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Updated: May 22, 2025
"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."
As I turned away, I overheard a woman say, "The King'll be sure to die; he's got the symptoms, and I never knew anybody get over that." All at once the bells struck up a merry peal, and the Union Jack floated from the "Upper Church" tower. A crowd assembled round the "White Hart," and a dozen post-horses, ready harnessed, stood waiting in the street.
"Yes, but don't you see that Stalky isn't here, you owl!" said McTurk. "Take down the key, and look sorrowful. King'll only jaw you for half an hour. I'm going to read in the lower form-room." "But it's always me," mourned Beetle. "Wait till we see," said McTurk, hopefully. "I don't know any more than you do what Stalky means, but it's something. Go down and draw King's fire. You're used to it."
The King'll be there. Like to go and write an account of it?" "Yes, I would!" "Good. I'll get Masters to send the ticket of admission on to you to-night!" He felt much happier when he left the Herald offices than he had felt when he entered them. He had sold an article and had been commissioned to do an interesting job. Eleanor would be pleased.
Tulke left his place and laid the paper on the desk. King looked, read, and turned a ghastly green. "Stalky's missing a heap," thought Beetle. "Wonder hew King'll get out of it!" "There seems," King began with a gulp, "a certain modicum of truth in our Beetle's remark. I am er inclined to believe that the worthy Randall must have dropped this in ferule if you know what that means.
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