<<<
Thence he came back, greatly disordered,
to find McTurk, Stalky, and the others of the company,
in his study enjoying an unlimited «brew»—
coffee, cocoa, buns, new bread hot and steaming,
sardine, sausage, ham-and-tongue paste, pilchards, three jams,
and at least as many pounds of Devonshire cream.
>>>
<<<
It was a fair, sustained, equable stroke, with a little draw to it, but what they felt most was his unfairness in stopping to talk between executions. […]
<<<
Whatever the nature of that interview,
it did not improve either King’s or Prout’s ruffled plumes,
for, when they came out of the Head’s house, eyes noted
that the one was red and blue with emotion as to his nose,
and that the other was sweating profusely. […]
<<<
I saw his Sikhs looked a bit battered.
‘Where’s your command?
Where’s your subaltern?’ I said. […]
<<<
“They use the editorial ‘we,’” said King, irrelevantly. “It annoys me. ‘Where’s your prose, Corkran?’ ‘Well, sir, we haven’t quite done it yet.’ ‘We’ll bring it in a minute,’ and so on. And the same with the others.”
“There’s great virtue in that ‘we,’” said little Hartopp. “You know I take them for trig. McTurk may […]
<<<
“Impossible. It will be a tight squeeze for Sandhurst this year.”
[…]
<<<
En cuanto a la serenidad,
Kipling nos dice
en «Stalky & Co.»:
They were learning,
at the expense of
a fellow-countryman,
the lesson of their race,
which is
to put away all emotion
and entrap the alien
at the proper time.
«Beetle! You’re oppressed and insulted and bullied by King. Don’t you feel it?»
«Let me alone! I can write some more poetry about him if I am, I suppose.»
«Mad! Quite mad!» said Stalky to the visitors, as one exhibiting strange beasts. «Beetle reads an ass called Brownin’, and McTurk reads […]
A downward puff of smoke. «Boys educate each other, they say, more than we can or dare. If I had used one half of the moral suasion you may or may not have employed—»
«With the best motives in the world. Don’t forget our pious motives, Padre,» said M’Turk.
«I suppose […]
<<<
‘Why, we didn’t do anything,’ replied M‘Turk. ‘It was all Mr. Prout. Did you ever read a book about Japanese wrestlers? My uncle—he’s in the Navy—gave me a beauty once.’
‘Don’t try to change the subject, Turkey.’
‘I’m not, sir. I’m givin’ an illustration—same as a sermon. These wrestler-chaps have got some sort of trick that lets […]