 Let us now praise famous men, men of little showing, for their work continuous, and their work continuous, greater than their knowing. Distant wind and open surge tore us from our mothers, plunged us on a naked shore, twelve bleak houses by the shore, seven summers by the shore, mid-two hundred brothers. There we met with famous men set in office auras, and they beat on us with rods, faithfully with many rods, daily beat on us with rods, for the love they bore us. Out of Egypt, unto Troy, over Himalaya, far and sure our bands have gone, high Brazil or Babylon, islands of the southern run, and cities of Cthaya. And we all praise famous men, ancients of the college, for they taught us common sense, tried to teach us common sense, truth and God's own common sense, which is more than knowledge. Six degree of latitude, strung about creation, seeeth one or more of us. Of one master all of us, of one master all of us, keen in his vocation. This we learned from famous men, knowing not its uses, when they showed in daily work man must finish off his work, right or wrong his daily work, and without excuses. Some before the face of kings, stand before the face of kings, bearing gifts to diverse kings, gifts of case and shrapnel. This we learned from famous men, teaching in our borders, who declared it was best, safest, easiest and best, expeditious, wise and best, to obey your orders. From beneath the further stars bear the greater burden, set to serve the lands they rule, save he serve no man may rule, serve and love the lands they rule, seeking praise nor girdon. This we learned from famous men, knowing not we learned it, only as the years went by, lonely as the years went by, far from help as years went by, plainer we discerned it. Our praise we, famous men, from whose bays we borrow, they that put aside to-day, all the joys of their to-day, and with toil of their to-day, bought for us to-morrow. Bless and praise we, famous men, men of little showing, for their work continuous and their work continuous, broad and deep continuous, great beyond their knowing. End of Opening Poem Chapter 1 of Storky and Co by Rudyard Kipling 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. In Ambush In summer, all right-minded boys built huts in the furs hill behind the college. Little lairs whittled out of the heart of the prickly bushes, full of stumps, old routines and spikes. But, since they were strictly forbidden, palaces of delight. And for the fifth summer in succession, Storky, MacTurk and Beetle, this was before they reached the dignity of a study, had built, like beavers, a place of retreat and meditation, where they smoked. Now, there was nothing in their characters as known to Mr. Prout, their house-master, a tall commanding respect, nor did Foxy, the subtle red-haired school sergeant, trust them. His business was to wear tennis shoes, carry binoculars and swoop hawk-like upon evil boys. Had he taken the field alone, that hut would have been raided, for Foxy knew the manners of his quarry. But Providence moved Mr. Prout, whose school name, derived from the size of his feet, as Hoover, to investigate on his own account. It was the cautious Storky who found the track of his pugs on the very floor of their lair one peaceful afternoon, when Storky would feign her forgotten proud and his works, in a volume of surtees, and a new briar wood-pipe. Crusoe at the sight of the footprint did not act more swiftly than Storky. He would have moved the pipes, swept up all the loose match-hens, and departed to warn Beetle and MacTurk. But it was characteristic of the boy, that he did not approach his allies, till he had met and conferred with a little heart-op, president of the Natural History Society, an institution which Storky held in contempt. Heart-op was more than surprised when the boy, meekly as he knew how, begged to propose himself, Beetle and MacTurk as candidates, confessed to a long-smothered interest in first-flowering's early butterflies and new arrivals, and volunteered, if Mr. Heart-op saw fit, to enter on a new life at once. Being a master, Heart-op was suspicious, but he was also an enthusiast, and his gentle little soul had been galled by chance-heard remarks from the three, especially Beetle. So he was gracious to that repentant sinner, and entered the three names in his book. Then and not till then, did Storky seek Beetle and MacTurk in their house-formerum. They were stowing away books for a quiet afternoon in the furs, which they called the wuzzy. All up! said Storky serenely. I spotted Heffy's fairy-feet round our hut after dinner, blessing there so big. Confound. Did you hide our pipes? said Beetle. Oh, no! I left them in the middle of the hut, of course! What a blind-ass you are, Beetle! Do you think nobody thinks but yourself? Well, we can't use the hut any more. Hooper will be watching it. Bother, and likewise, blow! said MacTurk thoughtfully, unpacking the volumes with which his chest was cased. The boys carried their libraries between their belt and their collar. Nice job! This means we're under suspicion for the rest of the term. Why? All that Heffy found is a hut. He and Foxy will watch it. It's nothing to do with us. Surely we mustn't be seen that way for a bit. Yes. And where else shall we go? said Beetle. You chose that place, too. And I wanted to read this afternoon. Storky sat on a desk, drumming his feet on the form. You're a desponding brute, Beetle. Sometimes I think I'd have to drop you all together. Did you ever know your uncle Storky forget you yet? Yes, rabous infectus. After I'd seen Heffy's mantrax marching round our hut, I found a little heart-top. Destrictio ensay, waving a butterfly in it. I conciliated heart-top, told him that you'd read papers to the bug-hunders if he let you join, Beetle. Told him you like butterflies, Turkey. Anyhow, I soothed the heart-offals, and we're bug-hunders now. What's so good of that? said Beetle. Oh, Turkey kicked him. In the interest of science, bounds were largely relaxed for the members of the Natural History Society. They could wonder, if they kept clear of all houses, practically where they chose. Mr. Heart-Op holding himself responsible for their good conduct. Beetle began to see this, as MacTurk began his cooking. I'm an ass, Storky, he said, guiding the afflicted part. Pax, Turkey, I'm an ass. Don't stop, Turkey, isn't your uncle Storky a great man? Great man, said Beetle. All the same, bug-hunders are filthy business, said MacTurk. How the deuce does one begin? This way, said Storky, turning to some fags-lockers behind him. Fags are dabs at Natural History. Here's young Braybrook's botany case. He flung out a tangle of decayed roots, and adjusted the slide. Gives one no end of a professional heir, I think. Here's Clayminer's geological hammer. Beetle can carry that. Turkey, you better cover the butterfly net from somewhere. I'm bloated if I do, said MacTurk, simply, but with immense feeling. Beetle, give me the hammer. All right, I'm not proud. Chuck us down that net on top of the locker, Storky. That's all right. It's a collapsible jamboree, too. Beasty luxurious dogs these fags are. Build like a fishing rod. Pond my, sainted Sam. But we look the complete bug-hunders. Now, listen to your uncle Storky. We're going along the cliffs after butterflies. Very few chaps come there. We're going to leg it, too. You better leave your book behind. Now, march, said Beetle, firmly. I'm not going to be done out of my fun for a lot of filthy butterflies. Then you all sweat horrid. You better carry my Jorrocks. Don't make any hotter. They all sweated. For Storky led them at a smart trot west away along the cliffs under the furshills, crossing Coombe after Gorsy Coombe. They took no heed to flying rabbits or fluttering fratillaries. And all that Turkey said of geology was utterly unquotable. Are we going to Clevelli? He puffed at last. And they flung themselves down on a short springy turf between the drone of the sea below and the light summer wind among the inland trees. They were looking into a Coombe, half full of old high furs, in gay bloom that ran up to a fringe of brambles and a dense wood of mixed timber and hollies. It was as though one half of the Coombe were filled with golden fire to the cliff's edge. The side nearest to them was open grass and fairly bristled with notice boards. Fair rocious old cove this, said Storky, reading the nearest, prosecuted with the utmost rigor of the law GM Dabney Cole, JP, and all the rest of it. Don't seem to me that any Japanese senses would trespass here, does it? You've got to prove damage. For you can prosecute for anything. Can't prosecute for Trespass, said MacTurk, whose father held many acres in Ireland. That's all right. Glad of that, cause this looks like what we wanted. Not straight across beetle, you blind lunatic. Anyone could spot us half a mile off. This way, and fill up your beastly butterfly net. Beetle disconnected the ring, thrust the net into a pocket, shut up the handle to a two-foot stave and slid the cane ring round his waist. Storky led in land to the wood, which was perhaps a quarter a mile from the sea, and reached the fringe of the brambles. Now, we can get straight down into the firs and never sharp at all, said the tactician. Beetle, go ahead and explore. Sniff, sniff. Beasty stink of fox somewhere? On all fours, save when he clung to his spectacles, Beetle wormed into the gorse and presently announced between grunts of pain that he had found a very fair fox-trag. This was well for Beetle, since Storky pinched him our turbo. Down that tunnel, they crawled. It was evidently a highway for the inhabitants of the Coombe, and, to their inexpressible joy, ended at the very edge of the cliff. In a few square feet of dry turf, walled and roofed with impenetrable gorse. By gum. There isn't a single thing to do except lie down, said Storky, returning a knife to his pocket. Look here! He parted the tough stems before him. It was as a window opened on a fair view of Lundy, and the deep seas sluggishly nosing the pebbles a couple of hundred feet below. They could hear young jackdaws squawking on the ledges, the hiss and jabber of a nest of hawks somewhere out of sight, and with great deliberation. Storky spat on the back of a young rabbit, sunning himself far down where only a cliff rabbit could have found foothold. Great gray and black gulls screamed against the jackdaws. The heavy scented acres of bloom around them were alive with low-nesting birds, singing more silent as the shadow of the wheeling hawks passed and returned. And on the naked turf across the Coombe, rabbits thumped and froliced. Phew! What a place! Talk of natural history, this is it, said Storky, filling himself a pipe. Isn't it scrumptious? Good old sea! He spat