 Chapter 7 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. The flag of their country. It was winter, bitter and cold of mornings. Consequently, Storky and Beetle, MacTurk being of the offensive type that makes ornate toilet under all circumstances, drows to the last moment before turning out to call over in the Gaslit Gymnasium. It followed that they were often late, and since every unpunctuality earned them a black mark, and since three black marks a week meant defaulters drill, equally it followed that they spent hours under the sergeant's hand. Foxy drilled the defaulters with all the pomp of his old parade ground. Don't take it any pleasure to me. His introduction never varied. I'd much sooner be smoking a quiet pipe in my own quarters. But I see we have the old brigade in our hands this afternoon. If I only add you regular, Mr. Cochran, said he, dressing the line. You've had me for six weeks, you old glutton. Number off from the right. Not quite so previous, please. I'm taking this drill. Left, half, turn. Slow, march. Twenty-five sluggards, all old offenders, filed into the gymnasium. Quietly provide yourselves with the requisite dumbbells, returning quietly to your place. Number off from the right in a low voice. Odd numbers, one place to the front. Even numbers stand fast. Now, leaning forward from the Ips, taking your time from me. The dumbbells rose and fell, clashed and were returned as one. The boys were experts at the weary game. Very good. I should be sorry when any of you resume your habits of punctuality. Quietly return, dumbbells. We will now try some simple drill. Ugh, I know that simple drill. It would be highly to your discredit if you did not, Mr. Cochran. At the same time, it is not so easy as it looks. Bet you a barb I can drill as well as you, Foxy. We'll see you later. Now, try to imagine you ain't defaulted at all, but a half company on parade. Maybe in your commanding officer. There is no call to laugh. If you're lucky, most of you will have to take drills off your life. Do me a little credit. You've been at it long enough, goodness knows. They were formed into fours, marched, wheeled and counter-marched. The spell of ordered motion strong on them. As Foxy said, they had been at it a long time. The gymnasium door opened, revealing MacTurk in charge of an old gentleman. The sergeant, leading a wheel, did not see. Not so bad. He murmured not half bad. The pivot man of the wheel, only marks time, Mr. Swain. Now, Mr. Cochran, you say you know the drill. Oblige me by taking over the commands and reversing my words step by step, relegate them to their previous formation. What's this? What's this? cried the visitor authoritatively. A little drill, sir, stammered Foxy, saying nothing of first causes. Excellent, excellent. I only wish there were more of it. He chirruped. Don't let me interrupt. You were just going to hand over to someone, weren't you? He sat down, breathing frostily in the chill air. I shall muck it, I know I shall. Whispered Storky uneasily. And his discomfort was not lightened by a murmur from the rear rank that the old gentleman was General Collinson, a member of the College Board of Council. Er, what? said Foxy. Collinson, case he be. He commanded the pompadours. My father's old regiment, his Swain major. Take all time, said the visitor. I know how it feels, your first drill, eh? Yes, sir. He drew an unhappy breath. Attention! Dress! The echo of his voice restored his confidence. The wheel was faced about, flung back, broken into fours, and restored to line without a falter. The official hour of punishment was long past, but no one thought of that. They were backing up Storky. Storky, in deadly fear, lest his voice should crack. Here does your credit, Sergeant, was the visitor's comment. A good drill, and good material to drill. Now, it's an extraordinary thing. I've been lunching with your headmaster, and he never told me you had a cadet corps in the College. Er, we haven't, sir. This is only a little drill, said the Sergeant. But aren't they keen on it, said MacTurk, speaking for the first time, with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes? Why aren't you in it, though, Willie? Oh, I'm not punctual enough, said MacTurk. The Sergeant only takes the pick of us. Dismiss! Break off! cried Foxy, fearing an explosion in the ranks. Er, I ought to have told you first, sir, that, but you should have a cadet corps. The General pursued his own line of thought. You shall have a cadet corps, too, if my recommendation in council is any use. I don't know when I've been so pleased. Boys animated by a spirit like yours could set an example to the whole school. Or they do, said MacTurk. Bless my soul, can it be so late? I've kept my fly waiting half an hour. Well, I must be at runaway. Nothing like seeing things for oneself. Which end of the buildings does one get out at? Will you show me, Willie? Who was that boy who took the drill? Cochran, I think his name is. You ought to know him. That's the kind of boy you should cultivate. Evidently an unusual sort. Wonderful sight. Five and twenty boys, who I daresay, would much sooner be playing cricket. It was the depth of winter, but grown people, especially those who lived long in foreign parts, make these little errors. And MacTurk did not correct him. Drilling for the sheer love of it. Er, shamed away so much good stuff, but I think I can carry my point. And who's your friend with the white whiskers? Demanded Storky on MacTurk's return to the study. General Collinson. He comes over to shoot with my father sometimes. A rather decent old bar, G2. He said, I ought to cultivate your acquaintance, Storky. Did he tip you? MacTurk exhibited a blessed whole sovereign. Ah, said Storky, annexing it, for he was treasurer. We'll have a hefty brew. You'd pretty average cool cheek, Turkey. Did you're about our keenness and punctuality? Didn't the old boy know we were defaulters? Said Beatle. Not him. He came down to lunch with the head. I found him poking about the place, with his own hook afterwards. And I thought I'd show him the giddy drill. When I found he was so pleased, I wasn't going to damp his giddy-arder. He mined to give me a quid, if I had. Wasn't old Foxy pleased? Did you see him get pink behind the ears? Said Beatle. It was an awful score for him. Didn't we back him up beautifully? Let's go down to Keats and get some cocoa and sausages. They overtook Foxy, speeding down to retail the adventure to Keat. Who, in his time, had been troop sergeant major in a cavalry regiment. And now, war-worn veteran, was local postmaster and confectioner. You owe us something, said Storky, with meaning. I'm highly grateful, Mr. Corcoran. I've had to run against you pretty hard in the way of business, now and then. But I will say that outside of business, bounds and smoking and such like, I don't wish to have a more trustworthy young gentleman to help out of an owl. The way you handled the drill was beautiful, though I say it. Now, if you come regular ends forward, but you'll have to beat a late three times a week, said Beatle. You can't expect a chap to do that, just to please you, Foxy. All right, that's true. Still, if you could manage it, and you must have beatle, it will give you a big start when the cadet Corcoran is formed. I expect the general will recommend it. They raided Keats, very much at their own sweet will. For the old man who knew them well, was deep in talk with Foxy. I'm a book we've taken, seven and six. Storky called, at last, over the counter. But you better count for yourself. No, no. I'll take your word any day, Master Corcoran. In the pompadours, was he Sergeant? We lay with him once at Umballa. I think it was. I don't know whether this Hammond Tungton is 18 pence or one on four. Say one on performance, Mr. Corcoran. Course, Sergeant. If it was any use to give my time, I'd be pleased to do it. But I'm old. I'd like to see a drill again. Come on, Storky, cried Book Turk. He isn't listening to you. Check over the money. I want the quid changed, you ass. Keat, Private Keat, Corporal Keat. Throop, Sergeant Major Keat. Will you give me change for a quid? Yes, yes, of course. Seven and six. He stared, abstractedly. Pushed the silver over, and melted away into the darkness of the back room. Now, those two will, will draw about the mutiny till tea time, said Beatle. Old Keat was at Sabraon, said Storky. Hear him talk about that sometimes. Beats Foxy Hollow. The head's face, inscrutable as ever, was bent over a pile of letters. What do you think? He said at last the Reverend John Gillett. No, it's a good idea. There's no denying that. An estimable idea. No, we concede that much. Well, why have my doubts about it, that's all. The more I know of boys, the less do I profess myself capable of following their moods. But I own, I shall be very much surprised if the scheme takes. It, it isn't the temper of the school, we prepare for the army. My business, in this matter, is to carry out the wishes of the council. They demand a volunteer cadet corps. A volunteer cadet corps will be furnished. I have suggested, however, that we need not embark on the expense of uniforms, until we are drilled. General Collinson is sending us fifty lethal weapons. Cut down Sniders, he calls them, all carefully plugged. Yes, that is necessary in a school that uses loaded saloon pistols to the extent we do. The Reverend John smiled. Therefore there will be no outlier, except