ABSTRACT
Perhaps my American horror at these barbarisms (I was forced as well to wear thick gray wool short pants) helps explain the grip the school stories in Stalky & Co. took on my soul. Kipling’s boys waged active war on their masters. And not least among the book’s astounding revelations was that Stalky’s best friend Beetle was as much in love with stories and poems as I was. As Beetle is drunk for days on the poetry of Robert Browning after King throws Men and Women at his head, I was drunk for days on Stalky & Co. after finding a Macmillan’s pocket edition on the shelves of a home my parents were visiting. Under the book’s influence, I persuaded my best friend Patrick to help me drive mild Mr. Newton insane. Poker-faced, we took turns spinning a wooden ruler by the hole at one end on the point of a pencil during his class. We had decided, with the wisdom of our years, that, because the act was both silent and comparatively discreet, we would be immune to serious punishment. Mr. Newton ignored us, but Mr. Burt, who was also the games master, let himself be drawn next hour. He strode to our desks, snatched up the ruler, broke it in half with a flourish, and flung it out of the window. We were so pleased that we buried the pieces with great ceremony over the lunch hour; Patrick improvised a dirge on the spot. I thought it was pure Stalky.