again approvingly and was silent. MacTurk and Beetle had taken out their books and were lying on their stomach's chin in hand. The seas snored and gurgled. The birds scattered for a moment by these new arrivals returned to their businesses, and the boys read on in the rich, warm, sleepy silence. Hello, there's a keeper, said Storky, strutting Hanley Cross cautiously and peering through the jungle. A man with a gun appeared on the skyline to the east. Confound him, he's going to sit down. It's where we will poach in, too, said Beetle. What's the good of pheasant's eggs? They're always addled, too. Might as well get up to the wood, I think, said Storky. We don't want GM Dabney Cole, J.P., to be bothered about us so soon. Get up, there was he, and keep quiet. He may have followed us, you know. Beetle was already far up the tunnel. They heard him gasp indescribably. There was a crash of a heavy body leaping through the furs. Aye, you red rascal, I see you! The keeper threw the gun to his shoulder and fired both barrels in their direction. The pellets dusted the dry stems around them as a big fox plunged between Storky's legs and ran over the cliff edge. They said nothing till they reached the wood. Torn, dishevelled, hot, but unseen. Narrow squeak, said Storky. I swear some of the pellets went through my hair. Did you see him? said Beetle. I almost put my hand on him. Was near whopper. Didn't he stink? Oh, turkey, what's the matter? Are you hit? MacTurk's lean face had turned pearly white. His mouth, generally half open, was tight shut. His eyes blazed. They had never seen him like this, say, once in a sad time of civil war. Do you know that that was just as bad as murder? He said, in a grating voice, as he brushed prickles from his head. Well, he didn't hit us, said Storky. I think it was rather a lark. Here, where are you going? I'm going up to the house. If there is one, said MacTurk, pushing through the hollies. I am going to tell this Colonel Dubney. Are you crazy? He'll swear it served us jolly well right. He'll report us. It'll be a public licking. Oh, turkey, don't be an ass. Think of us. You fool, said MacTurk, turning savagely. Do you suppose I'm thinking of us? It's the keeper. He's cracked, said Beetle, miserably, as they followed. Indeed, this was a new turkey, a haughty, angular, nose-lifted turkey, whom they accompanied through a shrubbery onto a lawn, where a white-whisked old gentleman with a clique was alternately putting and blaspheming vigorously. Are you Colonel Dubney? MacTurk began in this new creaking voice of his. I am and, his eyes travelled up and down the boy, who what the devil do you want? You've been disturbing my pheasants. Don't attempt to deny it, you needn't laugh at it. MacTurk's not too lovely features had twisted themselves into a horrible sneer, the word pheasant. You've been birds-nesting. You needn't hide your hat. I can see that you belong to the college. Don't attempt to deny it. You do. You're a name and number at once, sir. You want to speak to me, eh? You saw my notice boards must have. Don't attempt to deny it. You did. Damnable, oh, damnable. He choked with emotion. MacTurk's heel tapped the lawn, and he stuttered a little, two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should he, the offender, be angry? Look, look here, sir. Do, do you shoot foxes? Because if you don't, your keeper does. We've seen him. I don't, don't, don't care what you call us. But it's an awful thing. It's the ruin of good feeling among neighbours. A man ought to say once and for all how he stands about preserving. It's worse than murder, because there's no legal remedy. MacTurk was quoting confusedly from his father, while the old gentleman made noises in his throat. Do you know who I am? He gurgled at last. Storky and Beatle quaking. No, sir. Nor do I care if you belong to the castle itself. Answer me now, as one gentleman to another. Do you shoot foxes, or do you not? And four years before, Storky and Beatle had carefully kicked MacTurk out of his Irish dialect. Assuredly he had gone mad, or taken a sunstroke, and as assuredly he would be slain. Once by the old gentleman, and once by the head. A public licking for the throw was the least they could expect. Yet, if their eyes and ears were to be trusted, the old gentleman had collapsed. Might be a lull before the storm, but I do not. He was still gurgling. Then you must sack your keeper. He's not fit to live in the same county as a godfair in Fox, and a vixen, too, at this time of the year. Did you come on purpose to tell me this? Of course I did, you silly man, with a stamp on the foot. Would you not have done as much for me if you'd seen that thing happen on my land now? Forgotten? Forgotten was the college and the decent city due to elders. MacTurk 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 to a three hundred-year-old house, lord of a crazy fishing boat, and the idol of his father's shiftless tenantry. It was the landed man speaking to his equal, deep calling to deep, and the old gentleman acknowledged the cry. I apologize, said he. I apologize unreservedly, to you and to the old country. Now, will you be good enough to tell me your story? We were in your coom, MacTurk began, and he told his tale alternately as a schoolboy, and when the iniquity of the thing overcame him as an indignant squire. Concluding, so you see, he must be in the habit of it. I, we, one, never once took you as a neighbor's man, but I took the liberty in this case. I see, quite so. For a reason you had, infamous, oh, infamous. The two had fallen to step beside each other on the lawn, and Colonel Dabney was talking as one man to another. There comes a promoting a fisherman, a fisherman from his lobster pots. It's enough to ruin the reputation of an archangel. Don't attempt to deny it, it is. Your father has brought you up well, he has. I'd much like the pleasure of his acquaintance, very much indeed. And these young gentlemen, English they are. Don't attempt to deny it. They came with you, too. Extraordinary, extraordinary now. In the present state of education, I wouldn't have thought any three boys would be well enough grounded. But out of the mouths of, no, no, not by any odds. Don't attempt to deny it, you're not. Sherry always catches me under the liver. But beer now, eh? What do you say to beer and something to eat? It's long since I was a boy. Abominable nuisances, but exceptions prove the rule. And a vixen, too. They were faired on the terrace by a grey-haired housekeeper, Zorky and Beatle, merely eight. But with turk, with bright eyes, continued a free and lofty discourse. And ever the old gentleman treated him as a brother. My dear man, of course you can come again. Did I not say exceptions prove the rule? Allow a coom, man, dear, any way you please, so long as you don't disturb my pheasants. The two are not incompatible. Don't attempt to deny it, they are not. I'll never allow another gun, though. Come and go as you please. I'll not see you when you didn't see me. You've been well brought up. Another glass of beer now. I tell you a fisherman he was, and a fisherman he shall be tonight again. He shall. I wish I could drown him. I'll convoy you to the college. My people are not precisely a broke-to-boy, but they'll know you again. He dismissed them with many compliments by the high lodge-gate in the Spitoke Park palings. And they stood still, even stalky, who had played second, not to say dumb, fiddle, regarding MacTurk as one from another world. The two glasses of strong home-brewed had brought a melancholy upon the boy. For slowly patrolling with his hands in his pockets he crooned, oh, paddy dear, did you hear the news that's going around? Under other circumstances, stalky and beetle would have fallen upon him. For that song was barred utterly, anathema, the sin of witchcraft. But seeing what he'd wrought, they'd danced round him in silence, waiting till it pleased him to touch earth. The T-bell rang when they were still half a mile from college. MacTurk shivered and came out of dreams. The glory of his holiday estate had left him. He was a collager of the college, speaking English once more. Turkey, it was immense, said stalky generously. I didn't know you had it in you. You've got us a hut for the rest of the term, where we simply can't be collared. Fids, fids, oh, fids, I gloat, hear me gloat. They spun wildly on their heels, jodling after the accepted manner of a gloat, which is not unremotely allied to the primitive man's song of triumph, and dropped down the hill by a path from the gasometer, just in time to meet their housemaster, who had spent the afternoon watching their abandoned hut in the wuzzy. Unluckily, all Mr. Prout's imagination leaned to the darker side of life. He looked on those young-eyed cherubim, most sourly. Boys that he understood attended house matches, and could be accounted for at any moment. But he had heard MacTurk openly deride cricket, even house matches. Mithal's views on the honour of the house he knew were incendiary, and he could never tell when the soft and smiling stalky was laughing at him. Consequently, since human nature is what it is, those boys had been doing wrong somewhere. He hoped it was nothing serious, but... Ti-ra-ra-la-ee-toe, I gloat. Hear me, stalky still on his heels, world like a dancing dervish to the dining hall. Ti-ra-ra-la-ee-toe, I gloat. Hear me, beetles spun behind him with outstretched arms. Ti-ra-ra-la-ee-toe, I gloat. Hear me, MacTurk's voice cracked. Now, was there or was there not a distinct flavour 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 heartops' rooms, he would perhaps have saved confusion, for heartop believed in boys. He knew something about them. His fate led him to King, a fellow housemaster, and no friend of his, but a zealous hater of Storky and Coe. Ah-ha! said King, rubbing his hands when the tale was told. Curious! Now, my house never dreamed of doing these things, but I have no proof, exactly, proof, with the egregious beetle, as if one wanted it. I suppose it's 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. But they have no following in the school, and they are distinctly brutal to their juniors, said Prout, who had from a distance seen beetle return with interest. His butterfly net to a tearful fag. Ah! they consider themselves superior to ordinary delights, self-sufficient little animals. There's something in MacTurk's hibernian sneer that would make me a little annoyed. And they are so careful to avoid all overt acts, too. It's sheer calculated insolence. I am strongly opposed, as you know, to interfering with another man's house. But they need a lesson, Prout. They need a sharp lesson. If you don't bring down their overweening self-conceit, by you I would devote myself