the sergeant's time. But if he fails, you will be blamed. Oh, assuredly. I shall post a notice in the corridor this afternoon, and I shall watch the result. Kindly keep your hands off the new arm-rack. Foxy wrestled with a turbulent crowd in the gymnasium. Nor it won't do even a condimned Snider any good to be continually snapping the lock, Mr. Swain. Yes, the uniforms will come later, when we are more proficient. At present we will confine ourselves to drill. I am here for the purpose of taking the names of those willing to join. Put on that Snider, Master Hogan. What are you going to do, Beatle? Said a voice. I've had all the drill I want, thank you. What, after all you've learned? Come on, don't be a scab. They'll make you a corpora in a week, cried Storky. I'm not going up for the army, Beatle touched his spectacles. Hold on, I shake, Foxy, said Hogan. Where are you going to drill us? Here in the gym, till you are fit and capable to be taken out on the road. The Sergeant threw a chest. For all the northern cadds to look at? Not good enough, Foxybuss. Well, we won't make a point of it. You learn your drill first, and later we'll see. Hello? said Ansel of McCrae's, shouldering through the mob. What's all this about a giddy cadet, Gore? It will save you a lot of time at Sandhurst. The Sergeant replied promptly. You'll be dismissed your drills early, if you go up with a good grounding beforehand. Hmm, I don't want learning my drill. But I'm not going to ass about the country with a toy snider. Perone, what are you going to do? Hogan's joining. I don't know whether I have the time, said Perone. I've got no end of extra two, as it is. Well, call this extra two, said Ansel. Don't take us long to muck up the drill. Oh, that's right enough. But what about marching in public, said Hogan. Not foreseeing that three years later, he should die in the Burmese sunlight outside Mintler Fort. Afraid the uniform won't suit your creamy complexion? McTurk asked with a villainous sneer. Shut up, Turkey! You aren't going up for the army. No. But I'm going to send a substitute. Hi, Morell and Wake. You two fags by the arm-rack. You've got to volunteer. Blushing deeply, they had been too shy to apply before. The youngsters sidled towards the Sergeant. But I don't want the little chaps. None at first, said the Sergeant, disgusted me. I want. I'd like some of the old brigade that defaults us to stiffen them of it. Don't be ungrateful, Sergeant. They're nearly as big as you get them in the army now. McTurk read the papers for those years, and could be trusted for general information, which he used as he used his tweaker. The air he did not know that Wake Minor would be a bimbashi of the Egyptian army air his thirtieth year. Hogan, Swain, Storky, Perone and Ansel. Were deep in consultation by the vaulting horse. Storky, as usual, laying down the law. The Sergeant watched them uneasily, knowing that many waited on their lead. Foxy don't like my recruits, said McTurk, in a pained tone to Beetle. You get him some. Nothing, Loth. Beetle pinioned two more fags, each no taller than a carbine. Here are Foxy. Here's some food for powder. Strike for your hearts and homes, you young brutes, and be jolly quick about it. Still he isn't happy, said McTurk. Farer the way we have with our army is the way we have with our navy. Here Beetle joined in, for he had found the poem in an old volume of punch, and it seemed to cover the situation. And both of them lead to adversity, which nobody can deny. You be quiet, young gentleman. If you can't help, don't hinder. Foxy's eye was still on the council by the horse. Carter, White, and Tyrell, all boys of influence had joined it. The rest fingered the rifles irresolutely. Why, in a shake, cried Storky. Can we turn out those rotters before we get to work? Certainly, said Foxy. Anyone wishful to join will stay here. Those who do not so intend will go out, quietly closing the door behind them. A half a dozen of the earnest-minded rushed at them. But they had just time to escape into the corridor. Well, why don't you join? Beetle asked, resettling his collar. Why didn't you? What's the good? We aren't going up for the army. Besides, I know the drill, all except the manual, of course. Wonder what they're doing inside? Making a treaty with Foxy, didn't you hear Storky say? That's what we'll do, and if he don't like it, he can lump it. They'll use Foxy for a cram. Can't you see, you idiot? They're going up for Sandhurst and the shop in less than a year. They'll learn their drill, and then they'll drop it like a shot. Do you suppose chaps with their amount of extra two are taking up volunteering for fun? Well, I don't know. I thought of doing a poem about it. Rotten them, you know. The baller of the dog-shooters, eh? I don't think you can, because King will be down on the core like a carto de bricks. He hasn't been consulted. He's sniffing around the notice board now. Let's lure him. They strolled up carelessly towards the housemaster. A most meek couple. How's this? Said King, for the start of feint surprise. Me thought you would be learning to fight for your country. Oh, I think the company is full, sir, said McTurk. It's a great pity, sighed Beetle. For the valiant defenders, have we then how, noble, what devotion? I presume that it is possible that a desire to evade their normal responsibilities may be at the bottom of this zeal. Doubtless they will be accorded special privileges, like the choir and the natural history society, one must not say bug-hunters. Oh, I suppose so, sir, said McTurk cheerily. The head hasn't said anything about it yet, but he will, of course. Oh, sure too. It is just possible, my Beetle, King Weald on the last speaker, that the housemaster's a necessary but somewhat neglected factor in our humble scheme of existence, may have a word to say on the matter. Life, for the young at least, is not all weapons and munitions of war. Education is, incidentally, one of our aims. What a consistent pig he is, could McTurk, when they were out of earshot. One always knows where to have him. Did you see how he rose to that draw about the head and special privileges? Confound him. He might have the decency to aback the scheme. I could do such a lovely ballad, rotten it. And now I'll have to be a giddy enthusiast. It don't bar our pulling Storky's leg in the study, does it? Oh, no, but in the call we must be procured at force like anything. Can't you make up a giddy epigram while our catalysts about King objecting to it? Beetle was at this noble task when Storky returned all heart from his first drill. Hello, my rumrod bunger, began McTurk. Where is your dead dog? Is it defense or defiance? Defiance, said Storky. And leaped on him at that word. Look here, Turkey, you mustn't rot the core. We've arranged it beautifully. Foxy swears he won't take us out into the open until we say we want to go. Disgusting exhibition of immature infants. Ape in the idiosyncrasies of their elders. Snuf! Have you drawn King, Beetle? Storky asked in the paws of the scuffle. Not exactly, but that's his genial style. Well, listen to your uncle Storky, who is a great man. Moreover, consequently, Foxy is going to let us drill the core in turn. Privatim medseriatim. So that we'll all know how to handle a half-company anyhow. Ergo, and proper hawk, when we go to the shop, we shall be dismissed drill early. That's my beloved Eras, combining education with wholesome amusement. I knew you'd make some sort of extra two out of it. You cold-blooded brute, said McTurk. Don't you want to die for your giddy country? Not if I can jolly well avoid it. Say, you mustn't rot the core. We'd decided on that years ago, said Beetle scornfully. King'll do the rotten. Then you've got to rot King, my giddy poet. Make up a good catchy limerick, and let the fag sing it. Look here, used stick to volunteer in, and don't jog the table. He won't have anything to take hold of, said Storky, with dark significance. They did not know what that meant. Till a few days later, they proposed to watch the core at drill. They found the gymnasium door locked and a fag on guard. This is sweet cheek, said McTurk, stooping. Mustn't look through the keyhole, said the sentry. I like that. Why, wake, you little beast! I made you volunteer. Can't help it. My orders are not to allow anyone to look. Suppose we do, said McTurk. Suppose we jolly well slay you. My orders are I'm to give the name of anybody who interfered with me on my post to the core, and they'll deal with him after drill, according to martial law. What a brute Storky is, said Beatle. They never doubted for a moment who had devised that scheme. You esteem yourself a giddy centurion, don't you, said Beatle, listening to the crash and rattle of grounded arms within. My orders are not to talk except to explain my orders. They'll lick me if I do. McTurk looked at Beatle. The two shook their heads and turned away. I swear, Storky is a great man, to Beatle, after a long pause. One consolation is that this sort of secret society business will drive King wild. It troubled many more than King, but the members of the core were muter than oysters. Foxy, being bound by no vow, carried his woes to Keat. Oh, you've never come across such nonsense in my life. They've dialed the lodge, in or out of guard, all complete. And then they get to work, keen as mustard. But what's it all for? asked the troop sergeant major. To learn their drill. You never saw