! Looked her, listened. Where's the fun of it? I suppose Clure's fagging for them. They aren't prefix, that's one good job, said Storky, with his war grin. Sefton and Campbell. Campbell and Sefton. Ah! One of them's a Krammer's pup. The two were precociously hairy youths between 17 and 18. Sent to the school in despair by parents who hoped the six-month steady Kram might, perhaps, jockey them into Sandhurst. Nominally, they were in Mr. Prout's house. Actually, they were under the head's eye, since he was very careful never to promote strange new boys to prefix chips. They considered they had a grievance against the school. Sefton had spent three months in a London Krammer, and the tale of his adventures there lost nothing in the telling. Campbell, who had a fine-tasting 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 Krammer's pups, had treated them with a rather galling reserve. But their whiskers, the Sefton, had a real razor, and their mustaches were beyond question impressive. Shall we go in and dissuade them? Richter cast. I've never had much to do with them, but I'll bet my hat Campbell's a funk. No. That's a Ratio director, said Storky, shaking his head. I like a Ratio obliqua. Besides, where'd our moral influence be then? Think of that. Rot. What are you going to do? Beetle turned into lower number nine form room, next door to the study. Me, the lights of war flickered over Storky's face. Oh, I want a jape with him. Shut up a bit. He drove his hands into his pockets, and stared out of the window at the sea, whistling between his teeth. Then a foot tapped the floor, one shoulder lifted. He wheeled and began a short quick double shuffle, the war dance of Storky in meditation. Thrice, he crossed the empty form room, with compressed lips and expanded nostrils, swaying to the quick-step. And he halted before the dumb Beetle, and softly knuckled his head. Beetle, bowing to the strokes, MacTurk nursed one knee and rocked two and fro. They could hear Clure howling as though his heart would break. Beetle is the sacrifice, Storky said at last. I'm sorry for you, Beetle. Remember, Gulton's art of travel. One of the forms had been studying that pleasant work. And the kid who's beaten excited the tiger. Oh, curse! said Beetle uneasily. It was not his first season of sacrifice. Can't you get on without me? Fade not, Beetle, dear. You've got to be bullied by Turkey and me. The more you howl, of course, the better it'll be. Turkey, go and cover to stump and a box-rope from somewhere. We'll time up for a kill. Alar, Gulton. Remember when Molly Fairburn made us cock-fight with our shoes off and tied up our knees? But that hurt like sin. Of course it did. What a clever chap you are, Beetle. Turkey'll knock you all over the place. Remember, we've had a big row all round. And I've trapped you into doing this. Then there's your vibe. Beetle was trust 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 Storky, he rolled over sideways, covering himself with dust. Roughly his hair, Turkey. Now you get down, too. The beaten of the kid excites the tiger. You too, in such a sweat in wax with me, that you only curse. Remember that? I'll tickle you up with the stump. And you all have to blub, Beetle. Right, oh, I'll work up to it and half a shake, said Beetle. Now begin. And remember, the beaten of the kid. Shut up, you brutes! Shut up! You've nearly cut my knees off. Oh, you are beastly cats. Do shut up. That isn't a joke. Beetle's protest was, in tone, a work of art. Give it to him, Turkey. Kick him. Roll him over. Kill him. Don't funk, Beetle, you brute. Kick him again, Turkey. He's not blubbing, really. Roll up, Beetle, or I'll... Kick you into the fender, Robb McTurk. They made a hideous noise among them. And the bait allured their quarry. Hello? What's the giddy jest? Sefton 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. Tony Beetle, Storky explained, is shamming hurt. I can't get Turkey to go for him properly. Sefton promptly kicked both boys, and his face lightened. All right, I'll attend to him. Get up and cock-fight you two. Give me the stump. I'll tickle him. Here's a giddy jest. Come on, Campbell, let's cook him. Then McTurk turned on Storky, and called him very evil names. Hugh said you were going to cock-fight too, Storky. Come on. More ass you for believing me, then? Sweet Storky. Have you chaps had a brow? Said Campbell. Rowl, said Storky. I'm only educating them. Do you know anything about cock-fighting, Seffy? Do I know why at McClaggan's, where I was cramming in town, we used to cock-fight in his drawing-room. And little McClaggan dared say anything, but we were just the same as men there, of course. Do I know, I'll show you. Can't I get up, Moon Beetle? The Storky sat on his shoulder. Don't jaw, you fat piffler. You're going to fight Seffy. He'll slay me. Oh, lug him into our study, said Campbell. It's nice and quiet in there. I'll cock-fight Turkey. This is an improvement on young Clure. Right how? I move its shoes off for them and shoes on for us, said Stefton joyously. And the two were flung down on the study floor. Storky rolled them behind an armchair. Now I'll tie you two up and direct the bullfight. Golly, what wrist you have, Seffy? There, too thick for a wipe. Got a box-rope, said he. Lutz in the corner, Sefton replied. Hurry up. Stop blubbing, you brute beetle. We're going to have a giddy campaign. Losers have to sing for the winners. Sing odes in honour of the conqueror. You call yourself a beastly poet, don't you, beetle? I'll poet you. 