Stalky & Co. by Rudyard Kipling (young adult books to read .txt) đ
- Author: Rudyard Kipling
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âRuffle his hair, Turkey. Now you get down, too. âThe bleatinâ of the kid excites the tiger.â You two are in such a sweatinâ wax with me that you only curse. âMember that. Iâll tickle you up with a stump. Youâll have to blub, Beetle.â
âRight O! Iâll work up to it in half a shake,â said Beetle.
âNow beginâand remember the bleatinâ oâ the kid.â
âShut up, you brutes! Let me up! Youâve nearly cut my knees off. Oh, you are beastly cads! Do shut up. âTisnât a joke!â Beetleâs protest was, in tone, a work of art.
âGive it to him, Turkey! Kick him! Roll him over! Kill him! Donât funk, Beetle, you brute. Kick him again, Turkey.â
âHeâs not blubbinâ really. Roll up, Beetle, or Iâll kick you into the fender,â roared McTurk. They made a hideous noise among them, and the bait allured their quarry.
âHullo! Whatâs the giddy jest?â Sefton and Campbell entered to find Beetle on his side, his head against the fender, weeping copiously, while McTurk prodded him in the back with his toes.
âItâs only Beetle,â Stalky explained. âHeâs shamminâ hurt. I canât get Turkey to go for him properly.â Sefton promptly kicked both boys, and his face lighted. âAll right, Iâll attend to âem. Get up anâ cock-fight, you two. Give me the stump. Iâll tickle âem. Hereâs a giddy jest! Come on, Campbell. Letâs cook âem.â
Then McTurk turned on Stalky and called him very evil names.
âYou said you were goinâ to cock-fight too, Stalky. Come on!â
âMore ass you for believinâ me, then!â shrieked Stalky.
âHave you chaps had a row?â said Campbell. âRow?â said Stalky. âHuh! Iâm only educatinâ them. Dâyou know anythinâ about cock-fighting, Seffy?â
âDo I know? Why, at Maclaganâs, where I was cramminâ in town, we used to cock-fight in his drawing-room, and little Maclagan darenât say anything. But we were just the same as men there, of course. Do I know? Iâll show you.â
âCanât I get up?â moaned Beetle, as Stalky sat on his shoulder.
âDonât jaw, you fat piffler. Youâre going to fight Seffy.â
âHeâll slay me!â
âOh, lug âem into our study,â said Campbell. âItâs nice anâ quiet in there. Iâll cock-fight Turkey. This is an improvement on young Clewer.â
âRight O! I move itâs shoes-off for them anâ shoes-on for us,â said Sefton joyously, and the two were flung down on the study floor. Stalky rolled them behind an arm-chair. âNow Iâll tie you two up anâ direct the bull-fight. Golly, what wrists you have, Seffy. Theyâre too thick for a wipe; got a box-rope?â said he.
âLots in the corner,â Sefton replied. âHurry up! Stop blubbinâ, you brute, Beetle. Weâre goinâ to have a giddy campaign. Losers have to sing for the winnersâsing odes in honor of the conqueror. You call yourself a beastly poet, donât you, Beetle? Iâll poet you.â
He wriggled into position by Campbellâs side. Swiftly and scientifically the stumps were thrust through the natural crooks, and the wrists tied with well-stretched box-ropes to an accompaniment of insults from McTurk, bound, betrayed, and voluble behind the chair. Stalky set away Campbell and Sefton, and strode over to his allies, locking the door on the way.
âAnd thatâs all right,â said he in a changed voice.
âWhat the devilâ?â Sefton began. Beetleâs false tears had ceased; McTurk, smiling, was on his feet. Together they bound the knees and ankles of the enemy even more straitly.
Stalky took the arm-chair and contemplated the scene with his blandest smile. A man trussed for cook-fighting is, perhaps, the most helpless thing in the world.
ââThe bleatinâ of the kid excites the tiger.â Oh, you frabjous asses!â He lay back and laughed till he could no more. The victims took in the situation but slowly. âWeâll give you the finest lickinâ you ever had in your young lives when we get up!â thundered Sefton from the floor. âYouâll laugh the other side of your mouth before youâve done. What the deuce dâyou mean by this?â
âYouâll see in two shakes,â said McTurk. âDonât swear like that. What we want to know is, why you two hulkinâ swine have been bullyinâ Clewer?â
âItâs none of your business.â
âWhat did you bully Clewer for?â The question was repeated with maddening iteration by each in turn. They knew their work.
âBecause we jolly well chose!â was the answer at last. âLetâs get up.â Even then they could not realize the game.
âWell, now weâre goinâ to bully you because we jolly well choose. Weâre goinâ to be just as fair to you as you were to Clewer. He couldnât do anything against you. You canât do anything to us. Odd, ainât it?â
âCanât we? You wait anâ see.â
âAh,â said Beetle reflectively, âthat shows youâve never been properly jested with. A public lickinâ ainât in it with a gentle jape. Bet a bob youâll weep anâ promise anything.â
âLook here, young Beetle, weâll half kill you when we get up. Iâll promise you that, at any rate.â
âYouâre going to be half killed first, though. Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?â
âDid you give Clewer Head-knuckles?â McTurk echoed. At the twentieth repetitionâno boy can stand the torture of one unvarying query, which is the essence of bullyingâcame confession.
âWe did, confound you!â
âThen youâll be knuckled;â and knuckled they were, according to ancient experience. Head-knuckling is no trifle; âMollyâ Fairburn of the old days could not have done better.