anything like it. They begin after I've dismissed them, practicing tricks. But out into the open they will not come, not forever so. The whole thing is preposterous. If you're a cadet corps, I say be a cadet corps, instead of hiding behind locked doors. And what do the authorities say about it? Well, that beats me again, said the sergeants, pretfully. I go to the Ed, and he gives me no help. There's times when I think he's making fun of me. I've never been a volunteer sergeant, thank God. But I've always had the consideration to pity him. I'm glad of that. I'd like to see him, said Keat. From your statement, sergeant, I can't get at what they're after. Don't ask me, major. Ask that freckle-faced young cork run. He's their generalissimo. One does not refuse a warrior of sobra on. Or deny the only pastry-cook within bounds. So Keat came by invitation, leaning on a stick, tremulous with old age, to sit in the corner and watch. They shape well. They shape uncommon well, he whispered between evolutions. Oh, this isn't what they're after. Wait till I dismiss them. Had the break-off, the ranks stood fast. Perone fell out, faced them, and, refreshing his memory by glimpses at a red-bound metal-class book, drilled them for ten minutes. This is that Perone, who was shot in Equatorial Africa by his own men. And so, he went to the Ed. Ansel followed him, and Hogan followed Ansel. All three were implicitly obeyed. Then Storky laid his snider, and, drawing a long breath, favored the company with a blast of withering invective. Oh, how hard must a cork run? That ain't any drill, cried Foxy. All right, Sergeant, you never know what you may have to say to your men. For pity's sake, try to stand up without leaning against each other, you bleary-eyed, herring-gutted cuttersnipes. It's no pleasure to me to comb you out. That ought to have been done before you came here, you, you militia broom-stealers. The old touch, the old touch. We know it, said Keat, wiping his roomy eyes. But where did he pick it up? From his father or his uncle, don't ask me. Half of them must have been bombed within the earshot of the barracks. Foxy was not far wrong in his guess. I've heard more back-talk since this volunteering nonsense began than I've heard in a year in the service. There's a real man looking as though his belly were in the pawn shop. Yes, you private ansel. Storky tongue-lashed the victim for three minutes, engrossed and in detail. Hello, he returned to his normal tone. First bud to me, you flushed ansel. You wriggled. Couldn't help fussing was the answer. I don't think I wriggled, though. Well, it's your turn now, Storky resumed his place in the ranks. Lord, Lord, it's as good as a play, chuckled the attentive Keat. Ansel, too, had been blessed with relatives in the service, and slowly in a lazy drawl. His style was more reflective than Storky's. Descended the abysmal depths of personality. Blood to me! he shouted triumphantly. You couldn't stand it, either. Storky was a rich red, and his snider shook visibly. I didn't think I would, he said, struggling for composure. But after a bit, I got in no end of a bait. Curious, ain't it? Good for the temper, said the slow-moving Hogan, as they returned arms to the rack. Did you ever, said Foxy, hopelessly to Keat. I don't know much about volunteers, but it's the rummest show I ever saw. I can see what they get, not, though. Lord, how often I've been told off and dressed down in Moide. They shape well, extremely well. They shape. If I could get them out in the open, there's nothing I couldn't do with them, Major. Perhaps when the uniforms come down, they'll change their mind. Indeed. It was time that the corps made some concession to the curiosity of the school. Thrice had the guard been maltreated, and Thrice had the corps dealt out martial law to the offender. The school raged. What was the use, they asked, of a cadet corps which none might see. Mr. King congratulated them on their invisible defenders, and they could not parry his thrusts. Foxy was growing sullen and restive. A few of the corps expressed openly doubts as to the wisdom of their corps, and the question of uniforms loomed on their near horizon. If these were issued, they would be forced to wear them. But as so often happens in this life, the matter was suddenly settled from without. The head had duly informed the council that their recommendation had been acted upon, and that, so far as he could learn, the boys were drilling. He said nothing of the terms on which they drilled. Naturally, General Collinson was delighted and told his friends. One of his friends rejoiced in a friend, a member of parliament, a zealous, intelligent, and above all, a patriotic person, anxious to do the most good in the shortest possible time. But we cannot answer alas for the friends of our friends. If Collinson's friend had introduced him to the general, the latter would have taken his measure and saved much. But the friend merely spoke to his friend, and since no two people in the world see I2I, the picture conveyed to Collinson was inaccurate. Moreover, the man was an MP, an impeccable conservative, and the general had the English soldier's lucky respect for any member of the court of last appeal. He was going down into the West Country to spread light in somebody's benighted constituency. Wouldn't it be a good idea if, armed with the general's recommendation, he, taking the admirable and newly established cadet corps for his text, spoke a few words, and just talked to the boys a little, eh? You know the sort of thing that would be acceptable, and he'd be the very man to do it. The sort of talk boys understand, you know? They didn't talk to him much in my time, said the general suspiciously. Ah, but times change with the spread of education and so on. The boys of today are the men of tomorrow. An impression in youth is likely to be permanent. And in these times, you know, with the country going to the dogs, you're quite right. The island was then entering on five years of Mr Gladstone's rule, and the general did not like what he had seen of it. He would certainly write to the head. For it was beyond question that the boys of today made the men of tomorrow. That, if he might say so, was uncommonly well put. In reply, the head stated that he should be delighted to welcome Mr Raymond Martin MP, of whom he had heard so much, and to put him up for the night, and allow him to address the school on any subject that he can see would interest them. If Mr Martin had not yet faced an audience of this particular class of British youth, the head had no doubt he would find it an interesting experience. And I don't think I'm very far wrong in that last. He confided to the Reverend John. Did you happen to know anything of one Raymond Martin? I was at college with a man of that name, the chaplain replied. He was without form and void, so far as I remember, but desperately earnest. He would address the call on patriotism next Saturday. If there's one thing our boys attest more than another, it's having their Saturday evenings broken into. Patriotism has no chance beside brewing. Nor art, either. Do you remember our evening with Shakespeare? The head's eyes twinkled, or the humorous gentleman with the magic lantern. And ooh, the deuces, Raymond Martin MP, demanded beetle, when he read the notice of the lecturer in the corridor. Why do brutes always turn up on a Saturday? Oh, Ray-O-Mio, Ray-O-Mio, wherefore art thou, Ray-O-Mio? said MacTurk over his shoulder, quoting the Shakespeare artist of the last term. Well, he won't be as bad as her. I hope. Storky, are you properly patriotic? Because if you ain't, this chap's going to make you. I hope you won't take up the whole of the evening. I suppose we've got to go and listen to him. Wouldn't miss him from the world, said MacTurk. A lot of chaps thought Romeo, Romeo, boom, woman was a bore. But I didn't. I liked her. Remember when she began to hiccup in the middle of it? Perhaps he'll hiccup. Whoever gets to the gym first, bag seats for the other two. There was no nervousness. But a brisk and cheery affability about Mr. Raymond Martin MP, as he drove up, watched by many eyes, to their head's house. He looks a bit of a bargy, was MacTurk's comment. Shouldn't be surprised if he was a radical. He rode the driver about the fair. I heard him. That was his giddy patriotism. Betel explained. After tea, they joined the rush for seats, secured a private and invisible corner, and began to criticize. Every gas jet was lit. On the little desk at the far end stood the head's official desk, whence Mr. Martin would discourse, and a ring of chairs for the masters. Entered then Foxy, with official port, and leaned something like a cloth rolled round a stick against the desk. No one in authority was yet present, so the school applauded, crying, Was that Foxy? What are you stealing the gentleman's brolly for? We don't birch here, we cane. Take away that bore-ball. Number off from the right! And so forth. So the entry of the head and the masters ended all demonstrations. One good job. The common room hate this as much as we do. Watch King wriggling to get out of the draught. Where's this raven-diferous Martin? Punctuality, my beloved, eros, is the image of war. Shut up! Here's the giddy duke. Golly, what a duelab. Mr. Martin, in evening dress, was undeniably throaty. A tall, generously designed, pink and white man. Still, Beatle need not have been coarse. Look at his back