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 MacTurk, bound, betrayed, and voluble behind the chair, Storky set away Campbell and Sefton, and strode over to his allies, locking the door on the way. And that's all right, said he, in a changed voice. What a devil! Sefton began. Beetle's false tears had ceased. MacTurk's smiling was on his feet. Together they bound the knees and ankles of the enemy even more straightly. Storky took the armchair and contemplated the scene with his blandest smile. The man, trust for cock-fighting, is perhaps the most helpless thing in the world. The bleeding of the kid excites the tiger. Oh, you frabulous 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 licking 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 did you mean by this? You'll see in two shakes, said MacTurk. Don't swear like that. What we want to know is why you two hulking swine have been bully and clua? It's none of your business. What did you bully clua for? The question was repeated with maddening iteration by each in turn. They knew their work. Because we jolly well chose, was the answer at last. Let us get up! But even then they could not realise the game. Well now, we're going to bully you because we jolly well chose. We're going to be just as fair to you as you were to clua. He couldn't do anything against you. You can't do anything against us. Odd, ain't it? Can't we? You wait and see. Ah, said Beatle reflectively. That shows you've been never properly being jasted with. A public licking ain't in it with a gentle jade. Better bob your weep and promise anything. Look here young Beatle. We'll half kill you when we get up. I'll promise you that at any rate. You're going to be half killed first though. Did you give clua head knuckles? Did you give clua head knuckles, MacTurk echoed? At the twentieth repetition no boy can stand the torture of one unvarying query, which is the essence of bullying. Came confession. We did, confound you? Then you'll be knuckled. And knuckled they were, according to the ancient experience. Head knuckling is no trifle. Molly Fairburn of the old days could not have done better. Did you give clua brush drill? This time the question was answered sooner. And brush drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by Storky's Watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is employed in brush drill. Did you give clua the key? No we didn't, that's where we didn't! From Campbell rolling an agony. And then we'll give it to you, so you can see what it will be like if you had. 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. Did you give clua corkscrews? Yes, I'll curse your silly souls! Let us allow new cadds! They were corkscrewed. And the torture of the corkscrew, this has nothing to do with corkscrews, is keener than the torture of the key. The method and silence of the attacks was breaking their nerves. Between each new torture came the pitiless, daising reign of questions. And when they did not answer to the point, Isabella-coloured handkerchiefs were thrust into their mouths. Now, are those all the things you did to clua? Take out the gag, turkey, and let them answer. Yes, I swear that was all. Oh, you're killing a storky, cried Campbell. Precisely what clua said to you, I heard him. Now we're going to show you what real bullying is. What I don't like about you, Sefton, is you come to the call with your stick-up collars and patent leather boots, and you think you can teach us something about bullying. Do you think you can teach us anything about bullying? Take out the gag and let him answer. No, ferociously. He says no. Rock him to sleep, Campbell can watch. 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 to his eyes, set in his head, and he gasped and crowed for breath, sick and dizzy. My aunt, said Campbell, appalled from his corner and turned white. Put him away, said Storky. Bring on, Campbell. Now this is bullying. Oh, I forgot, I say, Campbell. What did you bully clua for? Take out his gag and let him answer. I don't know. Oh, let me off. I swear I'll make it packs. Don't rock me. The bleeding of the kid excites the tiger. He says he don't know. Set him up beetle and give him the glove and put in the gag. In silence, Campbell was rocked sixty-four times. I believe I'm going to die, he gasped. He says he's going to die. Put him away. Now, Sefton. Oh, I forgot, Sefton. What did you bully clua for? The answer is unprintable. But it brought not the faintest flush to Storky's downy cheek. Make him an aggag turkey. An aggag he was made forthwith. The hard-bought experience of nearly eighteen years was at his disposal. But he did not seem to appreciate it. He says we are sweeps. Put him away. Now, Campbell. Oh, I forgot, I say, Campbell. What did you bully clua for? Then came the tears. Scalding tears. Appeals for mercy and abject promises of peace. Let them cease the tortures, and Campbell would never lift a hand against them. The questions began again to an accompaniment of small persuasions. Are you seem hurt, Campbell? Are you hurt? Yes, awfully. He says he's hurt. Are you broke? Yes, yes, I swear I am. Oh, stop. He says he's broke. Are you humble? Yes. He says he's humble. Are you devilish humble? Yes. He says he's devilish humble. Will you bully clua any more? No, no! He says he won't bully clua. Or any one else? No, I swear I won't. Or any one else? What about that licking you and Sefton were going to give us? I won't, I won't, I swear I won't. He says he won't lick us. Do you esteem yourself to know anything about bullying? No, I don't. He says he doesn't know anything about bullying. Haven't we taught you a lot? Yes, yes. He says we've taught him a lot. Aren't you grateful? Yes. He says he's grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot, I say, Campbell. What did you bully clua for? He wept anew. His nerves being raw. Because I was a bully, I suppose that's what you want me to say? He says he's a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more japs for Campbell. Now, Sefton. You devils! You young devils! There's some much more. The Sefton was punted across the carpet by skillful knees. The bleeding of the kid excites the tiger. We're going to make you beautiful. Where did you keep his shaving things? Campbell told. Beetle, get some water. Turkey, make the lather. We're going to shave you, Sefi. So you'd better lie jolly still or you'll get cut. I've never shaved anyone before. Don't! Oh, don't! Oh, please don't! Get him polite, eh? I'm only going to take off one ducky little whisker. I'll make it pax if you don't. I swear I'll let you off your licking in when I get up. And half that moustache we're so proud of. He says you'll let us off our licking. Isn't he kind? McTurk laughed with the nickel-plated shaving-cup and settled Sefton's head between Storky's vice-like knees. Hold on a shake, said Beetle. You can't shave long hairs. You've got to cut that moustache short first, and then scrape him. Well, I'm not going to hunt about for scissors when a match do. Chuck us the match-box. He is a hog, you know. We must well singe him. Lie still! He lit a vestre, but checked his hand. I only want to take off half, though. That's all right. Beetle waved the brush. I'll lather up the middle, see? And