Stalky & Co.. Rudyard KiplingЧитать онлайн книгу.
‘Wine is a mocker, strong drink is ragin’,’” quoth Beetle.
“It’s nothin’ to make fun of, young gentlemen. I ‘ave to go to the ‘Ead with the charges. An’ – an’ you mayn’t be aware, per’aps, that I was followin’ you this afternoon; havin’ my suspicions.”
“Did ye see the notice-boards?” croaked McTurk, in the very brogue of Colonel Dabney.
“Ye’ve eyes in your head. Don’t attempt to deny it. Ye did!” said Beetle.
“A sergeant! To run about poachin’ on your pension! Damnable, O damnable!” said Stalky, without pity.
“Good Lord!” said the Sergeant, sitting heavily upon a bed. “Where – where the devil was you? I might ha’ known it was a do – somewhere.”
“Oh, you clever maniac!” Stalky resumed. “We mayn’t be aware you were followin’ us this afternoon, mayn’t we? ‘Thought you were stalkin’ us, eh? Why, we led you bung into it, of course. Colonel Dabney – don’t you think he’s a nice man, Foxy? – Colonel Dabney’s our pet particular friend. We’ve been goin’ there for weeks and weeks, he invited us. You and your duty! Curse your duty, sir! Your duty was to keep off his covers.”
“You’ll never be able to hold up your head again, Foxy. The fags ‘ll hoot at you,” said Beetle.
“Think of your giddy prestige!” The Sergeant was thinking – hard.
“Look ‘ere, young gentlemen,” he said, earnestly. “You aren’t surely ever goin’ to tell, are you? Wasn’t Mr. Prout and Mr. King in – in it too?”
“Foxibusculus, they was. They was – singular horrid. Caught it worse than you. We heard every word of it. You got off easy, considerin’. If I’d been Dabney I swear I’d ha’ quodded you. I think I’ll suggest it to him to-morrow.”
“An’ it’s all goin’ up to the ‘Ead. Oh, Good Lord!”
“Every giddy word of it, my Chingangook,” said Beetle, dancing. “Why shouldn’t it? We’ve done nothing wrong. We ain’t poachers. We didn’t cut about blastin’ the characters of poor, innocent boys – saying they were drunk.”
“That I didn’t,” said Foxy. “I – I only said that you be’aved uncommon odd when you come back with that badger. Mr. King may have taken the wrong hint from that.”
“‘Course he did; an’ he’ll jolly well shove all the blame on you when he finds out he’s wrong. We know King, if you don’t. I’m ashamed of you. You ain’t fit to be a sergeant,” said McTurk.
“Not with three thorough-goin’ young devils like you, I ain’t. I’ve been had. I’ve been ambuscaded. Horse, foot, an’ guns, I’ve been had, an’ – an’ there’ll be no holdin’ the junior forms after this. M’rover, the ‘Ead will send me with a note to Colonel Dabney to ask if what you say about bein’ invited was true.”
“Then you’d better go in by the Lodge-gates this time, instead of chasin’ your dam’ boys – oh, that was the Epistle to King – so it was. We-el, Foxy?” Stalky put his chin on his hands and regarded the victim with deep delight.
“Ti-ra-la-la-i-tu! I gloat! Hear me!” said McTurk. “Foxy brought us tea when we were moral lepers. Foxy has a heart. Foxy has been in the Army, too.”
“I wish I’d ha’ had you in my company, young gentlemen,” said the Sergeant from the depths of his heart; “I’d ha’ given you something.”
“Silence at drum-head court-martial,” McTurk went on. “I’m advocate for the prisoner; and, besides, this is much too good to tell all the other brutes in the Coll. They’d never understand. They play cricket, and say: ‘Yes sir,’ and ‘O, sir,’ and ‘No, sir.’”
“Never mind that. Go ahead,” said Stalky.
“Well, Foxy’s a good little chap when he does not esteem himself so as to be clever.”
“‘Take not out your ‘ounds on a werry windy day,’” Stalky struck in. “I don’t care if you let him off.”
“Nor me,” said Beetle. “Heffy is my only joy – Heffy and King.”
“I ‘ad to do it,” said the Sergeant, plaintively.
“Right, O! Led away by bad companions in the execution of his duty or – or words to that effect. You’re dismissed with a reprimand, Foxy. We won’t tell about you. I swear we won’t,” McTurk concluded. “Bad for the discipline of the school. Horrid bad.”
“Well,” said the Sergeant, gathering up the tea-things, “knowin’ what I know o’ the young dev – gentlemen of the College, I’m very glad to ‘ear it. But what am I to tell the ‘Ead?”
“Anything you jolly well please, Foxy. We aren’t the criminals.”
To say that the Head was annoyed when the Sergeant appeared after dinner with the day’s crime-sheet would be putting it mildly.
“Corkran, McTurk, and Co., I see. Bounds as usual. Hullo! What the deuce is this? Suspicion of drinking. Whose charge??”
“Mr. King’s, sir. I caught ‘em out of bounds, sir: at least that was ‘ow it looked. But there’s a lot be’ind, sir.” The Sergeant was evidently troubled.
“Go on,” said the Head. “Let us have your version.” He and the Sergeant had dealt with one another for some seven years; and the Head knew that Mr. King’s statements depended very largely on Mr. King’s temper.
“I thought they were out of bounds along the cliffs. But it come out they wasn’t, sir. I saw them go into Colonel Dabney’s woods, and – Mr. King and Mr. Prout come along – and the fact was, sir, we was mistook for poachers by Colonel Dabney’s people – Mr. King and Mr. Prout and me. There were some words, sir, on both sides. The young gentlemen slipped ‘ome somehow, and they seemed ‘ighly humorous, sir. Mr. King was mistook by Colonel Dabney himself – Colonel Dabney bein’ strict. Then they preferred to come straight to you, sir, on account of what – what Mr. King may ‘ave said about their ‘abits afterwards in Mr. Prout’s study. I only said they was ‘ighly humorous, laughin’ an’ gigglin’, an’ a bit above ‘emselves. They’ve since told me, sir, in a humorous way, that they was invited by Colonel Dabney to go into ‘is woods.”
“I see. They didn’t tell their house-master that, of course?”
“They took up Mr. King on appeal just as soon as he spoke about their – ‘abits. Put in the appeal at once, sir, an’ asked to be sent to the dormitory waitin’ for you. I’ve since gathered, sir, in their humorous way, sir, that some’ow or other they’ve ‘eard about every word Colonel Dabney said to Mr. King and Mr. Prout when he mistook ‘em for poachers. I – I might ha’ known when they led me on so that they ‘eld the inner line of communications. It’s – it’s a plain do, sir, if you ask me; an’ they’re gloatin’ over it in the dormitory.”
The Head saw – saw even to the uttermost farthing – and his mouth twitched a little under his mustache.
“Send them to me at once, Sergeant. This case needn’t wait over.”
“Good evening,” said he when the three appeared under escort. “I want your undivided attention for a few minutes. You’ve known me for five years, and I’ve known you for – twenty-five. I think we understand one another perfectly. I am now going to pay you a tremendous compliment (the brown one, please, Sergeant. Thanks. You needn’t wait). I’m going to execute you without rhyme, Beetle, or reason. I know you went to Colonel Dabney’s covers because you were invited. I’m not even going to send the Sergeant with a note to ask if your statement is true; because I am convinced that on this occasion you have adhered strictly to the truth. I know, too, that you were not drinking. (You can take off that virtuous expression, McTurk, or I shall begin to fear you don’t understand me.) There is not a flaw in any of your characters.