while he's talking to the head. Vile bad-form to turn you back on the audience. He's a Felistine, a Bopper, a Jebusite, and a He-Vite. McTurk leaned back and sniffed contemptuously. In a few colourless words, the head introduced the speaker and sat down amid applause. When Mr. Martin took the applause to himself, they naturally applauded more than ever. It was some time before he could begin. He had no knowledge of the school, its tradition or heritage. He did not know that the last censor showed that 80% of the boys had been born abroad, in camp, cantonment, or upon high seas. Or that 75% were sons of officers in one or another of the services. Willoughbees pawled it to castros, mains, randles after their kind. Looking to follow their father's profession. The head might have told him this and much more, but after an hour-long dinner in his company, the head decided to say nothing whatever. Mr. Raymond Martin seemed to know so much already. He plunged into his speech with a long-drawn, rasping, Well, boys! That, though they were not conscious of it, set every young nerve a jar. He supposed they knew, hey, what he had come down for. It was not often that he had the opportunity to talk to boys. He supposed that boys were very much the same kind of persons. Some people thought them rather funny persons, as they had been in his youth. This man, said MacTurk with conviction, is the Gadarene Swine. But they must remember that they would not always be boys. They would grow up into men. Because the boys of today made the men of tomorrow, and upon the men of tomorrow, the fair name of their glorious native land depended. If this goes on, beloved heroes, it will be my painful duty to rot this bargey. Storky drew a long breath through his nose. Can't do that, said MacTurk. He ain't charging anything through this Romeo. And so they ought to think of the duties and responsibilities of the life that was opening before them. Life was not all, he enumerated a few games, and that nothing might be lacking to the sweep and impact of his fall, added marbles. Yes, life was not, he said, all marbles. There was one tense gasp. Among the juniors almost a shriek of quivering horror. He was a heathen, an outcast. Beyond the extremist pale of toleration, self-damned before all men. Storky bowed his head in his hands. MacTurk, with a bright and cheerful eye, drank in every word, and Beatle nodded solemn approval. Some of them, doubtless, expected in a few years to have the honour of a commission from the Queen, and to wear a sword. Now, he himself had some experience of these duties as a major in a volunteer regiment, and he was glad to learn that they had established a volunteer corps in their midst. The establishment of such an establishment conduced to a proper and healthy spirit, which, if fostered, would be of great benefit to the land they loved and were so proud to belong to. Some of those now present expected, he had no doubt, some of them anxiously looked forward to leading their men against the bullets of England's foes, to confronting the stricken field in all the pride of their youthful manhood. Now, the Reserver, boy, is tenfold deeper than the Reserver made, she being made for one end only by blind nature, but man for several. With a large and healthy hand, he tore down these veils, and trampled them under the well-intentioned feet of eloquence. In a raucous voice, he cried aloud little matters, like the hope of honour and the dream of glory, that boys do not discuss even with their most intimate equals. Cheerfully assuming that, till he spoke, they had never considered these possibilities. He pointed them to shining gulls, with fingers which smudged out all radiance on the all horizons. He profaned the most secret places of their souls with outcries and gesticulations. He bad them consider the deeds of their ancestors in such a fashion that they were flushed to their tingling ears. Some of them, the rending voice, cut a frozen stillness, might have had relatives who perished in the defence of their country. They thought not a few of them of an old sword in the passage, or a brow of the breakfast-room table, seen and fingered by stealth since they could walk. He endured them to emulate those illustrious examples, and they looked all ways in their extreme discomfort. Their years forbade them even to shape their thoughts clearly to themselves. They felt savagely that they were being outraged by a fat man who considered marbles a game. And so he worked towards his peroration, which, by the way, he used later with overwhelming success at a meeting of electors, while they sat, flushed and uneasy in sour disgust, after many, many words. He reached for the cloth-wrapped stick, and thrust one hand in his bosom. This, this, was the concrete symbol of their land, worthy of all honour and reverence. Let no boy look on this flag, who did not propose to worthily add to its imperishable luster. He shook it before them, a large calico-union jack, staring in all three colours, and waited for the thunder of applause that should crown his effort. They looked in silence. They had certainly seen the thing before, down at the Coast Guard Station, or through a telescope half-mast high when a bridge went ashore on Bronton Sands. Above the roof of the golf club, and in Keats' window, where a certain kind of striped sweet-meat bore it in paper on each box, but the college never displayed it. It was no part of the scheme of their lives. The head had never alluded to it, their fathers had not declared it unto them. It was a manner shut up, sacred and apart. What in the name of everything caddish was he driving at, who waved that horror before their eyes? Happy thought, perhaps he was drunk. The head saved the situation by rising swiftly to propose a vote of thanks, and, at his first motion, the school clapped furiously from a sense of relief. And I'm sure, he concluded, the gaslight full on his face, that you will all join me in a very hearty vote of thanks to Mr. Raymond Martin for the most enjoyable address he has given us. To this day we shall never know the rights of the case, the head vows that he did no such thing, or that if he did it must have been something in his eye, for those who were present are persuaded that he winked once, openly and solemnly, after the word enjoyable. Mr. Raymond Martin got his applause full-tail. As he said, without vanity I think my few words went to their hearts. I never knew boys who could cheer like that. He left as the prayer-bell rang, and the boys lined up against the wall. The flag lay still unrolled on the desk. Foxy, regarding it with pride, for he had been touched to the quick by Mr. Martin's eloquence, the head in the common room standing back on the dais, could not see the glaring offence. But a prefect left the line, rolled it up swiftly, and as swiftly tossed it into a gloven foil-locker. Then, as though he had touched a spring, broke out a low murmur of content, changing to quick-vollied hand-clapping. They discussed the speech in the dormitories. There was not one dissentient voice. Mr. Raymond Martin, beyond question, was born in a gutter, and bred in a board school, where they played marbles. He was further, I give the various, handful from the great store, a flopsious cad, an outrageous stinker, a jelly-bellied flag flapper. This was Storky's contribution, and several other things which he did not seemly to put down. The volunteer cadet four fell in next Monday depressedly, with a face of shame. Even then, judicious silence might have turned the corner. Said Foxy, After a fine speech like what you heard, l'night before last, you ought to take the older your drill with renewed activity. I don't see how you can avoid coming out and marching in the open now. Can't we get out of it then, Foxy? Storky's fine old silky tone should have warned him. No, no, not with his giving the flag so generously. He told me before he left this morning, that there was no objection to the corps using it as their own. It's an handsome flag. Storky returned his rifle to the rack in dead silence, and fell out. His example was followed by Hogan and Ansel. Perone hesitated. I look here, oughtn't we? He began. I'll get it out of the locker in a minute, said the sergeant. His back turned. Then we can. Come on, shouted Storky. What are we waiting for? Dismiss! Break off! Why, what thee? Where thee? The rattle of Sniders slammed into the rack, drowned his voice, as boy after boy fell out. Oi, I don't know that I shan't have to report this to the head. He stammered. Report, then, and be damned to you, cried Storky, white to the lips, and ran out. Rummy thing, said Beatle to MacTurk. I was in the study doing a simply lovely poem about the jelly-bellied flag flapper, and Storky came in. And I said, Hello? And he cursed me like a bargey. And then he began to blub like anything. Shufty said on the table, and howled. Hadn't we better do something? MacTurk was troubled. Perhaps he smashed himself up somehow. They found him with very bright eyes, whistling between his teeth. Did I take you in, Beatle? I thought I would. Wasn't it a good draw? Didn't you think I was blubbing? Didn't I do it well? Oh, you fat old ass! And he began to pull Beatle's ears and cheeks in the fashion that was called milking. I knew you were blubbing. Beatle replied, composedly. Why aren't you a drill? Drill what drill? Don't be a clever fool. Drill in the gym. Because there isn't