you can burn off the rest. The thin-haired first moustache of youth fluffed up in flame to the lather-line in the centre of the lip, and Storky rubbed away the burnt stump-hedge with his thumb. It was not a very gentle shave, but it abundantly accomplished its purpose. Now, though it's grown 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. There were no words. Sefton gazed at the lopsided wreck in horror and despair. Two fat tears rolled down his cheek. Oh, I forgot. I say, Sefton, what did you bully Clure for? Leave me alone. Oh, you infernal bullies, leave me alone. Haven't I had enough? He says we must leave him alone, said MacTurk. He says we're bullies. And we haven't even begun yet, said Beetle. You're ungrateful, Steffie. Golly, you do look an atrocity and a half. He says he's had enough, said Storky. He urrs. Well, to work, to work, chanted MacTurk. Waving a stump. Come on, my giddy Narcissus. Don't fall in love with your own reflection. Oh, let him off, said Campbell from his corner. He's blubbing, too. Sefton cried like a twelve-year-old with pain, shame, wounded vanity, and utter helplessness. You'll make it pack, Sefton, won't you? You can't stand up to those young devils. Don't be rude, Campbell, dear, said MacTurk. Or you'll catch it again. You are devils, you know, said Campbell. What, for a little bullying, same as you've been giving Clure? How long have you been jesting with him, said Storky? All this term. We didn't always knock him about, though. 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? Aye, perhaps we did. 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, you're awful little beasts. And you're getting what he got, for being a beast. Just because we choose. We never really bullied him like you've done us. Yeah, said Beetle. They never really bullied, while he Fairburn didn't. Only knock him about a little bit, that's what they say. Only kicked their souls out of them. And they go and blub in the box-rooms. Stove their heads into the ulsters and blub. Write home three times a day. Yes, you brute, I've done that. Ask him to be taken away. You've never been bullied properly, Campbell. I'm sorry you made pacts. I'm not, said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. Look out, you're slaying, Sefton! In his excitement, Beetle had used the stump, unreflectingly, and Sefton was now shouting for mercy. And you, he cried, wheeling where he sat. You've never been bullied, either. Where were you before you came here? I had a tutor. You would. You've never blubbed in your life. But you're blubbing now, by gum, aren't you blubbing? 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. Blind am I, said Beetle, and the beast. Shut up, Storky. I'm going to japer-bick with our friend. Alarm molly fair-burn. I think I can see. Can't I see, Sefton? At the point is well taken, said MacTurk, watching the strap at work. You'd better say that he sees, Seffy. You do, you can! I swear you do, yelled Sefton, for strong arguments were coercing him. Ain't my eyes lovely? Stump rose and fell steadily throughout this catechism. Yes! A gentle hazel, aren't they? Yes, oh yes! What a liar you are, their sky-blue. Ain't they sky-blue? Yes, oh yes! You don't know your mind from one minute to another. You must learn, you must learn. What a bait you're in, said Storky. Keep your hair on, Beetle. I've had it done to me, said Beetle. Now, about my being a beast. Pax-o-pax, cried Sefton. Make it pax, I'll give up. Let me off, I'm broke, I can't stand it. Huh! Just when you we were getting our hand in, grunted MacTurk. They didn't let clue or off I'll swear. Confess, apologize, quick, said Storky. From the floor, Sefton made unconditional surrender, more abjectly even than Campbell. He would never touch anyone again. He would go softly all the days of his life. You've got to take it, I suppose, said Storky. All right, Sefton. You're broke, very good. Shut up, Beetle. But before we let you up, you and Campbell will kindly oblige us with Kitty of Colrain, a la Clure. That's not fair, said Campbell. We've surrendered. Course you have. And now you're going to do what we tell you, same as Clure would. If you hadn't surrendered, you'd have been really bullied. Having surrendered, do you follow, Steffie? You sing odes in honor of the conquerors. Hurry up! They dropped into chairs luxuriously. Campbell and Sefton looked at each other, and neither taking comfort from that view struck up Kitty of Colrain. File, bad, said Storky, as the miserable whaling ended. If you hadn't surrendered, it would have been our painful duty to buzz books at you for singing out a tune. Now, then. 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. Can't he shave clean before tea, please? Said Campbell. It's ten minutes to bell. Storky shook his head. He meant to escort the half-shaved one to the meal. McDork yawned in his chair, and Beetle mopped his face. They were all dripping with excitement and exertion. If I know anything about it, I swear I'd give you a moral lecture, said Storky severely. Don't jaw. They've surrendered, said McDork. This moral swasion business takes it out of a chap. Don't you see how gentle we've been? We might have called Clure in to look at you, said Storky. The bleeding of the tiger excites the kid, but we didn't. We've only got to tell a few chaps in call about this, and you'd be hooted all over the shop. Your life wouldn't be worth having, but we aren't going to do that, either. We're strictly moral swasers, Campbell. So, unless you're seffy, split about this, no one will. I swear you're a bricks, said Campbell. I suppose I was rather a brute to Clure. It looked like it, said Storky. But I don't think seffy need to come into hall with cock-eyed whiskers, horrid bad for the fags if they saw him. He can shave. Ain't you grateful, Sefton? The head did not lift. Sefton was deeply asleep. That's rummy, said McDork, as a snore mixed with a sob. Cheek, I think. Or else he's shaming. No, it isn't, said Beatle, when Molly Farraben attended to me for an hour or so. I used to go bung off to sleep on a form, sometimes. Poor devil. He called me a beastly poet, though. Well, come on, Storky lowered his voice. Goodbye, Campbell. Remember, if you don't talk, nobody will. There should have been a war dance. But that all three were so utterly tired that they almost went to sleep over the tea-cups in their study and slept