Okay, so I apparently wrote this story in 2007 for school, when I was 15. I think it's a pretty good pastiche of Rudyard Kipling's Stalky and Co., though, so I thought I'd share it here. I don't suspect many people will read this, since there is not even a category for KIPLING for gosh sake, but if you do read this, please leave a review! :P
Beetle's Gamble
The new schoolmaster came two days before Christmas holiday, so there was only a sparse number of boys who were available, and even a smaller number willing, to lead Mr. Mifflin around Coll. As a final resort, the responsibility fell to the last student of choice – Beetle. Luckily for Mr. Mifflin Beetle hadn't anything better to do, so he actually did get the complete proper tour – up the Great Hall, down the lesser halls and around all the other halls whose names Beetle never cared to remember. The teacher was led out onto the cricket and rugby fields which were empty because of holiday, and he was introduced to Mr. Hartopp in the Natural History Society. He even got to touch the stuffed mountain lion.
But Beetle rarely worked without a motive. Along the way he did some digging; consequently he discovered Mr. Mifflin had transferred from one of the "real" colleges, and that he was a very influential English teacher.
That was why Beetle was curled up on the floor of Study Number Five with dictionaries and thesauruses and references and papers before the holiday was even over. Stalky and M'Turk had just returned the day before and were much less productive.
"My fellow countrymen," Stalky began, ripe in boredom and stretched at full length on his bed. "The French have contributed many things to our Good English Society." He looked at Beetle, who was not paying sufficient attention, and went on. "They have given us quadrilles, an' haute couture, an' haute cuisine, an entire vocabulary, an' maybe also a type of horse if I'm not mistaken. But I think their worst contribution is ennui."
"You forgot champagne," said M'Turk, who was writing letters to home and suddenly swore most viciously. "My pen's burst."
"I do not drink, Turkey." Stalky was quite offended. "I am a fine, upstanding, promising young chap, remember?"
"I forgot."
"Beetle, what are you doing?" Stalky rolled over and pulled one of the papers from the floor. He began reading from the middle. " 'He is a writer who extends the range of subject matter and technique. He plunges readers into realms of imaginative experience.' Beetle, are you daft? This is Christmas break an' you're writin' English papers!"
M'Turk spun in his chair, stunned, and his pen liberally spattered the opposite wall with ink. "Shockin'!"
"You had already gone when Mr. Mifflin came," Beetle said insubordinately, yanking back the paper and settling it into place. "You haven't even met 'im yet. He's a professor! From Eton, even."
"If he was such a won-der-ful Etonian professor," Stalky drawled, admiring his boots, "he would not be at our unlovely college." (There was not a grain of school pride in these boys.)
"Well, I heard the other teachers sayin' he left Eton on purpose. An' he's come here, to bring 'culture' to our school. Told him I'm an English major, so he said I ought to write a paper. I figure if he likes me, I won't have to do so much work. So I want to impress 'im."
"Good luck," Turkey muttered.
"You'll read your eyes out again," Stalky warned, and feigned napping.
They settled back into their respective places.
Ten minutes later Stalky was awake again. "I say Beetle, do leave off your ghastly writing and play cards with us."
"We flicked 'em in the fire last time we were bored," Beetle reminded him, biting the end of his pencil absently.
"The guv'nor gave me a new deck when I went home. A good deck too. Jokers an' everything."
"You are such a beastly funk," M'Turk addressed the writer, wheeling with his pen again. Three black spots appeared on Beetle's shirt. "Play cards, otherwise we shall have to sit on your head."
Beetle groaned and dropped in the circle next to Stalky and Turkey. He pulled out his wallet. "Are we playing for money?"
"No, just for gloats," said Stalky. "Besides, I'm dry from Christmas spending." Something suddenly occurred to him. "I have news, lads. Bags I a fresh lucky charm." He hurried to his trunk and yanked out a hideous little rubbery thing.
"What is it?" Beetle gasped, scrubbing at his spectacles. "It looks like a rotten egg."
"Shrunken head," Stalky answered proudly, swinging it from its remaining lock of hair. "My uncle was stationed in Africa an' brought one back. It's genuine; the cannibals did it right in front of him."
"They pickle those things," M'Turk said, examining the unattractive thing from afar. "Like beets. At any rate, I still stick with my old faithful," he added, turning the charmed wooden ring on his finger.
"The aesthetic Turkey, wearing wood an' not gold?" Stalky trilled.
"It is from ma girl in Ir'land!" M'Turk shouted, red in the face and more Irish than he had been in four months.
"You know, I think we've never even seen your lucky charm, Beetle," Stalky said, retreating.
"Glasses," Beetle grunted.
"No, those worthless smashed thingshave never helped you. In fact, you have the worst luck of us all!" M'Turk whistled. "One might be forced to think you never had a charm at all."
"Even though you are so charming," from Stalky.
Beetle was uneasy, they were staring at him awfully close.
"Out with it, Beetle darling," Stalky hissed.
"Well, I don't have one!" Beetle yelled, anxiously.
Stalky and M'Turk looked each other in the eye, incredulous. In a boy's college, this was heresy.