any. The volunteer cadet corps is broke up. Disbanded, dead, putrid, corrupt, stinking. And if you look at me like that, Beatle, I'll slay you, too. Oh, yes, and I'm going to be reported to the head for swearing. And I'm going to be reported to the head for swearing. End of Chapter 7, Chapter 8 of Storkian Co. The issue of the college paper which Beatle edited. He'd been cajoled into that office by the blandishments of Storkian MacTurk and the extreme rigor of study law. Once installed, he discovered, as others had done before him, that his duty was to do the work while his friends criticised. Storky christened the Swillingford Patriot in pious memory of Sponge. And MacTurk compared the output unfavourably with Ruskin and De Quincey. Only the head took an interest in the publication and his methods were peculiar. He gave Beatle the run of his brown-bound tobacco-centred library, prohibiting nothing, recommending nothing. There, Beatle found a fat armchair, a silver ink stand and unlimited pens and paper. There were scores and scores of ancient dramatists. There were Hacliot, his voyages, French translations of Muscovite authors called Pushkin and Lomontov. Little tales of a heady and bewildering nature interspersed with unusual songs. Peacock was that writer's name. There was Boros, Lavengro, an odd theme, purporting to be a translation of something called a rubyat. Which the head said was a poem not yet coming to his own. There were hundreds of volumes of verse, Crashore, Dryden, Alexander Smith, Eliel, Lydia Sigourney, Fletcher, and a Purple Island Don. Marlowe's Faust, and this maid MacTurk, to whom Beatle conveyed it, sheered drunk for three days, Ocean, the earthly paradise. Atalanta in Culloden, and Rosetti, to name only a few. Then the head, drifting in under the pretence of playing censor to the paper, would read, hear a verse, and hear another of these poets, opening up avenues, and slow breathing, with half-shed eyes above his cigar. He would speak of great men living, and journals long dead, founded in their riotous youth. Of years when all the planets were little, nulet stars trying to find their places in an uncaring void, and he the head knew them as young men, no one another. And so the regular work went to the dogs, Beatle being full of other matters and meters, hoarded in secret, and only told to MacTurk of an afternoon on the sands, walking high and disposedly around the wreck of the Amada galleons, shouting and declining against the long-ridged seas. Thanks in large part to their house masters' experienced distrust, the three, for three consecutive terms, had been passed over for promotion to the rank of prefect, an office that went by merit, and carried with it the honor of the ground-ash, and liberty under restrictions to use it. But, said Storky, come to think of it, we've done more giddy jesting with the sixth since we've been passed over than anyone else in the last seven years. He touched his neck proudly. It was encircled by the stiffest of stick-up collars, which custom-decreed could only be worn by the sixth, and the sixth saw those collars and said no word. Pusy Abnazar, or Dick Four of a year ago, would have seen them discarded in five minutes, all. But the sixth of that term was made up mostly of young but brilliantly clever boys, pets of the house masters, too anxious for their dignity to care to come to open odds with the resourceful three. So they crammed their caps on the extreme back of their heads, instead of a trifle of a one eye as the fifth should, and rejoiced in patent leather boots on weekdays, and marvelously made up ties on Sundays, no man rebuking. But Turk was going up for Cooper's Hill, and stalking for Sandhurst in the spring, and the head had told them both that, unless they absolutely collapsed during the holidays, they were safe. As a trainer of colts, the head seldom erred in an estimate of form. He'd taken Beatle aside that day, and given him much good advice, not one word of which to Beatle remember when he dashed up to the study, white with excitement, and poured out the wondrous tale. It demanded a great belief. You begin on a hundred a year, said McTurk unsympathetically. Rot! And my passage out, it's all settled. The head says he's been breaking me in for this for ever so long, and I never knew. I never knew. I don't begin with writing straight off, you know, begin buffling in telegrams, and cutting these out of papers with scissors. How scissors! What an ungodly mess you'll make of it, said Storky. But anyhow, this'll be your last term, too. Seven years, my dear beloved eras, though not prefects. Not half bad year as either, said McTurk. I shall be sorry to leave the old colch, aren't you? They looked out over the sea, creaming along the pebble ridge in the clear winter light. Wonder where we shall all be this time next year, said Storky. Absently. This time in five years, said McTurk. Oh, said Beatle. My leavings between ourselves. The head hasn't told anyone. I know he hasn't, because Proud grunted at me today that if I were more reasonable, yeah, I might be a prefect next term. I suppose he's hard up for his prefects. Let's finish up with a row with the sixth, suggested McTurk. Dirty little school boys, said Storky, who already saw himself as a Sandhurst cadet. What's the use? Moral effect, quoth McTurk. Leave an imperishable tradition, and all the rest of it. Better to go into Bineford and pay all our debts, said Storky. I've got three quid out of my father, Ad Hock. Don't know more than thirty bob either. Come along, Beatle. Ask the head for leave. Say you want to correct the swelling for the patriot. Well, I do, said Beatle. It'll be my last issue. I'd like it to look decent. I'll catch him before he goes to his lunch. Ten minutes later, they wheeled out in line, by grace released from five o'clock call-over, and all the afternoon lay before them. So also, unluckily, did King, who never passed without witticisms. But brigades of kings could not have ruffled Beatle that day. Aha, enjoying the study of light literature, my friends, said he, rubbing his hands. Common mathematics are not for such soaring minds as yours, are they? One hundred a year, thought Beatle, smiling into vacancy. Our open incompetence takes refuge in the flowery paths of inaccurate fiction. But today, a reckoning approach is, Beatle, mine. I myself have been preparing a few trifling, foolish questions in Latin prose, which can hardly be evaded even by your practised acts of deception. Yes, Latin prose. I think I may say so. About we shall see, when the papers are sent. Olpean serves your need. Aha, el luchesc abat. Quoth our friend, we shall see, we shall see. Still no sign from Beatle. He was on a steamer. His passage paid into the wide and wonderful world. A thousand leagues beyond Lundy Island. King dropped him with a snarl. He doesn't know. He'll go on correcting it, so he isn't jorin' and showin' off before the little boy's next term and next. Beatle hurried after his companions up the steep path of the furs-clad hill behind the college. They were throwing pebbles on the top of the gosometer. And the grimy gas-man in charge bad them desist. They watched him oil a turncock, sunken the ground between two furs' bushes. Cokie, what's that for? said Storky. To turn on the gas in the kitchens, said Cokie. If so be, I didn't turn her on. You young gentleman! I'd be luring your book by candlelight. Um, said Storky, and was silent for at least a minute. Hello, where are you chaps going? A bend of the lane brought them face to face with tulk. Senior prefect of King's house. A smallish white-haired boy. Of the type that must be promoted, on account of its intellect. And ever afterwards appeals to the head to support its authority when zeal has outrun discretion. The three took no sort of notice. They were on lawful pass. Tulk repeated his question hotly. For he had suffered many slights from number five study, and fancied that he had at last caught them tripping. What the devil is that to you? Storky replied, with his sweetest smile. Look here, I'm not going. I'm not going to be sworn out by the fifth. Spluttered Tulk. Then cut along and call a prefect meeting, said MacTurk, knowing Tulk's weakness. The prefect became inarticulate with rage. Mustn't yell at the fifth that way, said Storky. It's vile bad form. Coffeeed up, Ducky, said MacTurk calmly. I want to know what you chaps are doing out of bounds. This was an important flourish of his ground-ash. Ah, said Storky, now we're getting at it. Why didn't you ask that before? Well, I ask it now. What are you doing? We're admiring you, Tulk, said Storky. We think you're no end of a fine chap, don't we? We do, we do. A dog cart with some girls in it swept round the corner, and Storky promptly kneeled before Tulk in an attitude of prayer. So Tulk turned a colour. I've reasoned to believe he began. Oh, yay, oh, yay, oh, yay! shouted Beetle. After the manner of Bidifford's town crier, Tulk has reasoned to believe. Three cheers for Tulk. They were given. It's all our giddy admiration, said Storky. You know how we love you, Tulk. We love you so much, we think you ought to go home and die. You're too good to live, Tulk. Yes, said MacTurk. Do apply just by dying. Think how lovely you'd look stuffed. Tulk swept up the road with an unpleasant glare in his eye. That means a prefect's meeting sure-pop, said Storky. Honor of the sixth-involved, all the rest of it. Tulk'll