till prep. A most extraordinary letter. Are all parents incurably mad? What do you make of it? said the head. Handing the closely written eight pages to the Reverend John. If the only son of his mother and sheer 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 has shaved, I noticed that. Under compulsion, as his mother points out. How delicious! How salutary! You haven't to answer her. It isn't often I don't know what happened in the school, but this is beyond me. Ah, if you ask me, I should say seek not to propitiate. When one is forced to take crammers, pups, he was perfectly well at extradition with me this morning, said the head absently. Unusually well behaved, too. They either educate the school, or the school, as in this case, educates them. I prefer our own methods, the chaplain concluded. You think it was that? A lift of the head's eyebrow. I am sure of it. Nothing excuses his trying to give the college a bad name. Ah, that's the line I meant to take with him, the head answered. The orgos winked. A few days later the Reverend John called on number five. Why haven't we seen you before, Padre? said they. 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. Clure was throwing inkballs in form this morning, instead of doing his work. He's now doing fifty lines for unheard of audacity. Can't blame us, sir, said Beatle. You told us to remove the pressure. That's the worst of a fag. I've known boys five years his senior throwing balls, Beatle. To such and 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? Were they turkey? said Beatle, unblushingly. Don't you think Clure looks a little cleaner, Padre? Storky interrupted. We're no end of moral reformers, said McTurk. It was all Storky, but it was a lark, said Beatle. I have noticed the moral reform in several quarters. Didn't I tell you you had more influence than any boys in the coal if you cared to use it? It's a trifle exhaust in, to use frequently, our kind of moral suasion. Side, you see, it only makes Clure cheeky. I wasn't thinking of Clure. I was thinking of the other people, Storky. Oh, we didn't bother much about the other people, said McTurk. Did we? But I did from the beginning. But they knew knew, sir, 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. With the best motives in the world, don't forget our pious motives, Padre, said McTurk. I suppose I should now be languishing in benefit jail, shouldn't I? Well, to quote the head, In the 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 anyone cared to come down for a bathe off the ridge. But I see that you don't. Don't we, though? Half a shake, Padre Sype, to begin our towels. And Nusomse Vigvoo. The End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of Storky and Co. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org Storky and Co. by Rudyard Kipling Chapter 6 A Little Prep Easter term was but a month old when Stetson 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 outlying farmhouse. Urged the prefect severely to lick all trespassers, and promised extra attentions from his own hand. There were no words bad enough for Stetson Major. Quarantined at his mother's house, who had lowered the school average of health. This, he said in a gymnasium after prayers. Then he wrote some 200 letters to as many anxious parents and guardians, and bade the school carry on. The trouble did not spread, but one night a dog-card drove to the head's door, and in the morning the head had gone, leaving all things in charge of Mr. King, senior housemaster. 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. Down the old bird, said Storky to the allies one wet afternoon in the study, he must have gone on a bend and been locked up under a false name. What for? Betel entered joyously into the liable. Forty shillings or a month, for hacking the chucker out of the pavy on the shins. Bates always has a spree when he goes to town, where she was back though. I'm sick of King's whips and scorpions and lectures on public school spirit. Yah! and scholarship. Crass and materialised brutality of the middle classes, reading solely for Marx. Not a scholar in the whole school. MacTurk quoted. Pensively boring holes in the mantelpiece for the hot poker. That's a rather sickly way of spending an afternoon. Stinks, too. Let's come out and smoke. Here's a treat. Storky held up. A long Indian charoute. 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 for love of fashion. Hand it round, eh? Let's lie up behind the old harrow on Monkey Farm Road. Outer bounds, beastly strict bounds these days, too. Besides, we shall cut. Betel sniffed the charoute critically. It's a regular pomposo stinker door. You can, I shan't. What do you say, turkey? Oh, may as well, I suppose. Chuck a cap on, then. It's two-to-one, Betel. Out you come. They saw a group of boys by the notice board in the corridor. Little Foxy, the school sergeant, among them. More bounds, I expect, said Storky. Hello, Foxybus. Who are you in mourning for? There was a broad band of crepe round Foxy's arm. He was in my old regiment, said Foxy. Joking his head towards the notices, where a newspaper cutting was thumb-tacked between call-over lists. By gum, quoth Storky, uncovering as he read. It's old Duncan. That's our Duncan. Killed on duty at something or other cotel. Rallying his men with conspicuous gallantry. He would, of course. Body was recovered. That's all right. They cut him up sometimes, don't they, Foxy? Horried, said the sergeant briefly. Poor old Fatsow. I was a fag when he left. How many does that make to us, Foxy? Mr. Duncan, he's the ninth. He'd come here when he was no bigger than Little Grey Tertius. My old regiment, too. Yes, nine o' us, Mr. Cochran. Up to date, the boys went out into the wet, walking swiftly. I wonder how it feels to be shot and all that, said Storky, as they smashed down a lane. Where did it happen, Beatle? Oh, out in India somewhere. They're always rowing there. But look here, Storky. What is the good of sitting under a hedge and catten? It's beastly cold, and it's beastly wet. We'll be collared as sure as a gun. Shut up. Did you ever know your uncle's son? Did you ever know your uncle's Storky get you into a mess yet? Like many other leaders, Storky did not dwell on past defeats. They pushed through a dripping hedge, landed among waterlogged clods, and sat down on a rust-coated harrow. The churrut burned with sputterings of salt pita. They smoked it gingerly, each passing to the other between closed forefinger and thumb. Good job we hadn't won a piece, ain't it? Said Storky, shivering through set teeth. Let's approve his words. He immediately laid all before them. And they followed his example. I told you, Moonbeetle, sweating clammy drops. Oh, Storky, you are a fool. Je cate, tu cate, il cate, nous cate on. 