for a week to their little performances. Boys of that order, and I may flatter myself, but I think I know boys, don't join the bug-hunters for love. Tell the sergeant to keep his eye open, and, of course, in my peregrinations, I may casually keep mine open, too. T-r-r-l-l-l-t-e-t-o, I gloat. Hear me! Far down the corridor. Disgusting, said King, where do they pick up these obscene noises? One sharp lesson is what they want. The boys not concern themselves with lessons for the next few days. They had all Colonel Dabney's estate to play with, and they explored it with the stealth of the Red Indians and the accuracy of burglars. They could enter either by the lodge gates on the upper road. They were careful to ingratiate themselves with the lodgekeeper and his wife, drop down to the coom, and return along the cliffs. Or they could begin at the coom and climb up into the road. They were careful not to cross the coomor's path. He had served his turn, and they would not out where they're welcome. Nor did they show up on the skyline when they could move in cover. The shelter of the gorse by the cliff edge was their chosen retreat. Beetle christened it, the pleasant aisle of aves for the peace and the shelter of it. And here the pipes and tobacco, once cashed in a convenient ledge and arms length down the cliff, their position was legally unassailable. For, observe, Colonel Dabney had not invited them to enter his house, and therefore they did not need to ask specifically to go visiting, and school rules were strict on that point. He had merely thrown up in his grounds to them, and, since they were lawful bug-hunters, their extended bounds ran up to his notice-boards in the coom, and his lodge-gates on the hill. They were amazed at their own virtue. And even if it wasn't, said Storky, flatten his back, staring into the blue. Even suppose we were miles out of bounds, no one could get at us through this wuzzy unless he knew the tunnel. Isn't this better than lying up just behind the coal in a blue funk every time we had a smoke? He isn't your uncle, Storky. No, said Beatle. He was stretched to the edge of the cliff, spitting thoughtfully. We've got to thank Turkey for this. Turkey is a great man. Turkey, dear? Your distress in heffles. Gloomy old ass, said MacTurk, deep in a book. They've got us under suspicion, said Storky. Hoofatz is so suspicious somehow, and Foxy always makes every Storky as a sort of scalp, said Beatle. Foxy is a giddy chingangook. Poor Foxy, said Storky. He's going to catch us one of these days, said to me in the gym last night. I've got my eye on you, Mr. Cochran. I'm only warning you for your own good. Then I said, well, you'd jolly well take it off again, or you'll get into trouble. I'm only warning you for your own good. Foxy was wroth. Yes, but it's only fair sport for Foxy, said Beatle. It's hefflinger that has the evil mind. I shouldn't wonder if he thought we got tight. I never got squiffy, but once, and that was in the holidays, said Storky, reflectively. And it made me horrid sick. But my sacred Sam, though, it's enough to drive a man to drink, having an animal like Hoof for a housemaster. If we attended the matches and yelled, we'll hit, sir. And stood on one leg and grinned. Every time, Heffie said, oh, so ho, my sons. Is it thus? And said, yes, sir, and no, sir, and oh, sir, and please, sir. Like a lot of filthy fags. Heffie, I'd think no end of us, said MacTurk, with a sneer. To light begin that. It's all right. The hefflinger means well, but he is an ass. And we show him that we think he's an ass. And so, Heffie don't love us. Told me last night after prayers, he was in Loco Parentis, Beatle grunted. The juice he did, cried Storky. That means he's mature in something unusual, damn mean. Last time he told me that, he gave me 300 lines for dancing the ca-chucha in number 10 dormitory. Loco Parentis by gum. But what's the odds, as long as you're happy? We're all right. They were. And their very rightness puzzled Prout, King, and the Sergeant. Boys with bad consciences show it. They slink out past the fives-court in haste, and smile nervously when questioned. They return, disordered, in bare time to save a callover. They nod and wink and giggle to one another, scattering at the approach of a master. But Storky and his allies had long outlived these manifestations of youth. They strolled forth unconcernedly, and returned in excellent shape after a light refreshment of strawberries and cream at the lodge. The lodgekeeper had been promoted keeper v. Che The Murderous Fisherman, and his wife made much of the boys. The man, too, gave them a squirrel, which they presented to the Natural History Society, thereby check-mating little heart-hop, who wished to know what they were doing for science. Foxy faithfully worked some deep Devon lanes behind a lonely crossroads in, and it was curious that Prout and King, members of the common room seldom friendly, walked together in the same direction. That is to say, northeast. Now, the Pleasant Isle of Aves laid due south-west. They're deep. Davelish deep, said Storky. Why they joined those covers? Me, said Beatle sweetly. I asked Foxy if he had ever tasted the beer there. That was enough for Foxy. It cheered him up a little. He and Heffy were sniffing around our old hut so long I thought they'd like a change. Well, it can't last forever, said Storky. Heffy's banking up like a thundercloud, and King goes rubbing his beastly hands and grinning like a hainer. It's shocking demoralizing for King. He'll burst some day. That day came a little sooner than they expected. Came when the sergeant, whose duty it was to collect defaulters, did not attend an afternoon call-over. Tired of pubs, eh? He's gone up to the top of the bill with his binoculars to spot us, said Storky. Wondering he didn't think of that before. Did you see old Heffy cock his eye at us when we answered our names? Heffy's in it, too. Tee-ra-ra-la-la-tee-toe, I gloat. Hear me, come on. Aves, said Beatle. Of course, but I'm not smoky, no sure do we. Pascues, your jollywell pulse, that will be sweevy. We'll go along the cliffs slow and give Foxy lots of time to parallel us up above. They strolled towards the swinging-bars and presently overtook King. Oh, don't let me interrupt you, he said. Engaged in scientific pursuits, of course. I trust you will enjoy yourselves, my young friends. You see, said Storky, when they were out of year shot. He can't keep a secret. He's following to cut off our line of retreat. He'll wait at the bar till Heffy comes along. They've tried every blessed place along the cliffs and now they think they've bottled us, no need to hurry. They walked leisurely over the cooms till they reached the line of notice-boards. There's no shake. Foxy's upwind coming downhill like beans. When you hear him move in the bushes, go straight across to aaves. They want to catch us, flagrant in a licto. They dived into the gorse at right angles to the tunnel, openly crossing the grass and lay still in aaves. What did I tell you? Storky carefully put away the pipes and tobacco. The sergeant, out of breath, was leaning against the fence, raking the furs with his binoculars. And he might as well have tried to see through a sandbag. Anon, proud and king, appeared behind him. They conferred. Aha! Foxy don't like the notice-boards and he don't like the prickles either. Now we'll cut up the tunnel and go to the lodge. Hello! They've sent Foxy into cover. The sergeant was waist-deep in crackling, swaying furs. His ears filled with the noise of his own progress. The boys reached the shelter of the wood and looked down through a belt of hollies. Hellish noise, said Storky critically. Don't think Colonel Daphne will like it. I move we go up to the lodge and get something to eat. We might as well see the fun out. Suddenly, the keeper passed them at a trot. Whom they took comb bottom for lard's sake. Master will be crazy, he said. Poacher assembly, Storky replied in the broad devon that was the boys' long to gear. I'll poach him, rate! He dropped into the funnel like comb, which presently began to fill with noises. Notably, King's voice crying. Go on, sergeant, leave him alone, you sir. He's executing my orders. Whom you to give orders here? Genji Whiskers, you come up to master. Come out of that, was he? This to the sergeant. Yes, I reckon, us knows the boys' you mafter. They've two long ears and fuzzy bellies. And you nippies, they in your pockets, when they'm dead. Come up to master, he'll boy you all you've a mind to. You are the folk, bite your sight fence. Explain to the proprietor, you can explain, sergeant. Shouted King. Evidently, the sergeant had surrendered to the major force. Beetle lay at full length on the turf behind the lodge, literally biting the earth in spasms of joy. Storky kicked him upright. There was nothing of levity about Storky or MacTurk, save a stray muscle twitching on the cheek. They tapped at the lodge door, where they were always welcome. Come you right in and sit down, my little dears, said the woman. They'll never touch my man. He'll poach him to rights, he's fine. Fresh berries and cream. Asked any more folk, never forget their friends. But them biddy-for-aboutches. They know him to their garments. Sugar? My man, he'd dig the badger for you, my dears. Tissin' hay in the box. Us'll take him with us when we're finished here. I reckon you busy. We'll buy it here and, to his washing day with you, simply, said Storky. We've no company to make all biddy-for. Never you mind us. Yes, there's penny-cream. The one withdrew, wiping her pink hands on her apron, and left them in the parlour. There was a scuffle of feet on the gravel outside, the heavy-ledded diamond panes, then the voice of Colonel Dabney, something clearer than a bugle. You can read, you eyes in your head. Don't attempt to deny it, you have. Beetle snatched a crochet-work-antimacasa from a shiny horse-hair sofa, stuffed it into his mouth, and rolled out of sight. You saw my notice-boards. Your duty, curse your impudence, sir. Your duty was to keep off my grounds. Talk of duty to me. Why, why, why, you misbegotten poacher? You'll be teaching my Mia ABC next. Roaring like a bull in the bushes down there. Boys, boys, boys, keep your boys at home, then. I'm not responsible for your boys. But I don't believe it. I don't believe a word of it. You a furtive look in your eye, a furtive, sneaking poaching look in your eye. That had ruined the reputation of an archangel. Don't attempt to deny it, you have. A sergeant, more ashamed of you, then, and the worst bug in her majesty ever made. A sergeant, to run about the country poaching on your pension. Damnable, old damnable. But I'll be considerate. I'll be merciful. By God, I'll be the very essence of humanity. Did