write notes all this afternoon, and Carson will call us up after tea. They dare not overlook that. Bet your Bob he follows us, said MacTurk. His king's pet, and it scalps to both of them if we get caught out. We must be virtuous. Then I move we go to Mother Yew's for a last gorge. We owe her about ten bob. A merrile weeps sore when she knows we're leaving, said Betel. Oh, she gave me an awful wipe on the head last time, Mary, said Storky. She does, if you don't duck, said MacTurk. But she generally kisses one back. Let's try Mother Yew. They sought a little bottle-windowed, half-dairy, half-restaurant, a dark-brew, two-hundred-year-old house at the end of a narrow side street. They had patronized it from the days of their fagdom, and were very much friends at home. We've come to pay our debts, Mother, said Storky, sliding his arm round the fifty-six inch waist of the mistress of the establishment, to pay our debts and say good-bye, and—and—we're awfully hungry. I, said Mother Yew, make in love to me. I'm ashamed of ye. Rack and nurse wouldn't do no such thing if Mary was here, said MacTurk, lapsing into the broad North Devon that the boys used on their campaigns. Home-taken, my name in vain! The innador opened and Mary fair-haired blue-eyed and apple-cheeked, entered with a bowl of cream in her hands. MacTurk kissed her, Betel followed suit with exemplary calm. Both boys were promptly cuffed. Never a kisser made when he can kiss the mistress, said Storky, shamelessly winking at Mother Yew, as he investigated a shelf of jams. Glad to see one of ye don't want his head slapped no more. Said Mary, invitingly in that direction. No, I reckon I can get him give me, said Storky, his back turned. Not by me, ye old little masterpiece. Never asked ye. There's maid in Northam, ye San Appledore. An unpronounceable sniff, half contempt, half reminiscence, rounded the retort. Ay, ye won't never come to no good end. What, be bout, smellin' the cream. Tease-bad, said Storky, smellin'. Incautiously, Mary did as she was bid. Bid if her a kiss. Never amiss, said Storky, taking it without injury. Yeow, yeow, yeow! Mary began, bubbling with mirth. Thane better know them, more rich like. The nurse gets them give back again, he said, while MacTurk solemnly waltzed Mother Yew out of breath, and Betel told Mary the sad news. As they sat down to clotted cream, jam, and hot bread. Yes, ye never see us no more, Mary. We're going to be passins and missioners. Steady the buffs, said MacTurk, looking through the blind. Tulk has followed us. He's coming up the street now. They've never put us out of bounds, said Mother Yeow. Bid yeow still, my dears? She rolled into the inner room to make the score. Mary, said Storky suddenly with tragic intensity. Do ye love me, Mary? Ye is fine. I tell ye, zoe, since yeow was zoe high, the damsel replied. Is the end coming up the street, then? Storky pointed to the unconscious Tulk. Eve never being kissed by no sort or manner a maid, in his born life, Mary. Oh, ye shameful! What's to do with me? Twill come to her in the way of nature. I reckon. She nodded her head sagaciously. You never want me to kiss her surely. Give ye half a crown, if ye will, said Storky, exhibiting the coin. Half a crown was much to Mary Yeow. But a jest was more. But. You're afraid, said MacTurk, at the psychological moment. Aye! Beetle echoed, knowing her weak point. There's none a maid to nor them would think twice. And you such a fine maid, too! MacTurk planted one foot firmly against the inner door, lest mother Yeow should return in apportunely. For Mary's face was set. It was then that Tulk found his way blocked by the tall daughter of Devon. That country of easy kisses. The pleasantest under the sun. He dodged the side politely. She reflected a moment and laid a vast hand upon his shoulder. Whereby he went to, my dear, said she. Over the handkerchief he had crammed into his mouth, Storky could see the boy turn scarlet. Yeah, a kiss! Don't they learn he manners to college? Tulk gasped and wheeled, solemnly and conscientiously. Mary kissed him twice, and the luckless prefect fled. She stepped into the shop, her eyes full of simple wonder. Keston, said Storky, handing over the money. He is fine. But oh, my little body! Eamed no collegeer! Zeemed too mighty to cry like. Well, we won't. Yell couldn't make us cry that way, said MacTurk. Try. Whereupon Mary cuffed them all round. As they went out with tingling ears, said Storky, generally. Don't think they were much of a prefect meeting. Won't they adjust? said Beatle. Look here, if he kissed her, or which is our tack, he's a cynically immoral hog, and his conduct is blatant indecency. Cofor or Artione's ridges, furios is simi. When he called me reading Don Juan. Cos he kissed her, said MacTurk, in the middle of the street, with his house cap on. Time three fifty-seven p.m. Make note of that. What do you mean, Beatle? said Storky. Well, he's a truthful little beast. He may say he was kissed. And then? Why, then? Beatle capered at the mere thought of it. Don't you see? The corollary to the giddy proposition is that the Sixth can't protect themselves from outrages and ravishings. What nursemaids look after him? We've only got to whisper that to the Coal. Jam for the Sixth? Jam for us. Either way, it's jammy. By gum, said Storky. Now, last term's ending well. Now, you cut along and finish up your old rag, and Turkey and me will help. We'll go in the back way. No need to bother Randall. Don't play the giddy garden gold, then. Beatle knew what help meant, though he was by no means averse to showing his importance before his allies. The little laugh behind Randall's printing office was his own territory, where he saw himself already controlling the times. Here, under the guidance of the inky apprentice, he had learned to find his way, more or less circuitously about the case, and considered himself an expert compositor. The school paper, in its locked forms, lay on a stone-top table, a proof by the side, but not for words would Beatle have corrected from the mere proof. With a mallet and a pair of tweezers, he knocked out mysterious wedges of wood that released the form. Picked a letter here and inserted a letter there, weeding as he went along, and stopping much to chuckle over his own contributions. You won't show off like that, said McTurk, when you've got to do it for your living. Upside down and backwards, is it? Let's see if I can read it. Get out, said Beatle. Go and read those forms in the rack there, if you think you know so much. Forms in a rack? What's that? Don't be so beastly professional. McTurk drew off with Sturkey to prowl about the office. They left little, unturned. Come here, shake, Beatle. What's this thing, said Sturkey, in a few minutes? Looks familiar. Said Beatle after a glance. Heard it's King's Latin prose exam paper. In envarem maccho prima, what a lark! Think of the pure-sold high-minded boys who'd give their eyes for a squint at it, said McTurk. No, will he, dear, said Sturkey. That would be wrong and painful to our kind teachers. You wouldn't crib, will he, would you? Can't read the basely stuff any how, was the reply. Besides, we're leaving at the end of the term, so it makes no difference to us. Remember what the considerate bloomer did to our Spragun's account on the Puffington Hounds? We must sugar Mr. King's milk for him, said Sturkey, all lighted from within by a devilish joy. Let's see what Beatle can do with those forceps he's so proud of. Don't see how you can make Latin prose much more cockeyed than it is, but we'll try, said Beatle, transposing an alley-hood and ass-y-eye from two sentences. Let's see, we'll put that full stop a little further on and begin the sentence with the next capital. Hurrah! There's three lines that can move up all in a lump, one of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated. Sturkey knew the Puffington run by heart. Hold on! Here's a vol-voluntei quidam, all by itself, said McTurk. I'll attend to her in a shake. Quidam goes after Dorabella. Good old Dorabella, murmured Sturkey. Don't break him. Vile prose, Cicero wrote, didn't he? He ought to be grateful for. Hello, said McTurk, over another form. What price a giddy old? Quix, quix? Oh, it's quix multagracilis, of course. Bring it along. We've sugared the milk here, said Sturkey, after a few minutes, zealous toil. Never thrash your hounds unnecessarily. Quix multidis, I swear that's not bad, began Beetle, plying the tweezers. Don't that interrogation look pretty? Hugh Quatidiae's fidam. That sounds as if the chap were anxious and excited. Quif lavam religas in Rosa. Those flavour is relegated to a rose. Mutatosque deos flebit in antro. Mute gods weeping in a cave, suggested Sturkey. Pon my Sam. Horace needs as much looking after as Tulk. They edited him faithfully, until it was too dark to see. Ah, elusgabat, quoth our old friend. Olpien serves my need, does it? If King can make anything out of that, I'm a blue-eyed squatteroo, said Beetle, as they slid out of the loft window into the back alley of old acquaintance, and started on the three-mile trot to the college. But the revision of the classics had detained them too long. They halted, blown and breathless, in the furs at the back of the gosometer, the college lights twinkling below. Ten minutes at least, late for tea and lock-up. It's no good, Puff McTurk. Better Bob, Foxy is waiting for defaulters under the lamp by the fivescourt. It's