While crossing the yard with Roger he caught sight of Robin Arkness, and gripped that mercurial4 youngster by the arm.
"Say, kid, you're a dandy riddle-maker. It'll be decent of you if you'll let me put a few of those Foxenby conundrums5 in the next number of The Rag."
"Not from a book," said Forge. "They were slap-bang up-to-date stuff, poking8 excellent fun at us. Really, now, you don't mind if I publish a few of them, do you?"
There was an awkward silence. Robin cast two or three quick glances at Roger, who frowned back at him and shook his head. In this action he was detected by Dick, who looked from one to the other in dawning comprehension.
"Now I smell a rat!" he exclaimed. "Roger, you sly old fox, how many of those riddles did you write?"
Robin and Roger saw this time that the cat was too far out of the bag to be replaced. Both giggled9 rather foolishly, while the Captain laughed at them.
Robin pelted11 away willingly, glad to be relieved of the secret which he and the prefect had shared. The riddles had been so much talked about, and he had been so closely questioned concerning them, that the sudden fame thrust upon him had become embarrassing.
Still, he had enjoyed the sensation for a time, and an idea struck him now which thrilled him suddenly with excitement.
"Why," said Robin to himself, "shouldn't the Merry Men have a jolly old magazine all to themselves? Not a big printed thing, of course, like the Foxonian or the Rag. Just pocket-size, so that a fellow could slip it inside his Latin grammar and read it in school hours."
No grass ever had the chance to grow long under Robin's feet. At once he called a meeting of the Merry Men in the quietest corner of Rooke's House, and put his proposal before them with infectious enthusiasm.
"Champion!" Little John voted the idea.
"It's a winner, Robin!" said David of Doncaster.
"Put me down for some pictures of wild animals," said the Tinker. "I live in Regent's Park, outside the Zoo."
"Don't be bashful," observed Dave. "Say inside it, Tinker."
Several other Merry Men promised contributions, varying from ghost stories to verses on skylarks and redbreasts. Almost all were full of zeal15, and Robin glowed with proud anticipation16 as he saw, in imagination, his new magazine packed with gems17 of literature and art.
"What'll you call it, Robin?" asked Little John.
"Why, the Merry Men's Magazine, of course," answered Robin. They all agreed that no title could be better.
"How much will you charge for it?" somebody asked.
Ah, that was an important question! It was nearing the middle of the term, and the coins still remaining in some of the Merry Men's pockets were feeling a draught18.
"Nixie," said Robin. "There'll be no subscription19."
"Oh, come off it, Robin! Printing's dear and paper's dear."
"I say, this sounds exciting!" said Little John. "With one of those rubber printing-presses, eh, Robin? I love messing about with those."
"I don't," said Dave. "It's all right making up the lines, but what about putting the type back in its place afterwards? That gets skipped."
"Don't worry," said Robin. "When I said 'print', I meant pen-print. The magazine will consist of thirty-six small sheets of paper, pocket-size. Each Merry Man will write or draw his contribution on a sheet of the paper, and hand it back to me within two days. I'll then fasten the sheets together and pass the 'Mag' from boy to boy in the Form. No reader will be allowed to keep it longer than a day. Otherwise, it wouldn't go the rounds before the term-end."
Though some of them may have felt that this was not a very practical scheme they withheld21 their criticism, accepted sheets of unruled paper from Robin, and went to seek inspiration in the most secluded22 spot available.
A day or so later contributions started rolling in, and Robin began to realise how much more trouble than joy there is in the life of an editor.
Allan a Dale's serial gave him a topping send-off. It was called "King of the Road", and concerned a highwayman whose adventures had those of Dick Turpin beaten to a frazzle. This gentleman, proudly calling himself "Helter-skelter Hal", chivied a coachful of fat politicians over a cliff, made a king stand on his head in a snowdrift, held up three stage-coaches simultaneously23 with two pistols, rescued a maiden24 in distress25 by hauling her through a carriage-window and riding with her across a tree that bridged a raging torrent26, and then attacked single-handed, and put to flight, a score or more armed footpads who were robbing the Governor of the Bank of England. Not such a bad series of incidents for a first instalment!
So far, so good. The first jar came when Little John, trustiest of Robin's comrades, brought in his contribution. This was a full-page drawing of a football match, supposed to be the final tie for the County Schools' Cup. Little John had written this title beneath it, and he had put goal-posts at each end of the field. But for these descriptive touches it might just as well have pictured a bull-fight, or a cannibal dance round a missionary27 in a stew-pot.