ye or did ye not see my notice-boards? Don't attempt it, and I, she did. Silent sergeant. Twenty-one years in the army had left their mark on Foxy. He obeyed. Now, march! The high-lodge gate shot with a clang. My duty, a sergeant, tell me my duty, puffed Colonel Dabney. Good lord, more sergeants. It's King, it's King, gob-storky, his head on the horse-hair pillow. MacTurk was eating the rag carpet before the speckless hearth, and the sofa heaved the emotions of beetle. Through the thick glass, the figures without showed blue, distorted, and menacing. I protest against this outrage. King had evidently been running uphill. The man was entirely within his duty. Let me give you my card. He's in flannels, Storky buried his head again. Unfortunately, most unfortunately, I have not one with me, but my name is King, sir, a housemaster of the college, and you will find me prepared, fully prepared, to answer for this man's action. We've seen three did ye see my notice-boards? I have been prepared, but under the circumstances, I stand in low co-parentice. Proud's deep voice was added to the discussion. They could hear him pant. For what? Colonel Dabney was growing more and more Irish. I'm responsible for the boys under my charge. Ah ye, ah ye, then all I can say is that ye set him a very bad example, a damn bad example, if I may say so. I do not own your boys. I've not seen your boys, and I tell you that if there was a boy, grinning every bush on the place, still ye've no shadow of a right here. Coming up from the coom that way and frightening everything in it, don't attempt it in I, ye did. Ye should have come to the lodge and seen me like Christians, instead of chasing your damn boys through the length and breadth of my covers. In low co-parentice, is ye ye? Well, I've not forgotten my Latin either, and I'll say to you, quiz custodiae dips os custodias. If the master's trespass, how can we blame the boys? But if I could speak to you privately, sit proud. I'll have nothing private with you. Ye can be as private as ye please on the other side of that gate, and I wish ye a very good afternoon. The second time the gate clanged. They waited till Colonel Dabney had returned to the house and fell into one another's arms, crowing for breath. Oh, my soul, oh, my king, oh, my heffy, oh, my foxy zeal, all zeal, Mr. Simple. Storky wiped his eyes. Oh, oh, I, oh, I did boil the excisement. We must get out of this, or we'll be late for tea. Get, get, get the badger, and make little heart-top happy. M-m-make them all happy. Sob McTurk, groping for the door and kicking the prostrate beetle before him. They found the beast in an evil-smelling box, left two half-crowns for payment, and staggered home. Only the badger grunted most marvellous like Colonel Dabney, and they dropped him twice or thrice with shrieks of helpless laughter. They were but imperfectly recovered when foxy met them at the Fivescourt, with word that they were to go up to their dormitory and wait till sent for. We'll take the box to Mr. Heartrop's rooms, then. We've done something for the natural history of society at any rate, said Beetle. Afraid that won't save you, young gentleman, foxy answered, in an awful voice. He was sorely ruffled in his mind. All sereno, foxy-bus! Storky had reached the extreme stage of hiccups. We'll never desert you, foxy. Hound's chopping foxy's in cover is more a proof of vice, ain't it? No, you're right. I'm not, I'm not quite well. They've gone too far this time, Doxy thought to himself. Very far gone, I'd say. Except there was no smell of liquor. And yet it isn't like them somehow. King and Prout, they add their dressing down same as me. That's one comfort. Now, we must pull up, said Storky, rising from the bed on which he'd thrown himself. We're injured in innocence as usual. We don't know what we've been sent up here for, do we? No explanation, deprived of tea, publicless grace before the house, said McTurk, whose eyes were running over. It's damn serious. Well, hold on till King loses his temper, said Beetle. He's a libelous old rip, and he'll be raven paddy-whack. Prout's too beastly cautious. Keep your eye on King. And if he gives us a chance, appeal to the Edd. That always makes him sick. They were summoned to their house-master's study. King and Foxy are supporting Prout. And Foxy had three canes under his arm. King leered triumphantly. For there were tears, undried tears of mirth on the boy's cheeks. Then the examination began. Yes, they had walked along the cliffs. Yes, they had entered Colonel Dabney's grounds. Yes, they had seen the notice-boards. At this point, Beetle spluttered hysterically. For what purpose had they entered Colonel Dabney's grounds? Well, sir, there was a badger. Here, King who loathed the Natural History Society, because he didn't like Hartop, could no longer be restrained. He begged them not to add mandacity to open insolence. But the badger was in Mr. Hartop's room, sir. The sergeant had kindly taken it up for them. That disposed of the badger. And the temporary check brought King's temper to boiling-point. They could hear his foot on the floor while Prout prepared his lumbering inquiries. They had settled into their stride now. Their eyes ceased to sparkle, their faces were blank. Their hands hung beside them without a twitch. They were learning, at the expense of their fellow countrymen, the lesson of their race, which is to put away all emotion and entrap the alien at the proper time. So far so good. King was importing himself more freely into the trial, being vengeful where Prout was grieved. They knew the penalties of trespassing. With a fine show of irresolution, Storky admitted that he had gathered some information vaguely bearing on this head. But he thought the sentence was dragged out to the utmost. Storky did not wish to play his trump with such an opponent. Mr. King desired no buts. Nor was he interested in Storky's evasions. They, on the other hand, might be interested in his poor views. Boys who crept, who sneaked, who lurked out of bounds, even the generous bounds of the natural history society, which they had falsely joined as a cloak for their misdeeds, their vices, their villainies, their immoralities. He'll break cover in a minute, said Storky to himself. Then we'll run him before he gets away. Such boys, such scabrous boys, moral lepers, the current of his words was carrying him off his feet. Evil speakers, liars, slow bellies, yay incipient drunkards. He was merely working up to a peroration, and the boys knew it. But MacTurk cut through the frothing sentence. The others echoing. I appealed to the head, sir. I appealed to the head, sir. I appealed to the head, sir. It was there unquestioned right. Drunkenness meant expulsion after a public flogging. They had been accused of it. The case was the heads, and the heads alone. Thou hast appealed to Caesar under Caesar, thou shalt go. They had heard that sentence once or twice before in their careers. Nonetheless, said King uneasily, you would be better advised to abide by our decision, my young friends. Are we allowed to associate with the rest of the school till we see the head, sir? said MacTurk to his housemaster, disregarding King. This at once lifted the situation to its loftiest plain. Moreover, it meant no work, for moral leprosy was strictly quarantined, and the head never executed judgment till twenty-four cold hours later. Well, if you persist in your defined attitude, said King, with a loving look at the canes under Foxy's arm, there is no alternative. Ten minutes later the news was over the whole school. Storky and Co. had fallen at last. Fallen by drink. They had been drinking. They had returned, blind drunk from a hut. They were even now lying hopelessly intoxicated on the dormitory floor. A few bold spirits crept up to look, and received boots about the head from the criminals. We've got him. Got him on the Claudine toasting fork, said Storky, after those hints were taken. King'll have to prove his charge is up to the giddy hilt. Too much tickly embossed, Beatle quoted from the book of his reading. Didn't I say go-pop if we ladden-bide? No prep, either. O ye incipient drunkards, said MacTurk. And it's Trignite, too. Hello. Here's our dear friend Foxy. More tortures, Foxybuss. I bought you something to eat, young gentleman, said the sergeant, from behind a crowded tray. Their wars had ever been waged without malice, and the suspicion floated in Foxy's mind that boys who allowed themselves to be tracked so easily might perhaps hold something in reserve. Foxy had served through the mutiny when early and accurate information was worth much. I noticed you hadn't had anything to eat, and I spoke to Gumbly, and he said you wasn't exactly cut off from supplies, so I brought up this. It you're a potted amtin, ain't it, Mr. Cochran? Why, Foxybuss, you're a brick, said Storky. I didn't think you had this much. What's the word, Beetle? Bowls, Beetle replied promptly. Thank you, Sergeant. That's young Carter's potted ham, though. Ah, there was a sea on it. I thought it was Mr. Cochran's. This is a very serious business, young gentleman. That's what it is. I didn't know, perhaps, but there might be something on your side which you hadn't said to Mr. King or Mr. Prout, maybe. There is. Heaps, Foxybuss. This from Storky through a full mouth. And then you see, if that was the case, it seems to me that I might represent it quiet, so to say, to the Ed when he asks me about it. I've got to take him to charges tonight, and he looks bad on the face of it. Trosha's bad, Foxy. Twenty-seven cuts in the gym before all the school and public expulsion. Wine is a mocker and strong drink is raging, quote Beetle. It's nothing to make fun of, young gentleman. I've had to go to the Ed with the charges. And you may be aware, perhaps, but that I was following you this afternoon having my suspicions. Did you see your notice boards? Croaked McTurk in the very brogue of Colonel Dabney. Your eyes in the head. Don't deny it. Don't attempt to deny it. You did, said Beetle. A sergeant to run about poaching on your pension. Damnable or damnable, said Storky without pity. Good Lord, said the sergeant, sitting heavily upon a bed. Where? Where are the devil was you? I might have known it was a do somewhere. Oh, you clever maniac, Storky resumed. We may not be aware you were following us this afternoon. Mayn't we? Thought you were stalking us, eh? Why, we led you bung into it, of course. Colonel Dabney. Don't you think he's a nice man, Foxy? Colonel Dabney is our pet particular friend. We've been going there for weeks and weeks. He invited us. You and your duty. Curse your duty, sir. Your duty was to keep off his covers. You'll never be able to hold your head up again, Foxy. The fags'll who touch