Complete Works of Rudyard Kipling (Illustrated) (448 page)

Stalky took the arm-chair and contemplated the scene with his blandest smile. A man trussed for cock-fighting is, perhaps, the most helpless thing in the world.

“‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ Oh, you frabjous asses!” He lay back and laughed till he could no more. The victims took in the situation but slowly. “We’ll give you the finest lickin’ you ever had in your young lives when we get up!” thundered Sefton from the floor. “You’ll laugh the other side of your mouth before you’ve done. What the deuce d’you mean by this?”

“You’ll see in two shakes,” said McTurk. “Don’t swear like that. What we want to know is, why you two hulkin’ swine have been bullyin’ Clewer?”

“It’s none of your business.”

“What did you bully Clewer for?” The question was repeated with maddening iteration by each in turn. They knew their work.

“Because we jolly well chose!” was the answer at last. “Let’s get up.” Even then they could not realize the game.

“Well, now we’re goin’ to bully you because we jolly well choose. We’re goin’ to be just as fair to you as you were to Clewer. He couldn’t do anything against you. You can’t do anything to us. Odd, ain’t it?”

“Can’t we? You wait an’ see.”

“Ah,” said Beetle reflectively, “that shows you’ve never been properly jested with. A public lickin’ ain’t in it with a gentle jape. Bet a bob you’ll weep an’ promise anything.”

“Look here, young Beetle, we’ll half kill you when we get up. I’ll promise you that, at any rate.”

“You’re going to be half killed first, though. Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?”

“Did you give Clewer Head-knuckles?” McTurk echoed. At the twentieth repetition — no boy can stand the torture of one unvarying query, which is the essence of bullying — came confession.

“We did, confound you!”

“Then you’ll be knuckled;” and knuckled they were, according to ancient experience. Head-knuckling is no trifle; “Molly” Fairburn of the old days could not have done better.

“Did you give Clewer Brush-drill?” 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.”

The torture of the Key — which has no key at all — hurts excessively. They endured several minutes of it, and their language necessitated the gag.

“Did you give Clewer Corkscrews?”

“Yes. Oh, curse your silly souls! Let us alone, you cads.”

They were corkscrewed, and the torture of the Corkscrew — this has nothing to do with corkscrews — is 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.

“Now are those all the things you did to Clewer? Take out the gag, Turkey, and let ‘em answer.”

“Yes, I swear that was all. Oh, you’re killing us, Stalky!” cried Campbell.

“Pre-cisely what Clewer said to you. I heard him. Now we’re goin’ to show you what real bullyin’ is. ‘What I don’t like about you, Sefton, is, you come to the Coll. with your stick-up collars an’ patent-leather boots, an’ 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.”

“No!” — ferociously.

“He says no. Rock him to sleep. Campbell can watch.”

It needs three boys and two boxing-gloves to rock a boy to sleep. Again the operation has nothing to do with its name. Sefton was “rocked” till his eyes set in his head and he gasped and crowed for breath, sick and dizzy.

“My Aunt!” said Campbell, appalled, from his corner, and turned white.

“Put him away,” said Stalky. “Bring on Campbell. Now this
is
bullyin’. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for? Take out his gag and let him answer.”

“I — I don’t know. Oh, let me off! I swear I’ll make it
pax
. Don’t ‘rock’ me!”

“‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ He says he don’t know. Set him up, Beetle. Give me the glove an’ put in the gag.”

In silence Campbell was “rocked” sixty-four times.

“I believe I’m goin’ to die!” he gasped. “He says he is goin’ to die. Put him away. Now, Sefton! Oh, I forgot! Sefton, what did you bully Clewer for?”

The answer is unprintable; but it brought not the faintest flush to Stalky’s downy cheek.

“Make him an Ag Ag, Turkey!”

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.

“He says we are sweeps. Put him away! Now, Campbell! Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?”

Then came the tears — scalding 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 again — to an accompaniment of small persuasions.

“You seem hurt, Campbell. Are you hurt?”

“Yes. Awfully!”

“He says he is hurt. Are you broke?”

“Yes, yes! I swear I am. Oh, stop!”

“He says he is broke. Are you humble?”

“Yes!”

“He says he is humble. Are you devilish humble?”

“Yes!”

“He says he is devilish humble. Will you bully Clewer any more?”

“No. No — ooh!”

“He says he won’t bully Clewer. Or any one else?”

“No. I swear I won’t.”

“Or any one else. What about that lickin’ you and Sefton were goin’ to give us?”

“I won’t! I won’t! I swear I won’t!”

“He says he won’t lick us. Do you esteem yourself to know anything about bullyin’?”

“No, I don’t!”

“He says he doesn’t know anything about bullyin’. Haven’t we taught you a lot?”

“Yes — yes!”

“He says we’ve taught him a lot. Aren’t you grateful?”

“Yes!”

“He says he is grateful. Put him away. Oh, I forgot! I say, Campbell, what did you bully Clewer for?”

He wept anew; his nerves being raw. “Because I was a bully. I suppose that’s what you want me to say?”

