Stalky & Co.

“‘Tees bad,” said Stalky. “Zmell ‘un.”

Incautiously Mary did as she was bid.

“Bidevoor kiss.”

“Niver amiss,” said Stalky, taking it without injury.

“Yeou – yeou – yeou – ” Mary began, bubbling with mirth.

“They’m better to Northam – more rich, laike an’ us gets them give back again,” he said, while McTurk solemnly waltzed Mother Yeo out of breath, and Beetle told Mary the sad news, as they sat down to clotted cream, jam, and hot bread.

“Yiss. Yeou’ll niver zee us no more, Mary. We’re goin’ to be passons an’ missioners.”

“Steady the Buffs!” said McTurk, looking through the blind. “Tulke has followed us. He’s comin’ up the street now.”

“They’ve niver put us out o’ bounds,” said Mother Yeo. “Bide yeou still, my little dearrs.” She rolled into the inner room to make the score.

“Mary,” said Stalky, suddenly, with tragic intensity. “Do ‘ee lov’ me, Mary?”

“Iss – fai! Talled ‘ee zo since yeou was zo high!” the damsel replied.

“Zee ‘un comin’ up street, then?” Stalky pointed to the unconscious Tulke. “He’ve niver been kissed by no sort or manner o’ maid in hees borned laife, Mary. Oh, ‘tees shaamful!”

“Whutt’s to do with me? ‘Twill come to ‘un in the way o’ nature, I rackon.” She nodded her head sagaciously. “You niver want me to kiss un – sure-ly?”

“Give ‘ee half-a-crown if ‘ee will,” said Stalky, exhibiting the coin.

Half-a-crown was much to Mary Yeo, and a jest was more; but

“Yeu’m afraid,” said McTurk, at the psychological moment.

“Aie!” Beetle echoed, knowing her weak point. “There’s not a maid to Northam ‘ud think twice. An’ yeou such a fine maid, tu!”

McTurk planted one foot firmly against the inner door lest Mother Yeo should return inopportunely, for Mary’s face was set. It was then that Tulke found his way blocked by a tall daughter of Devon – that county of easy kisses, the pleasantest under the sun. He dodged aside politely. She reflected a moment, and laid a vast hand upon his shoulder.

“Where be ‘ee gwaine tu, my dearr?” said she.

Over the handkerchief he had crammed into his mouth Stalky could see the boy turn scarlet.

“Gie I a kiss! Don’t they larn ‘ee manners to College?”

Tulke 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. “Kissed ‘un?” said Stalky, handing over the money.

“Iss, fai! But, oh, my little body, he’m no Colleger. ‘Zeemed tu-minded to cry, like.”

“Well, we won’t. Yell couldn’t make us cry that way,” said McTurk. “Try.”

Whereupon Mary cuffed them all round.

As they went out with tingling ears, said Stalky generally, “Don’t think there’ll be much of a prefects’ meeting.”

“Won’t there, just!” said Beetle. “Look here. If he kissed her – which is our tack – he is a cynically immoral hog, and his conduct is blatant indecency. Confer orationes Regis furiosissimi, when he collared me readin’ ‘Don Juan.’”

“‘Course he kissed her,” said McTurk. “In the middle of the street. With his house-cap on!”

“Time, 3.57 p.m. Make a note o’ that. What d’you mean, Beetle?” said Stalky.

“Well! He’s a truthful little beast. He may say he was kissed.”

“And then?”

“Why, then!” Beetle capered at the mere thought of it. “Don’t you see? The corollary to the giddy proposition is that the Sixth can’t protect ‘emselves from outrages an’ ravishin’s. Want nursemaids to look after ‘em! We’ve only got to whisper that to the Coll. Jam for the Sixth! Jam for us! Either way it’s jammy!”

“By Gum!” said Stalky. “Our last term’s endin’ well. Now you cut along an’ 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-goat, then?” Beetle knew what help meant, though he was by no means averse to showing his importance before his allies. The little loft 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 formes lay on a stone-topped table, a proof by the side; but not for worlds would Beetle have corrected from the mere proof. With a mallet and a pair of tweezers, he knocked out mysterious wedges of wood that released the forme, picked a letter here and inserted a letter there, reading 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, isn’t it? Let’s see if I can read it.”

“Get out!” said Beetle. “Go and read those formes in the rack there, if you think you know so much.”

“Formes in a rack! What’s that? Don’t be so beastly professional.”

McTurk drew off with Stalky to prowl about the office. They left little unturned.

“Come here a shake, Beetle. What’s this thing?” aid Stalky, in a few minutes. “Looks familiar.”

Said Beetle, after a glance: “It’s King’s Latin prose exam. paper. In – In Varrem: actio prima. What a lark!”

“Think o’ the pure-souled, high-minded boys who’d give their eyes for a squint at it!” said McTurk.

“No, Willie dear,” said Stalky; “that would be wrong and painful to our kind teachers. You wouldn’t crib, Willie, would you?”

“Can’t read the beastly stuff, anyhow,” was the reply. “Besides, we’re leavin’ at the end o’ the term, so it makes no difference to us.”

“‘Member what the Considerate Bloomer did to Spraggon’s account of the Puffin’ton Hounds? We must sugar Mr. King’s milk for him,” said Stalky, all lighted from within by a devilish joy. “Let’s see what Beetle can do with those forceps he’s so proud of.”

“Don’t see now you can make Latin prose much more cock-eye than it is, but we’ll try,” said Beetle, transposing an aliud and Asiae 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! Here’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.’” Stalky knew the Puffington run by heart.

“Hold on! Here’s a vol—voluntate quidnam all by itself,” said McTurk.

“I’ll attend to her in a shake. Quidnam goes after Dolabella.”