"I say, old chap, this is a bit fierce," Robin commented, rather blankly. "A wee bit out of perspective, isn't it? These trees, for instance, look as if they were in the middle of the field."
"What trees?" asked Little John, wonderingly. "Those? Here, don't be silly. Those are our forwards and St. Cuthbert's halves having a wrestle28 for the ball."
"Oh, really," said Robin politely, "I beg your pardon. But why this sheaf of corn behind the goal? Queer place for a wheatsheaf, isn't it?"
"Wheatsheaf be blowed!" cried Little John, indignantly. "Robin, you ought to get some spectacles. That's Fluffy29 Jim in his paper costume."
"All serene," agreed Robin. "I'll put a cross over his head and write his name underneath30 the picture, so's everybody will know. Passed for publication. Next gentleman, please!"
The boy who was called Friar Tuck approached him and handed him a sheet of verse.
"What's this?" asked Robin "'Musick in ye Forest'. Why the 'k' in 'music', Friar?"
"That's how they used to spell it in those days," said the Friar.
"But those days aren't these days," said Robin. "Here, get your heads out of the light, you two, while I read the first verse."
Heedless of the self-conscious blushes of the embarrassed poet, he commenced to read:—
"'In ye forest of Ancient Sherwood,
With a horn upon his lip.'
Here, shiver my timbers, this is weird," commented Robin. "What's Robin Hood want with a horn upon his lip? He's not a stag or a bull! Even if he were either, horns grow on foreheads, don't they?"
"You haven't twigged33 it properly, Robin," explained the Friar. "Read on, and you'll see what it means."
"Three blasts upon his horn he blew,
Each mounting high and higher,
I understand about the horn now, Friar. But who are you making the liar?"
"Not me, I hope," put in Little John. "If so, I'll knock your head off, you bounder."
Friar Tuck took a hasty peep at the manuscript. "Excuse me a moment," he said. "Did I write 'liar' instead of 'lyre'? Slip of the pen. Alter it, Robin."
"No, I'll let it stand; it's funnier," said Robin. "Get your ears back for the next spasm36, friends:—
"'And withal Robin danced like fun,
And cried, Hey diddle, diddle,
While Little John his cornet blew
Here, hold on a bit, Friar. Fiddles38 they may have had in Robin's time—I'm not sure of it—but cornets weren't invented. Even if they had been, Flenton couldn't play one."
"This is that Little John, not this one," the Friar pleaded. "Cut the cornet out, Robin, and make it what you like."
"Nay," said Robin, "this is your funeral, not mine. Here's the Tinker with his picture. Hope the Royal Academy folk won't be jealous."
The Tinker's gait was almost a swagger. Whatever others might think of his picture, the artist himself was evidently convinced of its dazzling merits.
"Just dashed it off after lunch," he said airily. "Can do you a dozen more like it, if you'll let me have the paper."
"Sorry, Tinker; must leave room for another genius or two," said Robin. "By Jove, these are clinking cows. Could almost fancy I could hear them 'moo'."
"Cows, carrots!" exclaimed the Tinker. "Chuck pulling my leg—no cows there, Robin."
"Oh, stop kidding, Robin. You know very well those are flamingoes, drawn40 to the life from the Zoo."
"Right!" said Robin. "We'll mark them with a capital 'F', and put 'Flamingoes' in a footnote. The others describe themselves. These hippopotami, for instance——"
"Look here, Robin, you're trying to be smart," said the Tinker, in aggrieved41 tones. "You must surely see those are laughing hyenas42."
"Ah, to be sure," agreed Robin. "They're laughing at those sore-eyed zebras in the corner. I see now."
"Oh, this is beyond a joke," growled43 the angry Tinker. "Can't tell tigers from zebras! Here, let's point them all out to you before you muddle44 them up any more."
"Later on, old chap," Robin told him, putting the picture in his pocket-book. "Time's scarce now. Here's the Miller with his butterflies. More R.A.'s than authors amongst the Merry Men, evidently."
The Miller's butterflies washed out the rainbow in vivid colouring. They were having a glorious feed in a wonderful garden, the only flaw wherein was that daffodils, roses, hollyhocks and chrysanthemums45 were all blooming simultaneously. Another minor46 detail was that some of the butterflies seemed as big as crows, altogether dwarfing47 the flowers. It was, indeed, a scene of tropical splendour!
"Bravo!" cried Robin, heaving a sigh of relief. "This'll do O.K."
The earlier contributors, with the exception of Allan a Dale, shot a jealous glance at the Miller, grudging48 him Robin's praise. All unconsciously their leader had deeply wounded their pride.