a nuisance, too, because the head gave us long leave. One doesn't like to break it. Let me now, from the bonded warehouse of my knowledge, began Sturkey. Oh, rot, don't jorrock! Can we make a run for it? snapped McTurk. Bishop's boots, Mr. Raglyph, also condemned, and spoke highly in favour of the tops clean with champagne and apricot jam. Where's that thing Cokie was twiddling with this afternoon? They heard him groping in the wet, and presently beheld a great miracle. The lights of the Coast Guard cottages near the sea went out. The brilliantly illuminated windows of the golf club disappeared, and were followed by the frontages of the two hotels, scattered villas dulled, twinkled, and vanished. Last of all, the college lights died also. They were left in the pitchy darkness of a windy winter's night. Bless am I, kidneys! It is a frost! The dailies are dead! said Sturkey. Bunk! They squattered through the dripping gorse, as the college hummed like an angry hive, and the dining-room's chorused, gas, gas, gas, until they came to the edge of the sunk path that divided them from their study. Dropping that ha-ha like bullets and rebounding like boys, they dashed their study. In less than two minutes, had changed into dry trousers and coat, and ostentatiously slippered, joined them up in the dining-hall, which resembled the storm-centre of a South American revolution. Hellish, dark, and smells of cheese, Sturkey elbowed his way into the press, howling lustily for gas. Cokey must have gone for a walk. Foxy, I'll have to find him! Proud, as the nearest housemaster, was trying to restore order, for rude boys were flicking butter-pats across the chaos, and McTurk had turned on the fag's tea-hearn, so that many were par-boiled and wept with unfeigned doula. The fourth and upper third broke into the school song, and Viva la compagnie to the accompaniment of drum-knife-handles, and the junior-forms shrilled bat-like shrieks, and raided one another's vitals. Two hundred and fifty boys in high condition, seeking more light, are truly earnest inquirers. When a most vile smell of gas told them that supplies had been renewed, Sturkey waistcoat unbuttoned, sat gorgeedly over what might have been his fourth cup of tea. And that's all right, he said. Hello, here's Pomponius Ego. It was Carson, the head of the school, a simple, straight-minded soul, and a pillar of the first fifteen. A crossover from the prefect's table, and in a husky official voice, invited the three to attend in his study in half an hour. Prefect meeting, prefect meeting, hissed the tables, and they imitated barbarically the actions and effects of the ground-ash. How are we going to jest with them, said Sturkey? Turning half-faced to beetle. Did you all play this time? Look here was the answer. All I want you to do is not to laugh. I'm going to take charge of young Turk's immorality. I like King, and it's going to be serious. If you can't help laughing, don't look at me, or I'll go pop. I see, all right, said Sturkey. McTurk's lank frame stiffened in every muscle, and his eyelids drooped half over his eyes. That last was a war signal. The eight or nine seniors, their faces very set and sober, were arranged in chairs round Carson's severely Philistine study. Turk was not popular among them, and a few who had had experience of Sturkey and company doubted that he might perhaps have made an ass of himself. But the dignity of the sixth was to be upheld. So Carson began hurriedly. Look here, you chaps. We've sent for you to tell you you're a good deal too cheeky to the sixth. Have been for some time, and we've stood about as much of it as we're going to. And it seems you've been cursing and swearing at Turk on the benefit road this afternoon, and we're going to show you you can't do it, that's all. Well, that's awfully good of you, said Sturkey. But we happen to have a few rites of our own, too. You can't just because you happen to be made prefects. All up seniors and joram on speck. Like a housemaster. We aren't fags, Carson. This kind of thing may do for Davies Tertius, but it won't do for us. It's only old Prout's lunacy that we weren't prefects long ago. You know that, said MacTurk. You haven't any tact. Hold on, said Beatle. A prefect's meeting has to be reported to the head. I want to know if the head backs Tolke in this business. Well, well, it isn't exactly a prefect's meeting, said Carson. We only called you in to warn you. But all the prefects are here, Beatle insisted. Where is the difference? By gums, said Sturkey. Do you mean to say you've just called us in for a jaw after coming to us before the whole school at tea, and giving them the impression that it was a prefect's meeting? On my Sam, Carson, you'll get into trouble, you will. Hold in a corner of business. Hold in a corner of business, said MacTurk, wagging his head, beastly suspicious. The sixth looked at each other uneasily. Tolke called three prefects meetings in two terms, till the head had informed the sixth, that they were expected to maintain discipline without the recurrent menace of his authority. Now it seemed that they had made a blunder at the outset. But any right-minded boy would have sunk the legality and been properly impressed by the court. Beatle's protest was distinctly cheek. Well, you chaps deserve a licking, cried one Norton, unconsciously. Then was Beatle filled with a noble inspiration. For interfering with Tolke's armourers, a Tolke turned a rich slow-colour. Oh, no you don't, Beatle went on. You've had your innings. We've been sent up for a cursonance wearing at you, and we're going to be let off with a warning. Are we? Now then, you're going to catch it. I, I, I, Tolke began. Don't let that young devil start jarring. If you have anything to say, you must say it decently, said Carson. Decently, I will. Now look here. When we went to Bideford, we met this ornament of the sixth. Is that decent enough? Hanging about on the road with a nasty look in his eye. We didn't know then why he was so anxious to stop us. But, at five minutes to four, when we were in Yeow's shop, we saw Tolke in broad daylight, with his health cap on, kissing and hugging a woman on the pavement. Is that decent enough for you? I didn't, I wasn't. We saw you, said Beatle, and now I'll be decent, Carson. You sneak back with her kisses. Not for nothing had Beatle perused the later poets. Hot on your lips, and call a prefect meetings. Which aren't prefect meetings, to uphold the honour of the sixth. A new and heaven cleft path opened before him at that instance. And how do we know, he shouted, how do we know, how many of the six are mixed up in this abominable affair? Yes, that's what we want to know, said Bacturk, with simple dignity. We meant to come to you about it quietly, Carson. But you would have a meeting, said Storky, sympathetically. The sixth were too taken aback to reply. So, carefully modelling his rhetoric on King, Beatle followed up the attack, surpassing and surprising himself. It, it isn't so much the cynical immorality of the business, as the blatant indecency of it. That's so awful. As far as we can see, it's impossible for us to go into Biddeford without running up against some prefects on wholesome armours. There's nothing to snigger over, Norton. I don't pretend to know much about these things, but it seems to me a chap must be pretty far dead in sin. That was a quotation from the school chaplain. When he takes to embracing his paramours, that was hackliot, before all the city, a reminiscence of Milton. He might at least have the decency, your authorities on decency, I believe, to wait till dark. But he didn't. You didn't. Oh, Tulk. You, you incontinent little animal. Here, shut up a minute. What's all this about, Tulk? Said Carson. I look here. I'm awfully sorry. I never thought Beatle would take this line. Because you've no decency, you thought I hadn't. Cried Beatle all in one breath. Tried to cover it up with a conspiracy, did you? Said Storky. Direct insult to all three of us, said McTurk. Almost filthy mind you have, Tulk. I'll shove you fellows outside the door if you go on like this. Said Carson angrily. That proves it's a conspiracy, said Storky, with the air of a virgin martyr. I was going along the street. I swear I was, cried Tulk. And I'm awfully sorry about it. A woman came up and kissed me. I swear I didn't kiss her. There was a pause filled by Storky's long liquid whistle of contempt, amazement, and derision. On my honor, gulped the persecuted one. Oh, do stop him jarring. Very good, McTurk interjected. We are compelled, of course, to accept your statement. Confound it, roared Norton. You aren't head-prefect here, McTurk. Oh, well, returned the Irishman. You know Tulk better than we do. I'm only speaking for ourselves. We accept Tulk's word. But all I can say is that if I'd been collared in a similarly discussed in situation, and had offered the same explanation as Tulk has, I wonder what you'd have said. However, it seems on Tulk's word of honor, and Tulkers, a big pardon, kiss. Of course, Tulkis is an honorable man, put in Storky, that the sixth can't protect themselves from being kissed when they go for a walk, cried Beatle, taking up the running with a rush. Sweet business, isn't it? Cheerful thing to tell the fags, ain't it? We aren't prefects, of course, but we aren't kissed very much. Don't think that sort of thing ever enters our heads, does it, Storky? Oh, no! Said Storky, turning