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 dropping ink on it? But Beetle was in no case to answer. Limp and empty. They sprawled across the harrow. The rest marking their ulsters in red squares, and the abandoned churrutend 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 deerstalker. Ah, he said, fingering his moustache. A 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, the King. You will then do me five hundred lines. I shall be back tomorrow. Five hundred lines by five o'clock tomorrow. 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 poosh and brute! Said MacTurk as the voices died away. Storky, it's all your silly fault. Kill him, kill him, gasped Beetle. I can't, I'm going to cat again. I don't mind that, but King'll gloat over as horrid. Extra special, oh! Storky 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 desired of her run 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, Storky 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, MacTurk began with cold venom. We aren't going 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 Storky, you're a plain ass. How was I to know the head had collar us? What was he doing in those ghastly clothes too? Don't try to raise a side issue, Beetle grunted severely. Well, it was all Stetson Major's fault. If he hadn't gone and got diphtheria, it wouldn't have happened. But don't you think it'd rather rummy the head dropping in on us that way? Shut up, you're dead, said Beetle. We've chopped your spurs off, your beastly heels. We've cocked your shield upside down, and I don't think you ought to be allowed a brew for a month. Oh, stop jarring at me, I want stop. Why, why, we're gated for a week. MacTurk almost howled as the agony of the situation overcame him. A licking from King, five hundred lines, and a gating. Do you expect us to kiss you, Storky, you beast? Oh, stop rotting for a minute. I want to find out about the head being where he was. Well, you have. You found him quite well and fit. Found him making love to Stetson Major's mother. That was her in the lane. I heard her. And so we were awed at a licking before the day boy's mother. Funny old widow, too, said MacTurk. Anything else you'd like to find out? I don't care. I swear I'll get even with him some day, Storky growled. Looks like it, said MacTurk. Extra special, weak's gating, five hundred. And now you're going to row about it. Help scrag him, Beatle! Storky 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 King's vice-royalty. Mr. King had been talking at and round and over the boy's heads, in a lofty, impromiscuous style of public school spirit, and the traditions of ancient seats. For he always improved on 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 Storky and 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 morale. But there isn't any rule against marbles, sir. Very interesting game, said Beatle, 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 Flint's study, and Flint was then head of the games. Oh, I say, Flint. King has sent me to you for playing marbles in the corridor, and shouting allatour, and knuckle down. What does he suppose I have to do with that? Was the answer. Don't know. Well, Beatle grinned wickedly, or am I to tell him? He's rather wrathy about it. If the head chooses to put a notice in the corridor for bidding marbles, I can do something. But I can't move on a house master's report. He knows that as well as I do. The sense of this oracle, Beatle 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 at a London crammer, from whose roof he had returned, homesick, to the head for a final army polish. There were four or five other seniors who'd 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 a fair shape. It was not a sixth to be handled without gloves, as King found. Am I to understand that it's 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. Well, sir, if the head sees fit to call a prefect's meeting, we are bound to take the matter up. But the tradition of the school is that prefects can't move in any matter affecting the whole school without the head's direct order. Much more was then delivered. Both sides are little losing their temper. After tea, an informal gathering of prefects in his study, Flint related the adventure. He's been planning for this for a week, and now he's got it. You know, as well as I do, that if he hadn't been getting at us the way he has, that young devil, Beetle, wouldn't have dreamed of marbles. We know that, said Perone. But that isn't the question. On Flint's showing, King has called the prefect's names enough to justify a first-class row. Crammer's rejections, ill-regulated hobbledy hohees, wasn't it? Now it's impossible for prefects. Rot, said Flint. King's the best classical cram we've got, and it isn't fair to bother the head with a row. He's up to his eyes with extra two, and the army work that as it is. Besides, as I told King, we aren't a public school. We're a limited liability company paying four percent. My father's a shareholder, too. And what has that got to do with it? Said Venner, a red-headed boy of nineteen. Well, it seems to me that we should be interfering 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 gum-diddle, can't you see? It might have been because he felt the air was a little thunderous, that the head took his after in a 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 Knox the dedicate demanded. Prefect's meeting? A cock of one wise eyebrow. Not exactly, sir. We're talking things over. Won't you take the easy chair? Thanks, luck-serious 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 bow string. The young faces grew serious. The phrase meant that certain of their number would be withdrawn from all further games for extrituation. It might also mean future success at Sandhurst, but it was present ruin for the first 15. 