Stalky & Co.

“He says we’ve taught him a lot. Aren’t you grateful?”

“Yes!”

“He says he is grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?”

He wept anew; his nerves being raw. “Because I was a bully. I suppose that’s what you want me to say?”

“He says he is a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more japes for Campbell. Now, Sefton!”

“You devils! You young devils!” This and much more as Sefton was punted across the carpet by skilful knees.

“‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ We’re goin’ to make you beautiful. Where does he keep his shaving things? [Campbell told.] Beetle, get some water. Turkey, make the lather. We’re goin’ to shave you, Seffy, so you’d better lie jolly still, or you’ll get cut. I’ve never shaved any one before.”

“Don’t! Oh, don’t! Please don’t!”

“Gettin’ polite, eh? I’m only goin’ to take off one ducky little whisker – ”

“I’ll – I’ll make it pax, if you don’t. I swear I’ll let you off your lickin’ when I get up!”

“And half that mustache we’re so proud of. He says he’ll let us off our lickin’. Isn’t he kind?”

McTurk laughed into the nickel-plated shaving-cup, and settled Sefton’s head between Stalky’s vise-like knees.

“Hold on a shake,” said Beetle, “you can’t shave long hairs. You’ve got to cut all that mustache short first, an’ then scrape him.”

“Well, I’m not goin’ to hunt about for scissors. Won’t a match do? Chuck us the match-box. He is a hog, you know; we might as well singe him. Lie still!” He lit a vesta, but checked his hand. “I only want to take off half, though.”

“That’s all right.” Beetle waved the brush. “I’ll lather up to the middle – see? and you can burn off the rest.”

The thin-haired first mustache of youth fluffed off in flame to the lather-line in the centre of the lip, and Stalky rubbed away the burnt stumpage with his thumb. It was not a very gentle shave, but it abundantly accomplished its purpose.

“Now the whisker on the other side. Turn him over!” Between match and razor this, too, was removed. “Give him his shaving-glass. Take the gag out. I want to hear what he’ll say.”

But there were no words. Sefton gazed at the lop-sided wreck in horror and despair. Two fat tears rolled down his cheek.

“Oh, I forgot! I say, Sefton, what did you bully Clewer for?”

“Leave me alone! Oh, you infernal bullies, leave me alone! Haven’t I had enough?”

“He says we must leave him alone,” said McTurk.

“He says we are bullies, an’ we haven’t even begun yet,” said Beetle. “You’re ungrateful, Seffy. Golly! You do look an atrocity and a half!”

“He says he has had enough,” said Stalky. “He errs!”

“Well, to work, to work!” chanted McTurk, waving a stump. “Come on, my giddy Narcissus. Don’t fall in love with your own reflection!”

“Oh, let him off,” said Campbell from his corner; “he’s blubbing, too.”

Sefton cried like a twelve-year-old with pain, shame, wounded vanity, and utter helplessness.

“You’ll make it pax, Sefton, won’t you? You can’t stand up to those young devils – ”

“Don’t be rude, Campbell, de-ah,” said McTurk, “or you’ll catch it again!”

“You are devils, you know,” said Campbell.

“What? for a little bullyin’ – same as you’ve been givin’ Clewer! How long have you been jestin’ with him?” said Stalky. “All this term?”

“We didn’t always knock him about, though!”

“You did when you could catch him,” said Beetle, cross-legged on the floor, dropping a stump from time to time across Sefton’s instep. “Don’t I know it!”

“I – perhaps we did.”

“And you went out of your way to catch him? Don’t I know it! Because he was an awful little beast, eh? Don’t I know it! Now, you see, you’re awful beasts, and you’re gettin’ what he got – for bein’ a beast. Just because we choose.”

“We never really bullied him – like you’ve done us.”

“Yah!” said Beetle. “They never really bully – ‘Molly’ Fairburn didn’t. Only knock ‘em about a little bit. That’s what they say. Only kick their souls out of ‘em, and they go and blub in the box-rooms. Shove their heads into the ulsters an’ blub. Write home three times a day – yes, you brute, I’ve done that – askin’ to be taken away. You’ve never been bullied properly, Campbell I’m sorry you made pax.”

“I’m not!” said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. “Look out, you’re slaying Sefton!”

In his excitement Beetle had used the stump unreflectingly, and Sefton was now shouting for mercy.

“An’ you!” he cried, wheeling where he sat. “You’ve never been bullied, either. Where were you before you came here?”

“I – I had a tutor.”

“Yah! You would. You never blubbed in your life. But you’re blubbin’ now, by gum. Aren’t you blubbin’?”

“Can’t you see, you blind beast?” Sefton fell over sideways, tear-tracks furrowing the dried lather. Crack came the cricket-stump on the curved latter-end of him.

“Blind, am I,” said Beetle, “and a beast? Shut up, Stalky. I’m goin’ to jape a bit with our friend, a’ la ‘Molly’ Fairburn. I think I can see. Can’t I see, Sefton?”

“The point is well taken,” said McTurk, watching the strap at work. “You’d better say that he sees, Seffy.”

“You do – you can! I swear you do!” yelled Sefton, for strong arguments were coercing him.

“Aren’t my eyes lovely?” The stump rose and fell steadily throughout this catechism.

“Yes.”

“A gentle hazel, aren’t they?”

“Yes – oh, yes!”

“What a liar you are! They’re sky-blue. Ain’t they sky-blue?”