Too anxiously occupied with his editorial duties to notice the clouds that were gathering49, Robin turned next to David of Doncaster, whose contribution proved rather a shocker. It was called "Celebrated50 Executions—written and illustrated51 by David Storm."
"I say, Dave, what a hang-dog ruffian you are!" Robin exclaimed, trying to hide his dismay under a laugh. "This makes milk-and-water of the Chamber52 of Horrors. Charles the First, Anne Boleyn, Sir Walter Raleigh, Lady Jane Grey—heads flying about like tennis balls. As for the hangings, they're positively53 gruesome. Charles Peace, Palmer the Poisoner, Neil Cream, Mrs. Dyer, and nine or ten more of 'em on the gallows—I shan't sleep to-night if I look at this much longer."
"Won't you put it in, then, Robin?" asked Dave anxiously.
"Oh, rather, Dave!" Robin said. "It shall face the Tinker's frisky54 Zoo. That'll be a foil for it. Any other gentleman obliging with a contribution before the tea-bell rings?"
There was a slight pause, and then another Merry Man, known to the band as The Tanner, timidly handed in a written attempt.
"Oh, a short story," Robin commented. "That's a change from verse and pictures, anyhow."
He took it nearer to the lamp and commenced to read aloud. It ran as follows:—
"'She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird—a poor slight thing the pressure or a finger would have crushed—was stirring nimbly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless for ever.'
"Why," said Robin, breaking off at this point, "it sounds like something I've read before somewhere."
"I should jolly well think it does," Dave interjected indignantly. "My sister recited that at the Parsonage party last Christmas. It's the 'Death of Little Nell', from Dickens' Old Curiosity Shop."
"You young beggar, you've prigged it!" Robin accused him.
The shamefaced copyist tried to brave it out.
"Well, what if I did?" he asked defiantly55. "You only gave us two days' grace, and I got three separate headaches trying to do something funny."
"You should have just sent in your photograph and saved yourself the trouble," said Dave.
Robin pocketed the contribution rather dejectedly, and was relieved when the clanging of the tea-bell saved him from further criticism.
"Meet me round the bonfire in the Forest to-morrow afternoon, my men," he said. "There'll be the usual quantity of venison pasties to give the magazine a start."
On a sharp and invigorating afternoon, when the crackling bonfire was a sheer delight, they feasted right jovially56 on the contents of Robin's pack. It was a far finer spread than ever he had given them before, and he was the soul of good temper throughout. Finally, when all were satisfied, he drew from his pocket a sewn-up copy of the magazine.
"List ye, my Merry Men. Right earnestly have ye striven to fill to overflowing57 the pages of our first number. Yet, by my troth, now that it is done and put together, it likes me not. It is a dud, a frost, a fizzle, a wash-out."
There was a chorus of disappointed cries.
"Why, Robin, what's amiss with it?" asked Little John, in consternation58.
"Amiss with it?" echoed Robin. "Look here at the title-page. What saith it? The Merry Men's Magazine. What's bound to be expected of a 'mag.' with a name like that? Fun and frolic from first page to last. I turn to page 23. What do I find? An article on famous executions. A bright and cheerful subject! Page 24 introduces us to 'The Deathbed in the Shop'. Page 27 tells us how a party of old Foxes walked into a sandbank and never were seen again. Page 31 contains 'Curious Graveyard59 Epitaphs'——"
"They were funny ones," put in the compiler of them, protestingly.
"Funny as a boiling lobster," retorted Robin. "How about this one?
"'The poor boy here was starved at school,
One meal a day was this school's rule.'
Very funny, I don't think—being starved to death. Then what price this one:
"'Here lies the body of young Jim Sawner,
Of him his mother is a mourner.
To you youths let this be a warner—
Grim Death lies waiting round the corner.'
That's the sort of stuff undertakers sit up all night reading," said Robin, "but Foxes would drop big ink-blots on it. Then, to finish up, page 34 is a picture called 'Early Christian60 Martyrs61 thrown to the Lions'. Fancy them coming early-doors for that! I admit it's a good picture—but where's the merriment come in?"
"You're pretty down on all of us, Robin," said Little John ruefully.
"No, chaps," replied Robin, seriously. "I don't want us to make fools of ourselves, that's all. I was an ass12 to start this magazine. If it passed round Foxenby we'd be the laughing-stock of the place. Poke62 the fire up, Dave—that's the ticket. A lovely blaze. Here's a bit more fuel to keep it going."