"That's why we've always gotten into so much trouble!" Stalky exclaimed.
"You are a jinx!" Turkey pronounced.
"I am not!" Beetle was sweating. "There's no such thing as luck, my father said so."
"If we had only known," M'Turk mourned. "We would nott have been seen out with you."
"In fact, I think we ought to put him in the stocks right this moment. Who knows what he's brought into our study?" Stalky caught the boy under one arm, and M'Turk under the other.
"Listen!" Beetle yelled as they dragged him toward the window, ready to lower the sash and pin him by his neck. "Let's play cards. If – if I win, it will prove I'm lucky enough as it is."
"An' if you don't?" M'Turk inquired darkly.
"If I don't," came the daring answer, "you may choose my fate."
"Commence," Stalky declared.
They decided on poker, which was the only game they all knew how to play. The cards were dealt, five to each boy. Secretly Stalky was fuming that the lovely jokers were useless here, but he relished the idea of punishing Beetle after all was done.
The game started in a heat. Beetle panicked when twice he pulled a deuce. Perhaps he could win with a full house, after all he had a king…and then another one! Beetle was never so happy with the three kings before. How could he possibly lose?
"Behold my splendor," Stalky said, laying the cards down with four fives in his hand.
"Behold mine," Beetle sniffed, and revealed his full house. Jealous Stalky didn't deign to answer; he peered over Turkey's shoulder at the Irishman's hand.
And then it was over. The lot was cast, and it came up in M'Turk's favor.
"A royal flush," he twanged, flaunting the royal family, the ten and the ace. He turned his lucky ring on his finger.
"M'Turk wins!" Stalky crowed the final verdict. Beetle flung himself full length on the floor in misery. Would they put him in the stocks? Would they hide his glasses again, or pawn the new pocket watch he'd gotten for Christmas? He tilted his chin and tried to accept his fate, which was being deliberated upon in quick whispers.
"We have reached a decision," Stalky finally announced, with utmost gravity.
"Out with it," Beetle groaned, swearing profusely.
"M'Turk has decided to do you a favor an' write your English paper."
Up went M'Turk's inky collar with a jaunty flourish.
"Oh, no! Anything but that! I'm a jinx! I swear it as if it were my last breath – kick me out if you like! Honest! Oh, M'Turk! I'll give you my new pocket watch!"
"You almost offend me, Beetle," M'Turk said. "Besides, I don't want your cheap old pocket watch. Sit on him, Stalky, he's thrashing vigorously."
"Rock-a-bye, Beetle," Stalky said, seating himself on the jinx' chest. "Stop that row, Beetle, it will all be over soon."
"But I so wanted to impress Mifflin," the unlucky one wheezed. "Is there nothin' else I can do?"
If it had been a different time, M'Turk and even Stalky might have relented. Unfortunately, they were riding high on the holidays and full of good spirits. This, reader, was just typical of a virtuous boys' school.
Stalky removed himself from Beetle's torso to go to the study next door and relate the good news. Turkey was crouched over his desk, scribbling with the broken pen and spurting black across the room. Beetle lay prostrate on the floor. He wished he were dead.
-X-
The morning that classes started, M'Turk let Stalky read over the paper and make corrections where necessary, then presented it to Beetle. "We are usually admonished for cribbing, but I take a risk," M'Turk added, with severe humor.
"I shan't even read it," Beetle moaned, burying the beastly thing in a composition book. "I can't bear it." What was worse, he couldn't even switch out papers at the last moment; M'Turk and Stalky shared the first period class, and would spy it in an instant.
Beetle trudged up to his seat at the front of the class. Mr. Mifflin would be coming in any minute now; it would be time to deliver his paper. Beetle buried his face in his arms. Ten minutes had passed when suddenly he heard footsteps. Extremely vile words pounded in his head. He looked up.
But it was not Mr. Mifflin – it was Heffy!
Mr. Prout, alias Heffy, marched to the front of the class. "Students," he announced flatly, "it appears your new Etonian professor, Mr. Mifflin, will not be available today. You may all go your ways until your next assigned period."
If there is such a thing as luck, every ounce of it belonged to Beetle. He jeered at his friends. "An' you said I was a jinx! Ain't this the greatest luck you've ever seen?" He was thrilled –no, ecstatic!
After vainly appealing to Stalky, M'Turk thrust his hands deep in his pockets. "It does look that way," he said, doubting himself. "Touché, Beetle, 'guess you are lucky…" M'Turk reluctantly took the hated paper from Beetle.
Stalky shrugged defiantly. He did not have Turkey's sense of pride. "I guess you think we're wrong, then."
The three boys were soon caught in the wave of classmates who were racing out the door to start the free period. Beetle was almost, almost in the clear.
But then, as in a nightmare, the students filing out the door suddenly reversed course, and Beetle found himself being led back to his desk by Stalky. After he regained his senses, he wiped his spectacles and stared up at his friends –
Stalky, grinning, was motioning to the clock on the wall. M'Turk sweetly offered Beetle the paper.
Beetle, sinking, looked to the front of the class. Mr. Mifflin was ten minutes late.