you, said Beetle. Think of your giddy prestige. The sergeant was thinking. Hard. Look here, young gentleman, he said, honestly. You aren't surely ever going to tell, are you? Wasn't Mr. Prout, Mr. King in it, too? Foxy. Biscuous. They was. They was. Singular horrid. Caught it worse than you. We heard every word of it. You got off easy, considering. If I'd been Dabney, I swear I'd have quadded you. I think I'll suggest it to him tomorrow. And it's all going up to the head. Good lord. Every giddy word of it, my chingalook, said Beetle dancing. Why shouldn't it? We've done nothing wrong. We ain't poachers. We didn't cut about blasting the characters of poor innocent boys, saying they were drunk. That I didn't, said Foxy. I only said that you'd be aved uncommon-odd when you come back with that badger. Mr. King may have taken the wrong hint from that. Of course he did. And he'll jolly well shove all the blame on you when he finds out he's wrong. We know King, if you don't. I am ashamed of you. You ain't fit to be a sergeant, said McTurk. Now, with three thoroughgoing young devils like you, I ain't. I've been had. I've been ambuscaded, hoarse foot and guns. I've been had. And, and that we know, holding the uniforms after this, whereover the Ed will sit in me with a note to Colonel Dabney to ask if what you say about being invited was true. You'd better go in by the lodge gate this time, instead of chasing your damn boys. Or was that the epistle of the King? So it was. Well, Foxy! Storky put his jinn on his hands and regarded the victim with deep delight. Tee-ra-ra-le-loo-la-tee-too, I gloat. Him-ee, said McTurk. Foxy brought us tea when we were moral lepers. Foxy has a heart. Foxy has been in the army, too. I wish I had a you in my company, young gentleman. Said the sergeant from the depths of his heart. I'd have given you something. Silence at the drum-head court-martial, McTurk went on. I'm advocate for the prisoner, and besides, this is much too good to tell all the other brutes in the call. They'd never understand. They'd play cricket and say, Yes, sir. Oh, sir. And no, sir. Never mind that. Go ahead, said Storky. Well, Foxy's a good little chap when he does not esteem himself, so as to be clever. Take not out your alms on a very windy day, Storky struck in. I don't care if you let him off. Nor me, said Beekle. Effie is my only joy. Effie and King. I had to do it, said the sergeant, plaintively. Right. Oh, led away by bad companions in the execution of his duty, or words to that effect. You're dismissed with a reprimand, Foxy. We won't tell about you. I swear we won't. Storky concluded, Bad for the discipline of the school. Horrid, bad. Well, said the sergeant, gathering up the tea-things. Knowing what I know of young gentlemen of the college, I'm very glad to hear it. But what am I to tell the Ed? Anything you jolly well please, Foxy? We aren't criminals. To say that the head was annoyed when the sergeant appeared after dinner with the day's crime-sheet, we'll be putting it mildly. Cochran, MacTurk, and Co. I see. Bounds as usual. Hello? What the juice is this? Suspicion of drinking? Who's charge? Mr. King, sir. I caught him out of bounds, sir. At least that was how it looked. But there's a lot behind it, sir. The sergeant was evidently troubled. Go on, said the head. He and the sergeant had dealt with one another for some seven years, and the head knew that Mr. King's statements depended very largely on Mr. King's temper. I thought they were out of bounds along the cliffs. But it come out they wasn't, sir. I saw him go into Colonel Dabney's woods, and Mr. King and Mr. Proud come along. And the fact was, sir, we was mustook for poachers by Colonel Dabney's people. Mr. King, Mr. Proud and me. There were some words, sir, on both sides. Young gentlemen slipped home, somehow, and they seemed highly humorous, sir. Mr. King was mistook by Colonel Dabney himself, Colonel Dabney being strict. Then they preferred to come straight to you, sir, on account of what Mr. King may have said about their habits afterwards in Mr. Proud's study. I only said there was highly humorous, laughing, and giggling, and a bit above themselves. They've since told me, sir, in a humorous way, that they was invited by Colonel Dabney to go into his woods. I see. They didn't tell their housemaster that, of course. They took up Mr. King on appeal just as soon as he spoke about their habits. Putting your appeal at once, sir. Then I asked to be sent to the dormitory waiting for you. I've since gathered, sir, in their humorous way, sir, that some or other they burred about every word Colonel Dabney said to Mr. King and Mr. Proud when he mistook him for poachers. I might have known when they led me on so that they held the uniline communications. It's a plain do, sir, if you ask me. And they're gloating over in the dormitory. The head saw, even to the uttermost farthing, and his mouth twitched a little under his moustache. Send them to me at once, sergeant. This case needn't wait over. Good evening. Said he when the three appeared under escort. I want your undivided attention for a few minutes. You've known me for five years, and I've known you for twenty-five. I think we understand one another perfectly. I am now going to pay you a tremendous compliment. The brown one, please, sergeant. Thanks. You needn't wait. I'm going to execute you without rhyme, beetle, or reason. I know you went to Colonel Dabney's covers because you were invited. I'm not even going to send the sergeant with a note to ask if your statement is true, because I'm convinced that on this occasion you have adhered strictly to the truth. I know, too, that you were not drinking. You can take off that virtuous expression, Maturk, or I shall begin to fear you don't understand me. There is not a flaw on any of your characters, and that is why I am going to perpetrate a howling injustice. Your reputations have been injured, haven't they? You have been disgraced before the house, haven't you? You have a particularly keen regard for the honour of your house, haven't you? Well, now I am going to lick you. Six apiece was their portion upon that word. And this, I think, the head replaced the cane and flung the written charge into the waste-paper basket covers the situation. When you find a variation from the normal, this will be useful to you in later life. Always meet him in an abnormal way. And that reminds me there are a pile of paper-backs on that shelf. You can borrow them if you put them back. I don't think they'll take any harm from being read in the open. They smell of tobacco, rather. You will go to prep this evening, as usual. Good night, said that amazing man. Good night, and thank you, sir. I swear I'll pray for the head tonight. Good night, I swear I'll pray for the head tonight, said Beatle. Those last two cuts were just flicks on my collar. There's a muddy crystal in that lower shelf. I saw it. Bag's on, next time we go to Aves. Dear man, said MacTurk, no gating, no impulse, no beastly questions, all settled. Hello, what's King going into him for? King and Prout. Whatever the nature of that interview it did not improve either Kings and Prout's ruffled plumes. For, when they came out of the head's house, eyes noticed that the other was sweating profusely. That sight compensated them amply, for the imperial jaw with which they were favored by the two. It seems, and who so astonished as they, that they had held back material facts, were guilty of both surprise you very and suggest you are falsy, well-known gods against whom they often offended. Further, that they were malignant in their dispositions, untrustworthy in their characters, pernicious and revolutionary in their influences, abandoned to the devils of willfulness, pride and a most intolerable conceit. Ninthly and lastly, they were to have a care and be very careful. They were careful, as only boys can be when there is hurt to be inflicted. They waited through one suffocating week, till Prout and King were their royal selves again, waited till there was a house-match, their own house too, in which Prout was taking part, waited further till he had his pads in the pavilion and stood ready to go forth, King was scoring at the window, and the three sat on a bench without. Said Storky to Beetle, I say, Beetle, quisk custodiate ipsos custodais. Don't ask me, said Beetle, I'll have nothing private with you. You can be as private as you please, the other end of the bench. I wish you a very good afternoon. McTurkey yawned. Well, you could have come up to the lords like Christians, instead of chasing your ahem boys through the length and breadth of my covers. I think these house-matches are all rot. Let's go over to Colonel Dabney's and see if he's called any more poachers. That afternoon there was joy in aves. That afternoon there was joy in aves. End of Chapter 1 in Ambush Chapter 2 of Storky & Co. by Rudyard Kipling 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 Slaves of the Lamp The music room on the top floor of Number 5 was filled with the Aladdin Company at rehearsal. Dixon Quartus, commonly known as Dick Four, was Aladdin, stage manager, ballet master, half the orchestra and largely librettist. For the book had been rewritten and filled with local allusions. The pantomime was to be given next week. In the downstairs study occupied by Aladdin, Abnazar and the Emperor of China. The slave of the lamp with the princess Bedrubador and the widow Twanky owned Number 5 study across the same landing so that the company could be easily assembled. The floor shook to the stamp and go of the ballet while Aladdin in pink cotton tights a blue and tinsel jacket and a plumed hat banged alternately on the piano and his banjo. He was the moving spirit of the game as befitted a senior who had passed his army preliminary and hoped to enter Sandhurst next spring. Aladdin came into his own at last. Abnazar lay poisoned on the floor the widow Twanky danced her dance and the company decided it would come all right on the night. What about the last song though? said the Emperor, a tallish fair-head boy with a ghost of a moustache at which he pulled manfully. We need a rousin' old tune. John Peele, drink puppy drink suggested Abnazar, smoothing his baggy lilac pyjamas. Pussy Abnazar never looked more than one half awake but he owned a soft, slow smile which well suited the part of the wicked uncle. Stay all, said Aladdin. Might as well have grandfather's clock. What's that thing you were humming at prep last night, Storky? Storky, the slave of the lamp in black tights and doublet a black silk half-mask on his forehead whistled lazily where he lay on the top of the piano. It was a catchy musical tune. Dick Four cocked his head critically and squinted down a large red nose. Once