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. Isn't the old boy's match sacred too, sir? Said Perone. The old boy's match was the event of the Easter term. We'll hope they aren't in training. For now, the list. First, I want Flint. It's the Euclid that does it. You must work deductions with me, Perone. Extra-mechanical drawing. Dawson goes to Mr. King for extra Latin, and Venor to me for German. Have I damaged the first 15 much? He smiled sweetly. Ruined it. I'm afraid, sir. Said Flint. Can't you let us off to the end of term? Impossible. It'll be a tight squeeze for Sandhurst this year. And all to be cut up by those vile Afghans too, said Dawson. Wouldn't think there'd be much competition, would you? Oh, that reminds me. Crandall is coming down with the old boys. I've asked 20 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. Crandall Major, the gunner, Perone asked. Oh, no, the minor. Toffee Crandall. In a native infantry regiment he was. Before your time, Perone. The papers didn't say anything about him, sir. We read about Fatsar, of course. What's Crandall done, sir? 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. Could for the old coal, said Perone. Piddy wasn't in time to say Fatsar, though. That's nine to us, isn't it? In the last three years. Yes, I took old Duncan off all games for extra two five years ago this term, said the head. By the way, who do you hand over the games to, Flint? Haven't thought yet? Who do you recommend, sir? Oh, no, thank you. I've heard it casually hinted behind my back that the Pouchin Bates is a downy bird, but he isn't going to make himself responsible for a new head of games. Settle it among yourselves. Good night. That's the man, said Flint, when the door shut. That you want to bother with a dame school, row. I was only pulling your fat leg, Perone returned hastily. You're too easy to draw, Flint. Well, never mind that. The heads knocked the first 15 to bits, and we've got to pick up the bases. Or the old boys will have a walkover. Let's promote all the second 15 and make big side play up. There's heaps of talent somewhere that we can polish up between now and the match. The case was represented so urgently to the school that even Storky and McTurk, who affected to despise football, played one big side game seriously. They were forthwith, promoted, ere their ardour had time to call, 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. 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 St. Hurston Woolwich, who'd only left a year ago, about who carried an enormous side, were greeted with a cheerful, ha, no, what's the shop like? From those who had shared their studies. Militia Subbultons had more consideration, but it was understood that 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 Subbultons, 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 games, crying, Good heavens, what do you mean by growing in this way? You are a beasted little fag when I left, visible halos in circled 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 formrooms, 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 ground, on the bars. 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 it that the Pooshan Bates was a downy bird. Youngblood 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 it across roads, anxious to take the one that would lead him fatherest, extravagance pursued by the moneylender, arrogance in the thick of a regimental row, each carried his trouble to the head. And Chirton 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. 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 two. Ah, but we're a scratch lot. Have you told them we shall need a substitute, even if Crandall can play? said a lieutenant of engineers with a DSO to his credit. He wrote me he'd play, so he can't be much hurt. He's coming down tomorrow morning. 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, had Saib. This was a squadron commander of Bengal Lancers' home on leave. Ah, I'm afraid you'll have to go up to his old dormitory. You know old boys can claim that privilege. Yes, I think little Crandall, minor. Most bed down there once more. Bait Saib. A gunner flung a heavy arm round the head's neck. You've got something up your sleeve. Confess I know that twinkle. Can't you see a cuckoo? A submarine minor interrupted. Crandall goes up to the dormitory as an object lesson. For moral effect and so forth, isn't that true, Head Saib? It is, you know too much, Purvis. I licked you for that in 79. Who did, sir? And it's my private belief you chalked the cane. No, but I've a very straight eye. Perhaps that misled you. That opened the floodgates to fresh memories of the all-told tales out of school. 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 school, 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. What you take, notice of those rotters for, said Storky, playing substitute for the old boy's magnificent in black jersey, white knickers, and black stockings. I talked to him up in the dormitory when he was changing, pulled his sweater down for him. He's cut about all over the arms, horrid purpley ones. He's going to tell us about it tonight. I asked him, too, when I was lacing up his boots. Well, you have got cheek, said Beetle, enviously. Slipped out before I thought, but he wasn't a bit angry. He's no end of a chap. I swear I'm going to play up like the beans, tell Turkey, that 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 on your heads and shove! Towards the end, everybody lost all sense of decency, and mothers of day boys too close to the touchline heard language, not included in the bills. There was no one actually carried off the field, but both sides felt happier when time was called, and Beetle helped Storky and McTurk into their overcoats. The two had met in the many-legged heart of things, and, as Storky 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, well played, indeed! It was Stetson Major, white-checked and hollow-eyed, who had fought his way to the ground under escort of an impatient coachman. Hello, Stetson! said Storky, checking. Is it safe to come near you yet? 