Stalky & Co.. Rudyard Kipling

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “I appeal to the Head, sir.”

      “I appeal to the head, sir.”

      “I appeal to the Head, sir.”

      It was their unquestioned right. Drunkenness meant expulsion after a public flogging. They had been accused of it. The case was the Head’s, and the Head’s alone.

      “Thou hast appealed unto Caesar: unto Caesar shalt thou go.” They had heard that sentence once or twice before in their careers. “None the less,” 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 McTurk to his house-master, disregarding King. This at once lifted the situation to its loftiest plane. Moreover, it meant no work, for moral leprosy was strictly quarantined, and the Head never executed judgment till twenty-four cold hours later.

      “Well – er – if you persist in your defiant 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. Stalky 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 Caudine Toasting-fork!” said Stalky, after those hints were taken. “King’ll have to prove his charges up to the giddy hilt.”

      “Too much ticklee, him bust,” Beetle quoted from a book of his reading. “Didn’t I say he’d go pop if we lat un bide?”

      “No prep., either, O ye incipient drunkards,” said McTurk, “and it’s trig night, too. Hullo! Here’s our dear friend Foxy. More tortures, Foxibus?”

      “I’ve brought you something to eat, young gentlemen,” said the Sergeant from behind a crowded tray. Their wars had ever been waged without malice, and a 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 – I noticed you ‘adn’t ‘ad anything to eat, an’ I spoke to Gumbly, an’ he said you wasn’t exactly cut off from supplies. So I brought up this. It’s your potted ‘am tin, ain’t it, Mr. Corkran?”

      “Why, Foxibus, you’re a brick,” said Stalky. “I didn’t think you had this much – what’s the word, Beetle?”

      “Bowels,” Beetle replied, promptly. “Thank you, Sergeant. That’s young Carter’s potted ham, though.”

      “There was a C on it. I thought it was Mr. Corkran’s. This is a very serious business, young gentlemen. 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, Foxibus.” This from Stalky through a full mouth.

      “Then you see, if that was the case, it seemed to me I might represent it, quiet so to say, to the ‘Ead when he asks me about it. I’ve got to take ‘im the charges to-night, an’ – it looks bad on the face of it.”

      “‘Trocious bad, Foxy. Twenty-seven cuts in the Gym before all the school, and public expulsion. ‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragin’,’” quoth Beetle.

      “It’s nothin’ to make fun of, young gentlemen. I ‘ave to go to the ‘Ead with the charges. An’ – an’ you mayn’t be aware, per’aps, that I was followin’ you this afternoon; havin’ my suspicions.”

      “Did ye see the notice-boards?” croaked McTurk, in the very brogue of Colonel Dabney.

      “Ye’ve eyes in your head. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did!” said Beetle.

      “A sergeant! To run about poachin’ on your pension! Damnable, O damnable!” said Stalky, without pity.

      “Good Lord!” said the Sergeant, sitting heavily upon a bed. “Where – where the devil was you? I might ha’ known it was a do – somewhere.”

      “Oh, you clever maniac!” Stalky resumed. “We mayn’t be aware you were followin’ us this afternoon, mayn’t we? ‘Thought you were stalkin’ 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’s our pet particular friend. We’ve been goin’ 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 up your head again, Foxy. The fags ‘ll hoot at you,” said Beetle.

      “Think of your giddy prestige!” The Sergeant was thinking – hard.

      “Look ‘ere, young gentlemen,” he said, earnestly. “You aren’t surely ever goin’ to tell, are you? Wasn’t Mr. Prout and Mr. King in – in it too?”

      “Foxibusculus, they was. They was – singular horrid. Caught it worse than you. We heard every word of it. You got off easy, considerin’. If I’d been Dabney I swear I’d ha’ quodded you. I think I’ll suggest it to him to-morrow.”

      “An’ it’s all goin’ up to the ‘Ead. Oh, Good Lord!”

      “Every giddy word of it, my Chingangook,” said Beetle, dancing. “Why shouldn’t it? We’ve done nothing wrong. We ain’t poachers. We didn’t cut about blastin’ the characters of poor, innocent boys – saying they were drunk.”

      “That I didn’t,” said Foxy. “I – I only said that you be’aved uncommon odd when you come back with that badger. Mr. King may have taken the wrong hint from that.”

      “‘Course he did; an’ 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’m ashamed of you. You ain’t fit to be a sergeant,” said McTurk.

      “Not with three thorough-goin’ young devils like you, I ain’t. I’ve been had. I’ve been ambuscaded. Horse, foot, an’ guns, I’ve been had, an’ – an’ there’ll be no holdin’ the junior forms after this. M’rover, the ‘Ead will send me with a note to Colonel Dabney to ask if what you say about bein’ invited was true.”

      “Then you’d better go in by the Lodge-gates this time, instead of chasin’ your dam’ boys – oh, that was the Epistle to King – so it was. We-el, Foxy?” Stalky put his chin on his hands and regarded the victim with deep delight.

      “Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!” 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’d ha’ had you in my company, young gentlemen,” said the Sergeant from the depths of his heart; “I’d ha’ given you something.”

      “Silence at 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 Coll. They’d never understand. They play cricket, and say: ‘Yes sir,’ and ‘O, sir,’ and СКАЧАТЬ