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A shame to waste so much good stuff; but I think I can carry my point." "An' who's your friend with the white whiskers?" demanded Stalky, on McTurk's return to the study. "General Collinson. He comes over to shoot with my father sometimes. Rather a decent old bargee, too. He said I ought to cultivate your acquaintance, Stalky." "Did he tip you?" McTurk exhibited a blessed whole sovereign.
There was much broken glass on the window-seat; the china basket McTurk's aversion cracked to flinders, had dropped her musk plant and its earth over the red rep cushions; Manders minor was bleeding profusely from a cut on the cheek-bone; and King, using strange words, every one of which Beetle treasured, ran forth to find the school-sergeant, that Rabbits-Eggs might be instantly cast into jail.
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.
"Well, you know, that little beast Manders minor saw Beetle and me hammerin' McTurk's trunk open in the dormitory when we took his watch last month. Of course Manders sneaked to Mason, and Mason solemnly took it up as a case of theft, to get even with us about the rats." "That just put Mason into our giddy hands," said McTurk, blandly.
McTurk's lank frame stiffened in every muscle and his eyelids dropped half over his eyes. That last was a war-signal. The eight or nine seniors, their faces very set and sober, were ranged in chairs round Carson's severely Philistine study. Tulke was not popular among them, and a few who had had experience of Stalky and Company doubted that he might, perhaps, have made an ass of himself.
McTurk's face merely expressed lofty contempt and a little weariness. "Well, you seem to know a lot about it," interposed a prefect. "Can't help it when you chaps shove it under our noses." Beetle dropped into a drawling parody of King's most biting colloquial style the gentle rain after the thunder-storm. "Well, it's all very sufficiently vile and disgraceful, isn't it?
Whoever gets into the Gym first, bags seats for the other two." There was no nervousness, but a brisk and cheery affability about Mr. Raymond Martin, M.P., as he drove up, watched by many eyes, to the Head's house. "Looks a bit of a bargee," was McTurk's comment. "Shouldn't be surprised if he was a Radical. He rowed the driver about the fare. I heard him."
He is the King of basket-hangers!" Down went McTurk's inky thumb over an imaginary arena full of bleeding Kings. "Placete, child of a generous race!" he cried to Beetle. "Well," began Beetle, doubtfully, "he comes from Balliol, but I'm going to give the beast a chance. You see I can always make him hop with some more poetry. He can't report me to the Head, because it makes him ridiculous.
McTurk's heel tapped the lawn and he stuttered a little two sure signs that he was losing his temper. But why should he, the offender, be angry? "Lo-look here, sir. Do do you shoot foxes? Because, if you don't, your keeper does. We've seen him! I do-don't care what you call us but it's an awful thing. It's the ruin of good feelin' among neighbors.
Here the coachman, being under orders, whipped up and nearly ran over the three. "My Hat!" said Beetle. "That's pretty average heroic." "Pretty average!" McTurk's knee in the small of his back cannoned him into Stalky, who punted him back. "You ought to be hung!" "And the Head ought to get the V.C.," said Stalky. "Why, he might have been dead and buried by now. But he wasn't. But he didn't.
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