more and I can pick it up, he said, strumming. Sing the words. Our Patsy, mind the baby Our Patsy, mind the child Wrap him in an overcoat He surely go in wild Our Patsy, mind the baby Just you mind the child awhile He'll kick and bite and cry all night Our Patsy, mind the child Our Patsy, mind the child Rip him, oh, rip him, said Dick Four. Only we shan't have any piano on the night. We must work it with the banjos. Play and dance the same time. You try, Tertius. The emperor pushed aside his pea-green sleeves of state and followed Dick Four on heavy nickel-plated banjo. Yes, but I'm dead all this time bang in the middle of the stage, too, said Abnazar. Oh, that's Beetle's bisnoy, said Dick Four. Vamp it up, Beetle. Don't keep us waiting all night. You've got to get pussy out of the light, somehow. Bring us all in dancing at the end. All right. You two play it again, said Beetle, who, in gray skirt and wig of chestnut sausage curls, set slant-wise above a pair of spectacles mended with an old boot lace, represented the widow twanke. He waved one leg in time with the hammered refrain, and the banjos grew louder. Um... Our err laden has no found his wife, he sang, and Dick Four repeated it. Your emperor is appe-e-e-e-ed. Tertius flung out his chest as he delivered his line. Now, jump up, pussy, and say, I think I'd better come to life. Then we'll all take hands and come forward. We hope you've all been pleased, twiggy-boo. No, twig on. Good enough. What's the chorus for the final ballet? It's four kicks and a turn, said Dick Four. Oh, err. John Shot will bring the curtain down and ring the prompter's bell. We hope you know before you go that we all wish you well. Rip in, rip in. Now for the widow scene with the princess. Hurry up, turkey. A turk in a violet silk shirt and a coquettish blue turban slouched forward as one thoroughly ashamed of himself. The slave of the lamp climbed down from the piano and dispassionately kicked him. Play up, turkey, he said. This is serious. But there fell on the door the knock of authority. It happened to be king in gown and mortarboard enjoying a Saturday evening prowl before dinner. Locked doors, locked doors, he snapped by the scowl. What's the meaning of this? And what, may I ask, is the intention of this? This episcene attire? Panamime, sir. The head gave us leave, said Abnazar, as the only member of the sixth concerned. Dick Four stood firm in the confidence born of well-fitting tights. But Beatle strove to efface himself behind the piano. A grey princess skirt borrowed from a day boy's mother and a spotted cotton bodice unsystematically padded with imposition paper. Make one ridiculous. And in other regards, Beatle had a bad conscience. As usual, sneered king, futile foolery, just when your careers such as they may be are hanging in the balance. I see, ah, I see. The old gang of criminals allied forces of disorder. Cochran, the slave of the lamp, smiled politely. McTurk, the Irishman scowled. And, of course, the unspeakable Beatle. Our friend, Gigadibs. Abnazar, the emperor and Aladdin, had more or less of characters, and king passed them over. Come forth, my in-keeper foon, from behind you on the instrument of music. You supply, I presume, the doggerel for this entertainment. Esteem yourself to be, as it were, a poet. He's found one of them, thought Beatle, noting the flash on king's cheekbone. I've had the pleasure of reading an effusion of yours to my address, I believe, an effusion intended to rhyme. So, so you despise me, Master Gigadibs, do you? I am quite aware, you need not explain, that it was ostensibly not intended for my edification. I read it with laughter. Yes, laughter. These paper pellets of inky boys, still a boy we are, Master Gigadibs, do not disturb my equanimity. I wonder which it was, thought Beatle. He had launched many lampoons on an appreciative public, ever since he discovered that it was possible to convey reproof in rhyme. In sign of his unruffled calm, king proceeded to tear Beatle, whom he called Gigadibs, slowly asunder, from his untied shoestrings to his mended spectacles. The life of a poet in a big school is hard. He held him up to the derision of his associates, with the usual result. His wild flowers of speech, king had an unpleasant tongue, restored him to good humour at the last. He drew a lurid picture of Beatle's latter end as a scurrilous pamphleteer dying in an attic, scattered a few compliments over MacTurk and Cochrane, and reminding Beatle that he must come up for judgment when called upon went to the common room, where he triumphed anew over his victims. And the worst of it, he explained, in a loud voice over his soup, is that I waste such gems of sarcasm on their thick heads. It's miles above them, I'm certain. Well, said the school chaplain, slowly, I don't know what Cochrane's appreciation of your style may be, but young MacTurk reads Ruskin for his amusement. Nonsense he does it to show off, dark, kelt. He does nothing of the kind. I went to their study the other night, unofficially, and MacTurk was gluing up the back of four odd numbers of four's claviguera. I don't know anything about their private lives, said a mathematical master hotly, but I've learned by bitter experience that number five study are best left alone. They are utterly soulless young devils. He blushed as the others laughed. But in the music room there were wrath and bad language. Only Storky, slave of the lamp, lay on the piano unmoved. That little swine, Mander's minor, must have shown him your stuff. He's always sucking up to King. Gun kill him! he drawled. Which one was it, Beatle? Don't know, said Beatle, struggling out of the skirt. There was one about his hunting for popularity with the small boys. The other was one about him in hell, telling the devil he was a balial man. I swear, both of them rhymed all right. By gum. Perhaps Mander's minor showed him both. I'll correct his say-sures for him. He disappeared down two flights of stairs, flushed a small pink and white boy in a form room next door to King's study, which again was immediately below his own, and chased him up the corridor to a form room sacred to the revels of the lower third. Whence he came back, greatly disordered, defined by Storky and the others of the company in his study, enjoying an unlimited brew, coffee, cocoa, buns, new bread, hot and steaming, sardine, sausage, ham and tongue-paste, pilched three jams, and at least as many pounds of Devonshire cream. My hat! said he, throwing himself upon the banquet. Who stumped up for this, Storky? It was within a month of term-end, and blank starvation had reigned in the studies for weeks. You, said Storky, serenely. Confound you, jumping poppy-moist on the bags, then. Keep your hair on, it's only a watch. Watch? I lost it weeks ago, out on the boroughs. When we tried to shoot the old ram, the day your pistol burst. I dropped out of your pocket, your so beastly careless beetle, and MacTurk and I kept it for you. I've been wearing it for a week, and you never noticed. Took it into Biddifford after dinner today, got thirteen and seven pounds. Well, that's pretty average cools that happen as are behind a slab of cream and jam, as Beetle reassured upon the safety of his Sunday trousers, showed not even surprise much less resentment. Indeed, it was MacTurk who grew angry, saying, you gave him the ticket, Storky, you pawned it, you unmitigated beast, while last month you and Beetle sold mine. Never got a sniff of any ticket. Ah, that was because you knocked your trunk and we wasted half an afternoon hammering it open. We might have pawned it if you behaved like a Christian, Turkey. My arm, said Abinaza, you chaps are communists. Photo thanks to Beetle, though. That's beastly unfair, said Storky. When I took all the trouble to pawn it, Beetle never knew he had a watch. Oh, I say, Rabbit's Eggs gave me a lift into Biddifford this afternoon. Rabbit's Eggs was the local carrier, and it was in formation. It was Storky who'd invented his unlovely name. He was pretty average drunk, or he wouldn't have done it. Rabbit's Eggs is a little shy of me, somehow. But I swore it was Pax between us, and gave him a bob. He stopped at two pubs on the way in, so he'd be howling drunk tonight. Oh, don't begin reading, Beetle. There's a council of war on. What that uses to matter with your collar? Jim Eadmander's minor in the lower third boxroom had all his beastly little friends on top of me, said Beetle from behind a jar of pilchards and a book. Hugh Ass, any fool could have told you where a mandas would bunk to, said McTurk. I didn't think, said Beetle meekly, scooping out pilchards with a spoon. Course you didn't, you never do. McTurk adjusted Beetle's collar with a savage tug. Don't drop oil all over my fours, or I'll scrag you. Shut up, you Irish biddy. Tisn't your beastly fours? It's one o' moine. The book was a fat brown-backed volume of the later sixties, which King had once thrown at Beetle's head that Beetle might see whence the name Gigadibs came. Beetle had quietly annexed the book and had seen several things. The quarter-comprehended verses lived and ate with him as the bedropped pages showed. He removed himself from all that world, drifting at large with wondrous men and women. Till McTurk hammered the pilchard spoon on his head and snarled, Beetle, you're oppressed and insulted and bullied by King. Don't you feel it? Leave me alone. I can write some more poetry about him if I am, I suppose. Mad, quite mad, said Storky to the visitors as one exhibiting strange beasts. Beetle reads an ass called Brownin, and McTurk reads an ass called Ruskin, and Ruskin isn't an ass, said McTurk. He's almost as good as the opium eater. He says we are children of noble races, trained by surrounding art. That means me. And the way I decorated the study when you two badges would have stuck up brackets and Christmas cards. Child of a noble race, trained by surrounding art. Stop reading or I'll shove a pilchard down your neck. It's two to one, said Storky warningly, and Beetle closed the book in obedience to the law under which he and his companions had lived for six checkered years. The visitors looked on delighted. Number five study had a reputation for more variegated insanity than the rest of the school put together, and so far as its code allowed friendship with outsiders, it was polite and open-hearted to its neighbours named Landing. Where are you on now? said Beetle. King, war! said McTurk, jerking his head towards the wall, where hung a small wooden West African war-drum, a gift to McTurk from a naval uncle. Then we shall be turned out to the study again, said Beetle, who loved his flesh-pots. Mason turned us out for just warbling on it. Mason was the mathematical master who had testified on it. Warbling? Oh