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. Turkey trolling 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. I heard of that, said the boy giggling. The head told me. Do as he did. When? Oh, come on up to Cole. My shin or stiffen if we stay joined here. Shut up, Turkey. I want to find out about this. Well? He was staying at our house all the time I was ill. What for? Neglecting the Cole that way. Thought he was in town. I was off my head, you know, and they said I kept calling for him. Cheek, you're only a day boy. He came just the same. He just about saved my life. I was all bunged up one night, just going to croak, the doctor said. And they stuck a tube or something in my throat, and the head sucked out the stuff. Shot if I would. He ought to have got diphtheria himself, the doctor said. So he stayed at our house instead of going back. I like croaked in another 20 minutes, the doctor says. Here the coachman being under orders whipped up and nearly ran over the three. My hat, said Beatle. That's pretty average, heroic. Pretty average. McTurk's knee in the small of his back, cannoned him into Storky, who punted him back. You ought to be hung. And the head ought to get the VC, said Storky. Why, he might have been dead and buried by now, but he wasn't. And he didn't. Ho-ho! He just nipped through the hedge like a lusty old blackbird. Extra special, 500 lines, and gated for a week all sereno. I've read of something like that in a book, said Beatle. Gummy, what a chap. Just think of it. I'm thinking, said McTurk. And he delivered a wild Irish yell that made the team turn round. Shut your fat mouth, said Storky, dancing with impatience. Leave it to your uncle Storky, and he'll have the head on toast. If you say a word, Beatle, until I give you leave, I swear I'll slay you. Have beo capitem criminibus minimis. I've got him by the short hairs. Now, look as if nothing had happened. But 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 their masters, ranged themselves along the wall immediately before the prefects, and the head called them over too, majors, minors, tertiuses, after their old names. 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 what dizzy heights you may climb in your profession, but I do know you'll never have such absolute adoration as you're getting now. Confound the adoration, I want to finish my cigar, sir. It's all pure gold. Go with the glory weights, Crandall Minor. 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 wash stands. There was an incessant whistling of drafts, and outside the naked windows the sea beat on the pebble ridge. Same old bed, same old mattress, I believe, said Crandall, yawning. Same old everything. Oh, but I'm lame. I have no notion you chaps could play like this. He caressed a battered shin. You have given us all something to remember you by. It needed a few minutes to put them at their ease. And in some way they couldn't understand. They were more easy when Crandall turned round and said his prayers. A ceremony he had neglected for some years. Oh, I am sorry. I've forgotten to put out the gas. Oh, please don't bother, said the prefect of the dormitory. Worthington does that. A nightgown twelve-year-old, who had been waiting to show off, leaped from his bed to the bracket and back again by way of a wash stand. How do you manage when he's asleep? said Crandall, chuckling. Chop a cold, click down his neck. It was a wet sponge when I was a junior in the dormitory. Ah, lo, what's happening? The darkness had filled with whispers. The sound of trailing rugs, bare feet on bareboards, protests, giggles, and threats, such as, Be quiet, you ass. Squat if you're on the floor then. I swear you aren't going to sit on my bed. Mind the tooth glass, etc. Star Corkeron said, the prefect began, his tone showing his sense of Storky's incidents, that perhaps you'd tell us about that business with Duncan's body. Yes, yes, yes, ran the king whispers, tell us. Why, there's nothing to tell. What on earth are you chaps hopping about in the cold for? Never mind us, said the voices, tell about fat sow. So Crandall turned his pillow, and spoke to the generation he could not see. Well, about three months ago he was commanding a treasure guard, a cart full of rupees to pay the troops with, 5,000 rupees in silver. He was coming to a place called Fort Pearson, near Calabag. I was born there, squeaked a small fag. It was called after my uncle. Shut up, you and your uncle, never mind him, Crandall. Well, never mind. The Afridis found out this treasure was on the move, and they ambushed the whole show a couple of miles before it 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 was any amount of Afridis. As things turned out, I was in charge at Fort Pearson. Fact was, I'd heard the firing. So, I 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 until 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'd 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. After a little hacking about, they pulled off. I never knew it was one of us, until I was right on top of him. There are heaps of Duncan's 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, Hello, Toffee! And I said, Hello, Fat Cell! Hope you aren't hurt, or something of the kind. But he died in a minute or two, and never lifted his head off my knees. I say, you chaps out, they all will get the death of cold. Better go to bed. All right, in a minute. Put your cuts, your cuts! How did you get wounded? Well, that was when we were taking the body back to the fort. They came on again. There was a bit of a scrimmage. Did you kill anyone? Yeah, shouldn't wonder. Good night. Good night. Thank you, Grandal. Thanks awfully, Grandal. Good night. The unseen crowds withdrew. His own dormitory rustled into bed and lay silent for a while. I say, Grandal, Storky's voice was tuned to a holy foreign reverence. Well, what? Suppose a chap found another chap croaking with diphtheria, all bunged up with it, and they stuck a tube in his throat, and the chaps sucked the stuff out. What would you say? Um, said Grandal reflectively. I've only heard of one case, and that was a doctor. And he did it for a woman. Oh, this wasn't a woman, this was just a boy. Makes it all the finer, then. It's about the bravest thing a man can do. Why? Oh, I heard of a chap doing it, that's all. Then he's a brave man. Would you, Funkit? Rather, anybody would. Fancy dying of diphtheria in cold blood. Well, ah, ah, look here! The sentence ended in a grunt. For Storky had leaped out of bed, and with MacTurk was sitting on the head of Beetle, who would have sprung the mine there and then. 