With that he suddenly cast the magazine into the heart of the flames, while the others gasped63 with amazement64 at the sacrifice.
Thus perished the first and last number of the Merry Men's Magazine, and neither the editor of the Foxonian nor the co-editors of Rooke's House Rag ever knew how near they had come to the sudden eclipse of their greatness.
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1
riddles
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| n.谜（语）( riddle的名词复数 )；猜不透的难题，难解之谜 | |
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robin
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| n.知更鸟，红襟鸟 | |
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hood
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| n.头巾，兜帽，覆盖；v.罩上，以头巾覆盖 | |
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mercurial
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| adj.善变的，活泼的 | |
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conundrums
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| n.谜，猜不透的难题，难答的问题( conundrum的名词复数 ) | |
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nervously
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| adv.神情激动地，不安地 | |
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stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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8
poking
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| n. 刺，戳，袋 vt. 拨开，刺，戳 vi. 戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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9
giggled
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| v.咯咯地笑( giggle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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squat
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| v.蹲坐，蹲下；n.蹲下；adj.矮胖的，粗矮的 | |
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pelted
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| （连续地）投掷( pelt的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续抨击； 攻击； 剥去…的皮 | |
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ass
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| n.驴；傻瓜，蠢笨的人 | |
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serial
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| n.连本影片，连本电视节目；adj.连续的 | |
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14
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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zeal
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| n.热心，热情，热忱 | |
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anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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gems
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| growth； economy； management； and customer satisfaction 增长 | |
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18
draught
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| n.拉，牵引，拖；一网（饮，吸，阵)；顿服药量，通风；v.起草，设计 | |
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subscription
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| n.预订，预订费，亲笔签名，调配法，下标（处方） | |
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20
cadge
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| v.乞讨 | |
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21
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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22
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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23
simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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24
maiden
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| n.少女，处女；adj.未婚的，纯洁的，无经验的 | |
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distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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26
torrent
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| n.激流，洪流；爆发，(话语等的)连发 | |
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27
missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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29
fluffy
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| adj.有绒毛的，空洞的 | |
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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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31
blithely
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| adv.欢乐地，快活地，无挂虑地 | |
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32
doughty
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| adj.勇猛的，坚强的 | |
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33
twigged
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| 有细枝的，有嫩枝的 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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liar
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| n.说谎的人 | |
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36
spasm
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| n.痉挛，抽搐；一阵发作 | |
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37
fiddle
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| n.小提琴；vi.拉提琴；不停拨弄，乱动 | |
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38
fiddles
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| n.小提琴( fiddle的名词复数 )；欺诈；（需要运用手指功夫的）细巧活动；当第二把手v.伪造( fiddle的第三人称单数 )；篡改；骗取；修理或稍作改动 | |
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39
buffaloes
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| n.水牛（分非洲水牛和亚洲水牛两种）( buffalo的名词复数 )；（南非或北美的）野牛；威胁；恐吓 | |
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40
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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41
aggrieved
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| adj.愤愤不平的，受委屈的；悲痛的；（在合法权利方面）受侵害的v.令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式)；令委屈，令苦恼，侵害( aggrieve的过去式和过去分词) | |
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42
hyenas
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| n.鬣狗( hyena的名词复数 ) | |
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43
growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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44
muddle
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| n.困惑，混浊状态；vt.使混乱，使糊涂，使惊呆；vi.胡乱应付，混乱 | |
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45
chrysanthemums
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| n.菊花( chrysanthemum的名词复数 ) | |
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46
minor
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| adj.较小(少)的，较次要的；n.辅修学科；vi.辅修 | |
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47
dwarfing
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| n.矮化病 | |
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48
grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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49
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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50
celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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51
illustrated
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| adj. 有插图的，列举的 动词illustrate的过去式和过去分词 | |
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52
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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53
positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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54
frisky
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| adj.活泼的，欢闹的；n.活泼，闹着玩；adv.活泼地，闹着玩地 | |
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55
defiantly
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| adv.挑战地，大胆对抗地 | |
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56
jovially
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| adv.愉快地，高兴地 | |
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57
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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58
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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59
graveyard
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| n.坟场 | |
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60
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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61
martyrs
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| n.martyr的复数形式；烈士( martyr的名词复数 )；殉道者；殉教者；乞怜者（向人诉苦以博取同情） | |
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62
poke
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| n.刺，戳，袋；vt.拨开，刺，戳；vi.戳，刺，捅，搜索，伸出，行动散慢 | |
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63
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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