Lord! said Abnazar. We couldn't hear ourselves speak in our study when you played the infernal thing. What's the good of getting turned out of your study anyhow? We lived in the form rooms for a week, too, said Beetle tragically, and it was beastly cold. Yes, but Mason's rooms were filled with rats every day we were out. It took him a week to draw the inference, said McTurk. He loathes rats. He lets us go back. The rats stopped. Mason's a little shy of us now, but there was no evidence. Jolly well there wasn't, said Storky. When I got out on the roof and dropped the beastly things down his chimney. But look here, the question is, are our characters good enough just now to stand to study, Rao? Never mind mine, said Beetle. Kings, where has I happened any? I'm not thinking of you, Storky returned scornfully. You aren't going up for the army, you old bat. I don't want to be expelled and the head's getting rather shy of us, too. Rot! said McTurk. The head never expels, except for beastliness or stealing. But I forgot. You and Storky are thieves, regular burglars. The visitors gasped. But Storky interpreted the parable with large grins. Well, you know, that little beast, Mander's minor, saw Beetle and me hammering McTurk's trunk open when we took his watch last month. Of course, Mander's sneaked to Mason and Mason solemnly took it up as a case of theft, to get even with us about the rats. That just put Mason into our giddy hands, said McTurk blandly. We were nice to him because he was a new master and wanted to win the confidence of the boys. Pity he draws inferences, though. Storky went to his study and pretended to blub and told Mason he'd lead a new life if Mason would let him off this time. But Mason wouldn't. Said it was his duty to report him to the head. Then, dictive swine, said Beetle, it was all those rats. Then I blubbed too and Storky confessed that he'd been a thief in regular practice for six years, ever since he came to the school and that I'd taught him a la Fagin. Mason turned white with joy. He thought he had us on toast. Gorgeous, gorgeous! Said Dick Four. We never heard of this. Of course not. Mason kept it jolly quiet. He wrote down all our statements on impo paper. There wasn't anything he wouldn't believe, said Storky and handed it all to the head with an extemporary prayer. It took about 40 pages, said Beetle. I helped him a lot. And then you crazy idiots! We were sent for and Storky asked to have the depositions read out. The head knocked him spinning to ace paper basket. Then he gave us eight cuts a piece, welters, for taking unheard of liberties with a new master. I saw his shoulders shaking when we went out. Do you know, said Beetle, pensively, that Mason can't look at us now in second lesson without blushing. We three stare at him sometimes until he regularly trickles. He's an awfully sensitive beast. He read Eric all little by little, said MacTurk, so we gave him St. Winifred's or the world of school. They spent all their spare time stealing at St. Winifred's when they weren't praying or getting drunk at pubs. Well, that was only a week ago and the head's a little bit shy of us. He called it constructive deviltry. Storky invented it all. Not the least good having a row of the master and this you can make an ass of him, said Storky, extending a tease on the hearth-flug. If Mason didn't know number five, well, he's learnt. That's all. Now, my dearly beloved eras, Storky curled his legs under him and addressed the company. We've got that strong, persevering man-king on our hands. He went miles out of his way to provoke a conflict. Here Storky snapped down the black silk domino and assumed the heir of a judge. He has oppressed Beetle, McTurk, and me, privatim et seriatim, one by one, as he could catch us. But now he has insulted number five up in the music-room and in the presence of these, these osiphas of the ninety-third. What look like hairdressers? Benjamin, we must make him cry, capyvie! Storky's reading did not include browning or rye-skin. And besides, said McTurk, he's a Philistine, a basket-hanger. He wears a tartan-tie. Ruskin says that any man who wears a tartan-tie will without doubt be damned everlastingly. Rather, McTurk, said Tertius, I thought he was any a beast. He's that, too, of course, but he's worse. He has a china-basket with blue ribbons and a pink kitten on it, hung up in his window to grow muskin. You know when I got all that old oak carving out a bit of a chair, when they were restoring it. Ruskin says that any man who'll restore a church is an unmitigated sweep and stuck it up here with glue. Well, King came in and wanted to know whether we'd done it with a fretsaw. Ha! He is the king of basket-hangers. Down went McTurk's inky thumb over an imaginary arena full of bleeding kings. Placate! Child of a generous wretch. He's the king of basket-hangers. Down went McTurk's inky thumb over an imaginary arena full of bleeding kings. Placate! Child of a generous wretch. He cried to Betel. Well, began Betel, doubfully. He comes from Balliol but I'm going to give the beast a chance. You see, I can always make him hop with some more poetry. He can't report me to the head because it makes him ridiculous. Doc, he's quite right but he shall have his chance. Betel opened the book on the table, began at random. Or who in Moscow, towards the Tsar, with the remorse of footfalls over the Kremlin's pavement white, with Serpentine and Cyanite, steps with five other generals? —That's no good, try another, said Storky. —Hold on a shake, I know what's coming, said MacTurk, reading over Beatle's shoulder. —That simultaneously takes snuff, for each to have protects enough, and kerchief-wise unfold his sash, which softness self is yet the stuff. —Gummy, what a sentence! —To hold fast where a steel chain snaps, and leave the grand white-neck no-gash full stop. —I don't understand a word of it, said Storky. —More fool you, construe, said MacTurk. —Those six bargees scragged the Tsar and left no evidence. —Actum Est, with King. —He gave me that book, too, said Beatle, licking his lips. —There is a great text in Galatians, once you trip on it, in tales, twenty-nine distinct damnations. —One sure if another fails, then irrelevantly. —Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos, thinketh he liveth in the cold of the moon. —He's just come in from dinner, said Dick Four, looking through the window. —Mander's Minor is with him. —Save his place for Mander's Minor just now, said Beatle. —Their new chaps better clear out, said Storky, politely, to the visitors. —It doesn't fair to mix you up in a study, Rao. Besides, we can't afford to have evidence. —Are you going to begin at once? said Aladdin. —Immediately, if not sooner, said Storky, and turned out the gas. —A long, persevering man, King. —Make him cry, Kapivi. —Go away, Benjamin. —The company retreated to their own, neat and spacious study, with expectant souls. —When Storky blows out his nostrils like a horse, said Aladdin, to the Emperor of China, he's on the warpath. —Under what king'll get? —Beans, said the Emperor. —Number five generally pays in full. —I wonder if I ought to take notice of it officially? said Abinazar, who just remembered he was a prefect. —None of it's your business, Pussy. Besides, if you did, we'd have them hostile to us. —We shouldn't be able to do any work, said Aladdin. They've begun already. —Now that West African war drum had been made to signal across estuaries and deltas. —Number five was forbidden to wake the engine with an earshot of the school. But a deep, devastating drone filled the passages as MacTurk and Beetle scientifically rubbed its top. And on it changed to the blare of trumpets, of savage pursuing trumpets. Then, as MacTurk slapped one side, smoothed with the blood of ancient sacrifice, the roar broke into short, coughing howls, such as a wounded gorilla throws in his native forest. These were followed by the wrath of King, three steps at a time up the staircase, with a dry whir of the gown. Aladdin and company, listening, squeaked with excitement as the door crashed open. King stumbled into the darkness and cursed those performers by the gods of Baliel and quiet repose. —Turned out for a week, said Aladdin, holding the study door on the crack. Keyed to be brought down to his study in five minutes. —Proutes, barbarians, savages, children! He's rather agitated. —Our Patsy, mind the baby! —He sang in a whisper as he clung to the doorknob, dancing a noiseless war-dance. King went downstairs again, and Beetle and MacTurk lit the gas to confer with Storky. —But Storky had vanished. —Looks like no end of our mess! —said Beetle, collecting his books and mathematical instrument case. —Weak in the farm-rooms! Isn't any advantage to us? —Yes, but don't you see that Storky isn't here, you owl? —said MacTurk. —Take down the key, and look sorrowful. —King will only joy you for half an hour. I'm going to read in the lower farm-room. —But it's always me, mourn Beetle. —Wait till we see! —said MacTurk, hopefully. —I don't know any more than you do what Storky means, but it's something. —Go down and draw King's fire, you're used to it. —He had the key turned in the door, then the lid of the coal box, which was also the window-seat, lifted cautiously. It had been a tight fit, even for the lithe Storky. His head between his knees and his stomach under his right ear. From a drawer in the table he took a well-worn catapult, a handful of buckshot, and a duplicate key of the study. Noiselessly he raised the window and kneeled by it. His face turned to the road. The wind sloped trees, the dark levels of the burrows, and the white line of breakers falling nine deep along the pebble ridge. Far down the steep bank-deventure lane he heard the husky hoot of the carrier's horn. There was a ghost of melody in it, as it might have been the wind in a gin-bottle is saying to sing. It's the way we have in the army. Storky smiled a tight-lipped smile, and at extreme range opened fire. The old horse half-wheeled in the shafts. Where he went to? He cut Rabbit's eggs. Another buckshot tore through the rotten canvas tilt with a vicious zip. Habit, murmured Storky, as Rabbit's eggs swore into the patient night, protesting that he saw the dumb collager who was assaulting him. And so King was saying in a high head voice to Beatle whom he had kept to play with before Mander's minor, well knowing that it had hurt a fifth-form boy to be held up to a fag's division. And so, Master Beatle, in spite of all our verses which we are so proud of, when we presume to come into direct conflict with even so humble a representative or authority as myself, for instance, we are turned out of our studies, are we not? Yes, sir, said Beatle, with a sheepish grin on his lips and