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 prouts 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 proved of allowing so-called young men of the world to contaminate the morals of boyhood. A very good, said the head. He would attend to it. Well, I'm awfully sorry, said Crandall, guiltily. I don't think I told them anything they oughtn't to hear. Don't let them get in trouble on my account. The head answered with a 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 esters, which of course none of them will ever look at. We will give the whole school, except prefects and study boys, regular prep tonight, and the common room will have to supply a master to take it. We must be fair to all. Prep on the last night of the term. Phew! said Crandall, thinking of his own wild youth. I fancy there'll be larks. The school, frolicking among packed trunks, whooped down the corridor and gloating in the 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, 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. A man 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. There he had coughed twice. They favoured 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 form 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 the back desk beat him, take fifty lines for not holding up his hand 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 in prefects heard the echoes of it far off, and the common room at dessert smiled. Storky 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, then the dorm rooms, look sharp. He allowed no time for Beatle to be dramatic, or MacTurk 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 noises 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. The head, the head, the head! That call stilled the tumult for a minute, and Storky, leaping to a desk, shouted. He went and sucked the lipsteria stuff out of Stetson Major's throat when we thought he was in town. Stop rot in, you asses! Stetson 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 living man can do. And I, his voice cracked. The head don't know we know! MacTurk and Beatle, 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 the little frightened. It's all right, Storky, he can't do much. Tisn't as if you'd pulled the desks up, like we did when old Carlton took prep once. Keep it up! Hear them cheering in the studies? He rocketed out with a yell to find Flint and the prefects lifting the roof off the corridor. When the head of a limited liability company, paying 4%, is cheered on his saintly way to prayers, not only by fourth-form rooms of boys' waiting punishment, but by his trusted prefects, he can ask for an explanation. Or go his road with dignity, while the senior housemaster 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 do not attend that call-over. And it was to the school drawn up in the gymnasium that the head spoke icily. It is not often that I do not understand you, but I confess I do not tonight. Some of you, after your rather idiotic performance at prep, seem to think me a fit person to cheer. I am going to show you that I am not. Crash, crash, crash! came the triple cheer that disproved it, and the head, glowering 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 a piece in the holidays. I shall take no further notice of them. The upper school will do me one thousand lines a piece in the holidays. To be shown up the evening of the day they come back, and further, gummy what a glutton, Storky whispered, for your behaviour towards Mr Mason, I intend to lick the whole of the upper school tomorrow 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. Prefix will stay after call-over. The school filed out in silence, but gathered in groups by the gymnasium door, waiting for what might befall. And now, Flint, did the head, would you be good enough to give me some explanation of your conduct? Well, sir, said Flint, desperately. If you save a chap's life at the risk of your own when he's dying of diphtheria, and the coal finds it out, well, what can you expect, sir? 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, but the licking's hold good. When this news was made public, the school lost in wonder and admiration. Gasped at the licking's hold good. When this news was made public, the school lost in wonder and admiration. Gasped at the head as he went to his house. There was a man to be reverenced. On the rare occasions when he came he did it very scientifically, and the execution of a hundred boys would be epic, immense. It's all right, head-save, we 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 getting my opinion of your performance last night in the dormitory. I didn't know then that it was you he was talking about crafty young animal. Freckle-chap with eyes. Cochran, I think his name is. Oh, I know him. Thank you," said the head, reflectively. Yes. I should have included them, even if I hadn't seen them. If the old coal went 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? I always knew you were worth twenty of us any day. No, I'm sure of it," said the squadron commander, looking round for contradictions. He isn't fit to manage a school, though. I promise you'll never do it again, Bates-save. We can't go away comfy in our minds if you take these risks, said the gunner. Bates-save, you aren't ever going to cane me, are you? said Crandall. 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 dayboys. Decency must be preserved. We're coming to help, said all the guests. The upper school were caned, with their coats 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 Storky, McTurk, and Beatle. He dealt faithfully by them. And here's your journey money. Goodbye, and pleasant holidays. Goodbye, thank you, sir. Goodbye, they shook hands. No desire, don't outrun performance much this morning. We got the cream of it, said Storky. Now wait till a few chaps come out and we'll really cheer him. Oh, don't wait now, account, please, said Crandall, speaking for the old boys. We're going to begin now. It was very well, so long as the cheering was confined to the corridor. But when it spread to the gymnasium, when the boys were waiting 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, and the breaks were hustled off the premises in Dumbshow. Did I say I'd get even with him, said Storky on the box seat, as they swung into the narrow northern street. Now, all together, taking it in time for your Uncle Storky. It's a way we have in the army, it's a way we have in the navy, it's a way we have at the public schools, which nobody can deny. End of chapter six. A little prep.