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Updated: June 2, 2025
"I say, Crandall" Stalky's voice was tuned to a wholly foreign reverence. "Well, what?" "Suppose a chap found another chap croaking with diphtheria all bunged up with it and they stuck a tube in his throat and the chap sucked the stuff out, what would you say?" "Um," said Crandall, reflectively. "I've only heard of one case, and that was a doctor. He did it for a woman." "Oh, this wasn't a woman.
This time the question was answered sooner, and Brush-drill was dealt out for the space of five minutes by Stalky's watch. They could not even writhe in their bonds. No brush is employed in Brush-drill. "Did you give Clewer the Key?" "No; we didn't. I swear we didn't!" from Campbell, rolling in agony. "Then we'll give it to you, so you can see what it would be like if you had."
It might have been the blind ferment of adolescence; Stalky's random remarks about virtue might have stirred him; like his betters he might have sought popularity by way of clowning; or, as the Head asserted years later, the only known jest of his serious life might have worked on him, as a sober-sided man's one love colours and dislocates all his after days.
King desired no buts, nor was he interested in Stalky's evasions. They, on the other hand, might be interested in his poor views. Boys who crept who sneaked who lurked out of bounds, even the generous bounds of the Natural History Society, which they had falsely joined as a cloak for their misdeeds their vices their villainies their immoralities
McTurk laughed into the nickel-plated shaving-cup, and settled Sefton's head between Stalky's vise-like knees. "Hold on a shake," said Beetle, "you can't shave long hairs. You've got to cut all that mustache short first, an' then scrape him." "Well, I'm not goin' to hunt about for scissors. Won't a match do? Chuck us the match-box. He is a hog, you know; we might as well singe him. Lie still!"
"One always knows where to have him. Did you see how he rose to that draw about the Head and special privileges?" "Confound him, he might have had the decency to have backed the scheme. I could do such a lovely ballad, rottin' it; and now I'll have to be a giddy enthusiast. It don't bar our pulling Stalky's leg in the study, does it?"
Half way in, old Rutton Singh collapsed, so we slung him across four rifles and Stalky's overcoat; and Stalky, his prisoner, and a couple of Sikhs were his bearers. After that I went to sleep. You can, you know, on the march, when your legs get properly numbed. Mac swears we all marched into his camp snoring and dropped where we halted. His men lugged us into the tents like gram-bags.
The dear children wanted to open the gate and go in at 'em generally, but that didn't suit our book. "At last, near midnight, I heard the wop, wop, wop, of Stalky's Martinis across the valley, and some general cursing among the Malo'ts, whose main body was hid from us by a fold in the hillside.
"But do you never feel that the world the Common-room is too much with you sometimes?" "Not exactly in summer, anyhow." Stalky's eye roved contentedly to the window. "Our bounds are pretty big, too, and they leave us to ourselves a good deal." "For example, here am I sitting in your study, very much in your way, eh?" "Indeed you aren't, Padre. Sit down. Don't go, sir.
I don't see how you can avoid comin' out an' marchin' in the open now." "Can't we get out of it, then, Foxy?" Stalky's fine old silky tone should have warned him. "No, not with his giving the flag so generously. He told me before he left this morning that there was no objection to the corps usin' it as their own. It's a handsome flag."
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