murder in his heart. Hope had nearly left him, but he clung to a well-established faith that never was Storky so dangerous as when he was invisible. You are not required to criticise, thank you? Turned out of our studies we are, just as if we were no better than little Mander's minor. Only inky schoolboys we are, and must be treated as such. Beatle pricked up his ears, for Rabbit's eggs were swearing savagely on the road, and some of the language entered at the upper sash. King believed in ventilation. He strode to the window, gowned of majestic, very visible in the gas-like. Eisean, Eisean, robs Rabbit's eggs, now that he'd found a visible foe, another shot from the darkness above. Yes, you, you long-nosed, four-eyed, gingery-whisker beggar, you're too old for such goings-on. I, polish your nose, I tell ye, polish your long nose. Beatle's heart leapt up within him. Somewhere, somehow he knew, Storky moved behind these manifestations. There were hope and the prospect of revenge. He would embody the suggestion about the nose in deathless verse. King threw up the window, and sternly rebuked Rabbit's eggs. But the carrier was beyond fear or thawning. He had descended from the cart, and was stooping by the roadside. It all fell swiftly as a dream. Mander's miner raised his hand to his head with a cry as a jagged flint canoned on some rich tree-calf bindings on the bookshelf. Another coited along the writing-table, Beatle made a zealous feint to stop it, and in that endeavour overturned a student's lamp, which dripped via King's papers and some choice books greasily onto a Persian rug. There was much broken glass on the window-seat, the china-basket, MacTurk's aversion, cracked to flinders, had dropped her musk-plant and its earth over the red-rep cushions. Mander's miner was bleeding profusely from a cut on the cheekbone, and King, using strange words, every one of which Beatle treasured, ran forth to find the school sergeant, that Rabbit's eggs might be instantly cast into jail. "'Pour a chap,' said Beatle, with a false feigned sympathy. "'Let it bleed a little. That'll prevent upper plexi.' He held the blind head skillfully over the table and the papers on the table, as he guided the howling Mander's to the door. Then, did Beatle, alone with the wreckage, return good for evil. How in that office a complete set of gibbon was scarred along all the back as by a flint? How so much black and copying came to be mingled with Mander's gore on the tablecloth? Why the big gum-bottle unstopped had rolled semi-circuitedly across the floor, and in what manner the white china-dorn orb grew to be painted with yet more of Mander's young blood, were matters which Beatle did not explain when the rabid King returned to find him standing politely over the reeking hearth-rug. "'You never told me to go, sir,' he said with the air of Casabianca, and King consigned him to the outer darkness. But it was to a boot cupboard under the staircase on the ground floor that he hastened to loose the mirth that was destroying him. He had not drawn breath for a first whoop of triumph when two hands choked him dumb. "'Things bring up to number five, lavatory. I'm still in tights,' his stalky, sitting on his head. "'Don't run, walk.' But Beatle staggered into the form room next door and delegated his duty to the yet unenlightened book-turk with an hysterical praisey of the campaign thus far. So it was Macturk of the wooden visage, who brought the clothes from the dormitory while Beatle panted on a form. Then the three buried themselves in number five lavatory, turned on all the taps, filled the place with steam, and dropped weeping into the baths, where they peaced out the wall. "'Wah, shh, ick, ick, ah, o' gasp, stalky. I waited till I couldn't hear myself think while you played the drum, hid in the gull locker, and tweaked rabbit's eggs, and rabbit's eggs rocked king. Wasn't it beautiful? Did you hear the glass?' "'Why, hee, hee, hee,' shrieked Macturk, one trembling finger pointed at Beatle. "'Why, I, I, I, I was through it all,' Beatle howled, in his study being jarred. "'Am I so?' said Storky with a yell, disappearing underwater. The glass was nothing. Mander's miners' heads cut open. La, la, lamp-up set all over the rug, blood on the books and papers, the gum, the gum, the gum, the ink, the ink, the ink, oh Lord!' Then Storky leaped out, all pink as he was, and shook Beatle into some sort of coherence. But his tail prostrated them afresh. I bunked for the boot-cover the second I heard King go downstairs. Beatle tumbled in on top of me. The spare keys hid behind the loose board. "'There isn't a shadow of evidence,' said Storky. They were all chanting together. "'And he turned us out himself, himself,' this from Macturk. "'He can't begin to suspect us. Oh, Storky, it's the loveliest thing we've ever done!' "'Gum, gum, dollops of gum,' shouted Beatle, his spectacles gleaming through a sea of lather, ink and blood all mixed. I held the little beast's head over the Latin prose's for Monday. Golly, how the oil stunk! And Rabbit's eggs told King to poultice his nose. Did you hit Rabbit's eggs, Storky? Did I jolly well not? Tweaked him all over. Did you hear him curse? Oh, I should be sick in a minute if I don't stop!' But dressing was a slow process, because Macturk was obliged to dance when he heard that the musk-basket was broken, and, moreover, Beatle retailed all King's language with emendations and purple insets. "'Shocking!' said Storky, collapsing into a helpless welter of half-hitched trousers. "'So damn bad, too, for it isn't boys like us. "'Wonder what they'd say at St. Winifred's or the world of school?' "'By gum, that reminds me, we owe the lower third one for assaulting Beatle when he chivit Mender's minor. "'Come on, it's an alibi, Samuel L., and besides. "'If we let him off, they'll be worse the next time.'" The lower third had set a guard upon their form room for the space of half an hour, which, to a boy, is a lifetime. Now they were busy with their Saturday evening businesses, cooking sparrows over the gas with rusty nibs, brewing unholy drinks in galley-pots, skinning moles with pocket knives, attending to the paper trays full of silkworms, or discussing the inequities of their elders. With a freedom, fluency, and point that would have amazed their parents. The blow fell without warning. Storky upset a form crowded with small boys among their own cooking utensils. McTurk raided the untidy lockers as a terrier digs at a rabbit hole, while Beatle poured ink upon such heads as he could not appeal to with Smith's classical dictionary. Three brisk minutes accounted for many silkworms, pet larvae, French exercises, school gaps, half-prepared bones and skulls, and a dozen pots of homemade slow jam. It was a great wreckage, and the form room looked as though three conflicting tempests had smitten it. Phew! said Storky, drawing breath outside the door amid groans of Oh, you beastly cats! You think yourselves awfully funny, and so forth. That's all right. Never let the sun go down upon your wrath. Rummy little devil's fags got no notion of combining. Six of them sat on my head when I went in after Amanda's minor, said Beatle. I warned them though what they get, though. Everybody paid in full, beautiful feeling, said McTurk absently, as they strolled along the corridor. Don't think we'd better say much about King, though, do you, Storky? Not much. Our line is injured innocence, of course, same as when the sergeant reported us on suspicion of smoking in the bunkers. If I hadn't thought of buying the pepper and spilling it all over our clothes, he'd have smelt us. King was ghastly facetious about that, called us bird-stuffers in form for a week. Our King hates the natural history of society because it'll heart-top his president. Mustn't do anything in the coal without glorifying King, said McTurk. But he must be a putrid ass, know to suppose that at our time of life we go and stuff birds like fags. Poor old King, said Beatle. He's unpopular in the common room and they'll chaff his head off about rabbit's eggs. Golly, how lovely! How beautiful! How holy! But you should have seen his face when the first rock came in and the earth from the basket. So they were all stricken helpless for five minutes. They repel at last to Abonazar's study and were received reverently. What's the matter? Said Storky, quick to realize new atmospheres. You know jolly well, said Abonazar. You'll be expelled if you get caught. King, as did you bring maniac. Who? Which? What? Expelled for how? We only played the war drum. We got turned out for that already. Do you chaps mean to say you didn't make rabbit's eggs drunk and bribe him to rock King's rooms? Bribe him? No, I'll swear we didn't, said Storky, with a relieved heart, for he loved not to tell lies. What a low mind you've got, Pussy. We've been down having a bath. Did rabbit's eggs rock King? Strong persevere in man, King. Shock in. Awfully, King's frothing at the mouth. There's the bell for prayers. Come on. Wait a sec, said Storky, continuing the conversation in a loud and cheerful voice as they descended the stairs. What did rabbit's eggs rock King for? I know, said Beatle as they passed King's open door. I was in his study. Hush, you ass, hissed the Emperor of China. Oh, he's gone down to prayers, said Beatle, watching the shadow of the housemaster on the wall. Rabbit's eggs was only a bit drunk, swearing at his horse, and King jawed him through the window. And then, of course, he rocked King. Do you mean to say, said Storky, that King began it? King was behind them, and every well-weighed word went up the staircase like an arrow. I can only swear, said Beatle, that King cursed like a bargy. Simply disgusting. I'm going to write to my father about it. Better report it to Mason, suggested Storky. He knows our tender consciences. Hold on a shake. I've got to tie my boot lace. The other study hurried forward. They did not wish to be dragged into stager sides of this nature. So it was left to MacTurk to sum up the situation beneath the guns of the enemy. You see, said the Irishman, hanging on the banister. He begins by bullying little chaps. Then he bullies the big chaps. Then he bullies someone who isn't connected with the college, and then catches it. Serves him jolly well right. I beg your pardon, sir. I didn't see you were coming down the staircase. The black gown tore past like a thunderstorm, and in its wake, three abreast arms linked the Aladdin Company, rolled up the big corridor to prayers, singing with the most innocent intention. Our patsy mind the baby. Our patsy mind the child. Rub him in an overcoat. He surely go in wild. Our patsy mind the baby. Just mind the child awhile. He'll kick and bite and cry all night. Our patsy mind the child.