Stalky Co. | Page 8

he looked on those young-eyed cherubims most sourly. Boys that
he understood attended house-matches and could be accounted for at
any moment. But he had heard McTurk openly deride cricket--even
house-matches; Beetle's views on the honor of the house he knew were
incendiary; and he could never tell when the soft and smiling Stalky
was laughing at him. Consequently--since human nature is what it
is--those boys had been doing wrong somewhere. He hoped it was
nothing very serious, but...
"Ti-ra-ra-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!" Stalky, still on his heels, whirled
like a dancing dervish to the dining-hall.
"Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!" Beetle spun behind him with
outstretched arms.
"Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!" McTurk's voice cracked.

Now was there or was there not a distinct flavor of beer as they shot
past Mr. Prout?
He was unlucky in that his conscience as a house-master impelled him
to consult his associates. Had he taken his pipe and his troubles to little
Hartopp's rooms he would, perhaps, have been saved confusion, for
Hartopp believed in boys, and knew something about them. His fate led
him to King, a fellow house-master, no friend of his, but a zealous hater
of Stalky & Co.
"Ah-haa!" said King, rubbing his hands when the tale was told.
"Curious! Now my house never dream of doing these things."
"But you see I've no proof, exactly."
"Proof? With the egregious Beetle! As if one wanted it! I suppose it is
not impossible for the Sergeant to supply it? Foxy is considered at least
a match for any evasive boy in my house. Of course they were smoking
and drinking somewhere. That type of boy always does. They think it
manly."
"But they've no following in the school, and they are distinctly--er
brutal to their juniors," said Prout, who had from a distance seen
Beetle return, with interest, his butterfly-net to a tearful fag.
"Ah! They consider themselves superior to ordinary delights.
Self-sufficient little animals! There's something in McTurk's Hibernian
sneer that would make me a little annoyed. And they are so careful to
avoid all overt acts, too. It's sheer calculated insolence. I am strongly
opposed, as you know, to interfering with another man's house; but
they need a lesson, Prout. They need a sharp lesson, if only to bring
down their over-weening self-conceit. Were I you, I should devote
myself for a week to their little performances. Boys of that order--and I
may flatter myself, but I think I know boys--don't join the Bug-hunters
for love. Tell the Sergeant to keep his eye open; and, of course, in my
peregrinations I may casually keep mine open, too."
"Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!" far down the corridor.

"Disgusting!" said King. "Where do they pick up these obscene noises?
One sharp lesson is what they want."
The boys did not concern themselves with lessons for the next few days.
They had all Colonel Dabney's estate to play with, and they explored it
with the stealth of Red Indians and the accuracy of burglars. They
could enter either by the Lodge-gates on the upper road--they were
careful to ingratiate themselves with the Lodge-keeper and his
wife--drop down into the combe, and return along the cliffs; or they
could begin at the combe and climb up into the road.
They were careful not to cross the Colonel's path--he had served his
turn, and they would not out-wear their welcome--nor did they show up
on the sky-line when they could move in cover. The shelter of the gorze
by the cliff-edge was their chosen retreat. Beetle christened it the
Pleasant Isle of Aves, for the peace and the shelter of it; and here, the
pipes and tobacco once cache'd in a convenient ledge an arm's length
down the cliff, their position was legally unassailable.
For, observe, Colonel Dabney had not invited them to enter his house.
Therefore, they did not need to ask specific leave to go visiting; and
school rules were strict on that point. He had merely thrown open his
grounds to them; and, since they were lawful Bug-hunters, their
extended bounds ran up to his notice-boards in the combe and his
Lodge-gates on the hill.
They were amazed at their own virtue.
"And even if it wasn't," said Stalky, flat on his back, staring into the
blue. "Even suppose we were miles out of bounds, no one could get at
us through this wuzzy, unless he knew the tunnel. Isn't this better than
lyin' up just behind the Coll.--in a blue funk every time we had a smoke?
Isn't your Uncle Stalky--?"
"No," said Beetle--he was stretched at the edge of the cliff spitting
thoughtfully. "We've got to thank Turkey for this. Turkey is the Great
Man. Turkey, dear, you're distressing Heffles."

"Gloomy old ass!" said McTurk, deep in a book.