“He says he is a bully. Right he is. Put him in the corner. No more japes for Campbell. Now, Sefton!”

“You devils! You young devils!” This and much more as Sefton was punted across the carpet by skilful knees.

“‘The bleatin’ of the kid excites the tiger.’ We’re goin’ to make you beautiful. Where does he keep his shaving things? [Campbell told.] Beetle, get some water. Turkey, make the lather. We’re goin’ to shave you, Seffy, so you’d better lie jolly still, or you’ll get cut. I’ve never shaved any one before.”

“Don’t! Oh, don’t! Please don’t!”

“Gettin’ polite, eh? I’m only goin’ to take off one ducky little whisker — ”

“I’ll — I’ll make it
pax
, if you don’t. I swear I’ll let you off your lickin’ when I get up!”

“
And
half that mustache we’re so proud of. He says he’ll let us off our lickin’. Isn’t he kind?”

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!” He lit a vesta, but checked his hand. “I only want to take off half, though.”

“That’s all right.” Beetle waved the brush. “I’ll lather up to the middle — see? and you can burn off the rest.”

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.

“Now the whisker on the other side. Turn him over!” Between match and razor this, too, was removed. “Give him his shaving-glass. Take the gag out. I want to hear what he’ll say.”

But there were no words. Sefton gazed at the lop-sided wreck in horror and despair. Two fat tears rolled down his cheek.

“Oh, I forgot! I say, Sefton, what did you bully Clewer for?”

“Leave me alone! Oh, you infernal bullies, leave me alone! Haven’t I had enough?”

“He says we must leave him alone,” said McTurk.

“He says we are bullies, an’ we haven’t even begun yet,” said Beetle. “You’re ungrateful, Seffy. Golly! You do look an atrocity and a half!”

“He says he has had enough,” said Stalky. “He errs!”

“Well, to work, to work!” chanted McTurk, waving a stump. “Come on, my giddy Narcissus. Don’t fall in love with your own reflection!”

“Oh, let him off,” said Campbell from his corner; “he’s blubbing, too.”

Sefton cried like a twelve-year-old with pain, shame, wounded vanity, and utter helplessness.

“You’ll make it
pax
, Sefton, won’t you? You can’t stand up to those young devils — ”

“Don’t be rude, Campbell, de-ah,” said McTurk, “or you’ll catch it again!”

“You
are
devils, you know,” said Campbell.

“What? for a little bullyin’ — same as you’ve been givin’ Clewer! How long have you been jestin’ with him?” said Stalky. “All this term?”

“We didn’t always knock him about, though!”

“You did when you could catch him,” said Beetle, cross-legged on the floor, dropping a stump from time to time across Sefton’s instep. “Don’t I know it!”

“I — perhaps we did.”

“And you went out of your way to catch him? Don’t I know it! Because he was an awful little beast, eh? Don’t I know it! Now, you see,
you
’re awful beasts, and you’re gettin’ what he got — for bein’ a beast. Just because we choose.”

“We never really bullied him — like you’ve done us.”

“Yah!” said Beetle. “They never really bully — ’Molly’ Fairburn didn’t. Only knock ‘em about a little bit. That’s what they say. Only kick their souls out of ‘em, and they go and blub in the box-rooms. Shove their heads into the ulsters an’ blub. Write home three times a day — yes, you brute, I’ve done that — askin’ to be taken away. You’ve never been bullied properly, Campbell I’m sorry you made
pax
.”

“I’m not!” said Campbell, who was a humorist in a way. “Look out, you’re slaying Sefton!”

In his excitement Beetle had used the stump unreflectingly, and Sefton was now shouting for mercy.

“An’ you!” he cried, wheeling where he sat. “You’ve never been bullied, either. Where were you before you came here?”

“I — I had a tutor.”

“Yah! You would. You never blubbed in your life. But you’re blubbin’ now, by gum. Aren’t you blubbin’?”

“Can’t you see, you blind beast?” Sefton fell over sideways, tear-tracks furrowing the dried lather. Crack came the cricket-stump on the curved latter-end of him.

“Blind, am I,” said Beetle, “and a beast? Shut up, Stalky. I’m goin’ to jape a bit with our friend,
a’ la
‘Molly’ Fairburn.
I
think I can see. Can’t I see, Sefton?”

“The point is well taken,” said McTurk, watching the strap at work. “You’d better say that he sees, Seffy.”

“You do — you can! I swear you do!” yelled Sefton, for strong arguments were coercing him.

“Aren’t my eyes lovely?” The stump rose and fell steadily throughout this catechism.

“Yes.”

“A gentle hazel, aren’t they?”

“Yes — oh, yes!”

“What a liar you are! They’re sky-blue. Ain’t they sky-blue?”

“Yes — oh, yes!”

“You don’t know your mind from one minute to another. You must learn — you must learn.”

“What a bait you’re in!” said Stalky. “Keep your hair on, Beetle.”

“I’ve had it done to me,” said Beetle. “Now — about my being a beast.”

“
Pax
— oh,
pax
!” cried Sefton; “make it
pax
. I’ll give up! Let me off! I’m broke! I can’t stand it!”