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Una buena pieza del género

tal vez sea lo que hace Kipling

con un examen impreso de prosa latina…

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Said Beetle, after a glance: «It’s King’s Latin prose exam. paper. In—In Varrem: actio prima. What a lark!»

«Think o’ the pure-souled, high-minded boys who’d give their eyes for a squint at it!» said McTurk.

«No, Willie dear,» said Stalky; «that would be wrong and painful to our kind teachers. You wouldn’t crib, Willie, would you?»

«Can’t read the beastly stuff, anyhow,» was the reply. «Besides, we’re leavin’ at the end o’ the term, so it makes no difference to us.»

«‘Member what the Considerate Bloomer did to Spraggon’s account of the Puffin’ton Hounds? We must sugar Mr. King’s milk for him,» said Stalky, all lighted from within by a devilish joy. «Let’s see what Beetle can do with those forceps he’s so proud of.»

«Don’t see now you can make Latin prose much more cock-eye than it is, but we’ll try,» said Beetle, transposing an aliud and Asiae from two sentences. «Let’s see! We’ll put that full-stop a little further on, and begin the sentence with the next capital. Hurrah! Here’s three lines that can move up all in a lump.»

«‘One of those scientific rests for which this eminent huntsman is so justly celebrated.'» Stalky knew the Puffington run by heart.

«Hold on! Here’s a vol—voluntate quidnam all by itself,» said McTurk.

«I’ll attend to her in a shake. Quidnam goes after Dolabella.»

«Good old Dolabella,» murmured Stalky. «Don’t break him. Vile prose Cicero wrote, didn’t he? He ought to be grateful for—»

«Hullo!» said McTurk, over another forme. «What price a giddy ode? Qui—quis—oh, it’s Quis multa gracilis, o’ course.»

«Bring it along. We’ve sugared the milk here,» said Stalky, after a few minutes’ zealous toil. «Never thrash your hounds unnecessarily.»

«Quis munditiis? I swear that’s not bad,» began Beetle, plying the tweezers. «Don’t that interrogation look pretty? Heu quoties fidem! That sounds as if the chap were anxious an’ excited. Cui flavam religas in rosa—Whose flavor is relegated to a rose. Mutatosque Deos flebit in antro.»

«Mute gods weepin’ in a cave,» suggested Stalky. «‘Pon my Sam, Horace needs as much lookin’ after as—Tulke.»

They edited him faithfully till it was too dark to see.

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En «Stalky & Co.», un libro recomendable por tantos conceptos…

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