Портрет художника в юности

           Andonthewallofanotherclosettherewaswritteninbackhandinbeautifulwriting:

           JuliusCaesarwroteTheCalicoBelly.

           Perhapsthatwaswhytheyweretherebecauseitwasaplacewheresomefellowswrotethingsforcod.ButallthesameitwasqueerwhatAthysaidandthewayhesaidit.Itwasnotacodbecausetheyhadrunaway.Helookedwiththeothersacrosstheplaygroundandbegantofeelafraid.

           AtlastFlemingsaid:

           —Andwearealltobepunishedforwhatotherfellowsdid?

           Iwon’tcomeback,seeifIdo,CecilThundersaid.Threedays’silenceintherefectoryandsendingusupforsixandeighteveryminute.

           —Yes,saidWells.AndoldBarretthasanewwayoftwistingthenotesothatyoucan’topenitandfolditagaintoseehowmanyferulaeyouaretoget.Iwon’tcomebacktoo.

           Yes,saidCecilThunder,andtheprefectofstudieswasinsecondofgrammarthismorning.

           —Letusgetuparebellion,Flemingsaid.Willwe?

           Allthefellowsweresilent.Theairwasverysilentandyoucouldhearthecricketbatsbutmoreslowlythanbefore:pick,pock.

           Wellsasked:

           —Whatisgoingtobedonetothem?

           —SimonMoonanandTuskeraregoingtobeflogged,Athysaid,andthefellowsinthehigherlinegottheirchoiceoffloggingorbeingexpelled.