aside to hide his emotions, McTurk's face merely expressed lofty contempt, and a little weariness. Well, you seem to know a lot about it, in deposed to prefect. Can't help it, when you chap shove it under our noses. Beatle dropped into a drawing parody of King's most biting colloquial style. The gentle rain after the thunderstorm. Well, it's all very sufficiently violent and disgraceful, isn't it? I don't know who comes worst out of it, Tulk, who happens to be caught, or the other fellows who haven't. And we, here he wheeled fiercely on the other two, we've got to stand up and be jawed by them, because we've disturbed their intrigues. Hang it, I only wanted to give you a word of warning, said Carson, thereby handing himself bound to the enemy. Warn you! This with the air of someone who finds loathsome gifts in his locker. Carson, would you be good enough to tell us what conceivable thing there is that you're entitled to warn us about after this exposure? Warn! Oh, it's a little too much. Let's go somewhere where it's clean. The door banged behind their outraged innocence. Oh, Beetle, Beetle, Beetle, golden Beetle! Sobbed Storky, hurling himself on Beetle's panting bosom. As soon as they reached the study, how ever did you do it? Dear man! said MacTurk, embracing Beetle's head with both arms, while he swayed it to and fro on it on the neck, in time to this ancient burden. Pretty lips sweeter than cherry or plum. Always look jolly and never look glum. Seemed to say, come away, kissy, come, come! Yum me, yum, yum me, yum, yum me, yum, yum, yum, yum! Look out, you'll smash the giglamps, puff Beetle, emerging. Was ni glorious? Did ni Eric'em splendidly? Did you spot my cribs from King? Oh, blow! His countenance clouded. There's one adjective I didn't use, obscene. Don't know how I forgot that. It's one of King's pet ones, too. Never mind. They'll be sending ambassadors round in half a shake to beg us not to tell the school. It's a juiced serious business for them, said MacTurk. Poor sixth, poor old sixth. Immoral young rips, Storky snorted. What an example to pure-sold boys like you and me. And the sixth in cast and study sat aghast. Glowering at Tulk, who was on the edge of tears, Well, said the head-prefect acidly, You've made a pretty average ghastly mess of it, Tulk. Why, why didn't you lick that young devil Beetle before he began jarring? Tulk wailed. I knew there'd be a row, said a prefect from Prout's house, but you wouldn't insist on the meeting, Tulk. Yes, and a fat lot of good it's done us, said Norton. They come in here and jure our heads off when we ought to be juring them. Beetle talks to us as if we were a lot of blaggers, and all that. And when they've hung us up to dry, they go out and slam the door like a housemaster. All your fault, Tulk. But I didn't kiss her. You ass. If you'd said you had and stuck to it, it would have been ten times better than what you did. Norton retorted. Now they'll tell the whole school, and Beetle will make up a lot of beastly rhymes and nicknames. But hang it, she kissed me. Outside of his work, Tulk's mind moved slowly. I'm not thinking of you, I'm thinking of us. I'll go up to their study and see if I can make him keep quiet. Tulk's awfully cut up about this business, Norton began ingratiatingly when he found Beetle. Who's kissed him this time? And I've come to ask you, chaps, especially you, Beetle, not to let the thing be known all over the school. Of course, fellows as senior as you are, can easily see why. Um, said Beetle, with the cold reluctance of one who foresees an unpleasant public duty. I suppose I must go and talk to the sixth again. Not the least need, my dear chap, I assure you, said Norton hastily. I'll take any message you care to send. But the chance of supplying the missing adjective was too tempting. So Norton returned to that still undissolved meeting. Beetle, white, icy, and aloof at his heels. There are seams, he began, with laboriously crisp articulation. There are seams to be a certain amount of uneasiness among you, as to the steps we may think fit to take in regard to this last revelation of the obscene. If it is any consolation to you to know that we have decided for the honour of the school, you understand, to keep our mouths shut as to these are obscenities, you are have it. He wheeled his head among the stars, and strode stately back to his study, where Storky and MacTurk lay side by side upon the table, wiping their tearful eyes, too weak to move. The Latin prose paper was a success beyond their wildest dreams. Storky and MacTurk were, of course, out of all examinations. They did extitution with the head, but Beetle attended with zeal. This, I presume, is a par egon on your part, said King, as he dealt out the papers. One final exhibition, ere you are translated to loftier spheres. A last attack on the classics? It seems to confound you already. Beetle studied the print with knit brows. I can't make head or tail of a tea-muttered. What does it mean? No, no, said King, with scholastic cockatry. We depend upon you to give us the meaning. This is an examination, Beetle, mine, not a guessing competition. You will find your associates have no difficulty in. Tulk left his place, and laid the paper on the desk. King looked. Red, and turned aghastly green. Stork, he's missing a heap, thought Beetle. Wonder how King'll get out of it. There seems began King with a gulp. A certain modicum of truth in our Beetle's remark. I am inclined to believe that the worthy randle must have dropped this in feral. If you know what that means, Beetle, you purport to be an editor. Perhaps you can enlighten the form as two forms. What, sir? Who's form? I don't see that there's any verb in this sentence at all. And the ode is all different, somehow. I was about to say before you volunteered your criticism, that an accident must have befallen the paper in type, and that the printer reset it by the light of nature. No, he held the thing at arm's length. Our randle is not an authority on Cicero or Horace. Rather mean to shove it all off on randle, whispered Beetle to his wife. King must have been as screwed as an owl when he wrote it out. But we can amend the error by dictating it. No, sir. The answer came pat from a dozen throats at once. That cuts the time for the exam. Only two hours allowed, sir. It isn't fair. It's a printed paper exam. How are we going to be marked for it? It's all randle's fault. It isn't our fault, anyhow. An exam's an exam, et cetera, et cetera. Naturally, Mr. King considered this in his attempt to undermine it. Mr. King considered this in his attempt to undermine his authority. And instead of beginning dictation at once, delivered a lecture on the spirit in which examinations should be approached. As the storm subsided, Beetle fan-dit her fresh. Eh, what? What was that you were saying to my clagon? I only said that I thought the paper is ought to have been looked at before they were given out, sir. Here, here, from the back bench. Mr. King wished to know whether Beetle took it upon himself personally to conduct the traditions of the school. His zeal for knowledge ate up another fifteen minutes, during which the prefects showed unmistakable signs of boredom. Oh, it was a giddy time, said Beetle afterwards. In dismantled number five, he jibbered a bit, and I kept him on the jibber. And then he dictated about half of Dolla Bella and co. A good old Dolla Bella, friend of mine, yes? Said Storky pensively. Then we had to ask him how every other word was smelt, of course. And he jibbered a lot more. He cursed me and my clagon. Mack played up like a trump. And Randall. And the materialized ignorance of the unscolarly middle classes. Lust for mere marks, and all the rest. Here was what you might call a final exhibition. A last attack. A giddy paragon. But, of course, he was blind, squiffy when he wrote the paper. I hope you explained that, said Storky. Oh, yes, I told Tolke so. I said an immoral prefect and a drunken housemaster were legitimate inferences. Tolke nearly blobbed. He's awfully shy of us since Mary's time. Tolke preserved that modesty till the last moment, till the journey money had been paid, and the boys were filling the breaks that took them to the station. Then the three tenderly constrained him to wait a while. You see, Tolke, you may be a prefect, said Storky. But I've left the cold. You see, Tolke, dear? Yes, I see. Don't bear malice, Storky. Storky, curse your impudence, you young cub! shouted Storky, magnificent in top hat, stiff collar, spats, and high-waisted, snuff-colored ulster. I want you to understand that I'm Mr. Cochran, and you're a dirty little schoolboy. Besides being fabgiously immoral, said MacTurk, when you are ashamed to foist your company on pure-minded boys like us. Come on, Tolke! cried Norton, from the prefect's break. Yes, we're coming. Show up, make room, you colleges. You've all got to be back next term, with your yes sir, and oh sir, and no sir, and please sir. But before we say goodbye, we're going to tell you a little story. Go on, Dicky, this to the driver. We're quite ready. Kick that hat-box under the seat, and don't crowd your Uncle Storky. As nice a lot of high-minded youngsters as you'd wish to see, said MacTurk, gazing round with bland patronage. A trifle immoral. But then boys will be boys. It's no good trying to look stuffy, Carson. Mr. Cochran will now oblige with the story of Tolke and Mary Yeoh. End of chapter eight.