âDid you give Clewer Brush-drill?â This time the question was answered sooner, and Brush-drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by Stalkyâs watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is employed in Brush-drill.
âDid you give Clewer the Key?â
âNo; we didnât. I swear we didnât!â from Campbell, rolling in agony.
âThen weâll give it to you, so you can see what it would be like if you had.â
The torture of the Keyâwhich has no key at allâhurts excessively. They endured several minutes of it, and their language necessitated the gag.
âDid you give Clewer Corkscrews?â
âYes. Oh, curse your silly souls! Let us alone, you cads.â
They were corkscrewed, and the torture of the Corkscrewâthis has nothing to do with corkscrewsâis keener than the torture of the Key.
The method and silence of the attacks was breaking their nerves. Between each new torture came the pitiless, dazing rain of questions, and when they did not answer to the point, Isabella-colored handkerchiefs were thrust into their mouths.
âNow are those all the things you did to Clewer? Take out the gag, Turkey, and let âem answer.â
âYes, I swear that was all. Oh, youâre killing us, Stalky!â cried Campbell.
âPrecisely what Clewer said to you. I heard him. Now weâre goinâ to show you what real bullyinâ is. âWhat I donât like about you, Sefton, is, you come to the Coll. with your stick-up collars anâ patent-leather boots, anâ you think you can teach us something about bullying. Do you think you can teach us anything about bullying? Take out the gag and let him answer.â
âNo!ââferociously.
âHe says no. Rock him to sleep. Campbell can watch.â
It needs three beys and two boxing-gloves to rock a boy to sleep. Again the operation has nothing to do with its name. Sefton was ârockedâ till his eyes set in his head and he gasped and crowed for breath, sick and dizzy.
âMy Aunt!â said Campbell, appalled, from his corner, and turned white.
âPut him away,â said Stalky. âBring on Campbell. Now this is bullyinâ. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for? Take out his gag and let him answer.â
âIâI donât know. Oh, let me off! I swear Iâll make it pax. Donât ârockâ me!â
ââThe bleatinâ of the kid excites the tiger.â He says he donât know. Set him up, Beetle. Give me the glove anâ put in the gag.â
In silence Campbell was ârockedâ sixty-four times.
âI believe Iâm goinâ to die!â he gasped. âHe says he is goinâ to die. Put him away. Now, Sefton! Oh, I forgot! Sefton, what did you bully Clewer for?â
The answer is unprintable; but it brought not the faintest flush to Stalkyâs downy cheek.
âMake him an Ag Ag, Turkey!â
And an Ag Ag was he made, forthwith. The hard-bought experience of nearly eighteen years was at his disposal, but he did not seem to appreciate it.
âHe says we are sweeps. Put him away! Now, Campbell! Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?â
Then came the tearsâscalding tears; appeals for mercy and abject promises of peace. Let them cease the tortures and Campbell would never lift hand against them. The questions began againâto an accompaniment of small persuasions.
âYou seem hurt, Campbell. Are you hurt?â
âYes. Awfully!â
âHe says he is hurt. Are you broke?â
âYes, yes! I swear I am. Oh, stop!â
âHe says he is broke. Are you humble?â
âYes!â
âHe says he is humble. Are you devilish humble?â
âYes!â
âHe says he is devilish humble. Will you bully Clewer any more?â
âNo. Noâooh!â
âHe says he wonât bully Clewer. Or any one else?â
âNo. I swear I wonât.â
âOr any one else. What about that lickinâ you and Sefton were goinâ to give us?â
âI wonât! I wonât! I swear I wonât!â
âHe says he wonât lick us. Do you esteem yourself to know anything about bullyinâ?â
âNo, I donât!â
âHe says he doesnât know anything about bullyinâ. Havenât we taught you a lot?â
âYesâyes!â
âHe says weâve taught him a lot. Arenât you grateful?â
âYes!â
âHe says he is grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?â
He wept anew; his nerves being raw. âBecause I was a bully. I suppose thatâs what you want me to say?â
âHe says he is a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more japes for Campbell. Now, Sefton!â
âYou devils! You young devils!â This and much more as Sefton was punted across the carpet by skilful knees.
ââThe bleatinâ of the kid excites the tiger.â Weâre goinâ to make you beautiful. Where does he keep his shaving things? [Campbell told.] Beetle, get some water. Turkey, make the lather. Weâre goinâ to shave you, Seffy, so youâd better lie jolly still, or youâll get cut. Iâve never shaved any one before.â
âDonât! Oh, donât! Please donât!â
âGettinâ polite, eh? Iâm only goinâ to take off one ducky little whiskerââ
âIâllâIâll make it pax, if you donât. I swear Iâll let you off your lickinâ when I get up!â
âAnd half that mustache weâre so proud of. He says heâll let us off our lickinâ. Isnât he kind?â
McTurk laughed into the nickel-plated shaving-cup, and settled Seftonâs head between Stalkyâs vise-like knees.
âHold on a shake,â said Beetle, âyou canât shave long hairs. Youâve got to cut all that mustache short first, anâ then scrape him.â
âWell, Iâm not goinâ to hunt about for scissors. Wonât a match do? Chuck us the match-box. He is a hog, you know; we might as well singe him. Lie still!â He lit a vesta, but checked his hand. âI only want to take off half, though.â
âThatâs all right.â Beetle waved the brush. âIâll lather up to the middleâsee? and you can burn off the rest.â
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.
âNow the whisker on the other
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