Stalky & Co.

Nothing loath, Beetle pinioned two more fags – each no taller than a carbine. “Here you are, Foxy. Here’s food for powder. Strike for your hearths an’ homes, you young brutes – an’ be jolly quick about it.”

“Still he isn’t happy,” said McTurk.

“For the way we have with our Army
Is the way we have with our Navy.”

Here Beetle joined in. They had found the poem in an old volume of “Punch,” and it seemed to cover the situation:

“An’ both of ‘em led to adversity,
Which nobody can deny!”

“You be quiet, young gentlemen. If you can’t ‘elp – don’t ‘inder.” Foxy’s eye was still on the council by the horse. Carter, White, and Tyrrell, all boys of influence, had joined it. The rest fingered the rifles irresolutely. “Wait a shake,” cried Stalky. “Can’t we turn out those rotters before we get to work?”

“Certainly,” said Foxy. “Any one wishful to join will stay ‘ere. Those who do not so intend will go out, quietly closin’ the door be’ind ‘em.”

Half a dozen of the earnest-minded rushed at them, and 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 goin’ up for the Army. Besides, I know the drill – all except the manual, of course. ‘Wonder what they’re doin’ inside?”

“Makin’ a treaty with Foxy. Didn’t you hear Stalky say: ‘That’s what we’ll do – an’ 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 goin’ up for Sandhurst or the Shop in less than a year. They’ll learn their drill an’ then they’ll drop it like a shot. D’you suppose chaps with their amount of extra-tu are takin’ up volunteerin’ for fun?”

“Well, I don’t know. I thought of doin’ a poem about it – rottin’ ‘em, you know – ‘The Ballad of the Dogshooters’ – eh?”

“I don’t think you can, because King’ll be down on the corps like a cartload o’ bricks. He hasn’t been consulted, he’s sniffin’ round the notice-board now. Let’s lure him.” They strolled up carelessly towards the honse-master – a most meek couple.

“How’s this?” said King with a start of feigned surprise. “Methought you would be learning to fight for your country.”

“I think the company’s full, sir,” said McTurk.

“It’s a great pity,” sighed Beetle.

“Forty 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 to.”

“It is just possible, my Beetle,” King wheeled on the last speaker, “that the house-masters – 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,” cooed 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 had the decency to have backed the scheme. I could do such a lovely ballad, rottin’ it; and now I’ll have to be a giddy enthusiast. It don’t bar our pulling Stalky’s leg in the study, does it?”

“Oh, no; but in the Coll. we must be pro-cadet-corps like anything. Can’t you make up a giddy epigram, a’ la Catullus, about King objectin’ to it?” Beetle was at this noble task when Stalky returned all hot from his first drill.

“Hullo, my ramrod-bunger!” began McTurk. “Where’s your dead dog? Is it Defence or Defiance?”

“Defiance,” said Stalky, and leaped on him at that word. “Look here, Turkey, you mustn’t rot the corps. We’ve arranged it beautifully. Foxy swears he won’t take us out into the open till we say we want to go.”

“Dis-gustin’ exhibition of immature infants apin’ the idiosyncrasies of their elders. Snff!”

“Have you drawn King, Beetle?” Stalky asked in a pause of the scuffle.

“Not exactly; but that’s his genial style.”

“Well, listen to your Uncle Stalky – who is a great man. Moreover and subsequently, Foxy’s goin’ to let us drill the corps in turn —privatim et seriatim– so that we’ll all know how to handle a half company anyhow. Ergo, an’ propter hoc, when we go to the Shop we shall be dismissed drill early; thus, my beloved ‘earers, combinin’ education with wholesome amusement.”

“I knew you’d make a sort of extra-tu 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. So you mustn’t rot the corps.”

“We’d decided on that, years ago,” said Beetle, scornfully. “King’ll do the rottin’.”

“Then you’ve got to rot King, my giddy poet. Make up a good catchy Limerick, and let the fags sing it.”

“Look here, you stick to volunteerin’, and don’t jog the table.”

“He won’t have anything to take hold of,” said Stalky, with dark significance.

They did not know what that meant till, a few days later, they proposed to watch the corps 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 key-hole,” said the sentry.

“I like that. Why, Wake, you little beast, I made you a volunteer.”

“Can’t help it. My orders are not to allow any one to look.”

“S’pose we do?” said McTurk. “S’pose we jolly well slay you?”

“My orders are, I am to give the name of anybody who interfered with me on my post, to the corps, an’ they’d deal with him after drill, accordin’ to martial law.”

“What a brute Stalky is!” said Beetle. They never doubted for a moment who had devised that scheme.

“You esteem yourself a giddy centurion, don’t you?” said Beetle, 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 Beetle. The two shook their heads and turned away.

“I swear Stalky is a great man,” said Beetle after a long pause. “One consolation is that this sort of secret-society biznai will drive King wild.”

It troubled many more than King, but the members of the corps were muter than oysters. Foxy, being bound by no vow, carried his woes to Keyte.

“I never come across such nonsense in my life. They’ve tiled the lodge, inner and outer guard, all complete, and then they get to work, keen as mustard.”