So far good. King was importing himself more freely into the trial, being vengeful where Prout was grieved. They knew the penalties of trespassing? With a fine show of irresolution, Stalky admitted that he had gathered some information vaguely bearing on this head, but he thought--The sentence was dragged out to the uttermost: Stalky did not wish to play his trump with such an opponent. Mr. King desired no buts, nor was he interested in Stalky’s evasions. They, on the other hand, might be interested in his poor views. Boys who crept--who sneaked--who lurked--out of bounds, even the generous bounds of the Natural History Society, which they had falsely joined as a cloak for their misdeeds--their vices--their villainies--their immoralities-- “He’ll break cover in a minute,” said Stalky to himself. “Then we’ll run into him before he gets away.” Such boys, scabrous boys, moral lepers--the current of his words was carrying King off his feet--evil-speakers, liars, slow-bellies--yea, incipient drunkards... He was merely working up to a peroration, and the boys knew it; but McTurk cut through the frothing sentence, the others echoing: “I appeal to the Head, sir.” “I appeal to the head, sir.” “I appeal to the Head, sir.” It was their unquestioned right. Drunkenness meant expulsion after a public flogging. They had been accused of it. The case was the Head’s, and the Head’s alone. “Thou hast appealed unto Caesar: unto Caesar shalt thou go.” They had heard that sentence once or twice before in their careers. “None the less,” said King, uneasily, “you would be better advised to abide by our decision, my young friends.” “Are we allowed to associate with the rest of the school till we see the Head, sir?” said McTurk to his house-master, disregarding King. This at once lifted the situation to its loftiest plane. Moreover, it meant no work, for moral leprosy was strictly quarantined, and the Head never executed judgment till twenty-four cold hours later. “Well--er--if you persist in your defiant attitude,” said King, with a loving look at the canes under Foxy’s arm. “There is no alternative.” Ten minutes later the news was over the whole school. Stalky and Co. had fallen at last--fallen by drink. They had been drinking. They had returned blind-drunk from a hut. They were even now lying hopelessly intoxicated on the dormitory floor. A few bold spirits crept up to look, and received boots about the head from the criminals. “We’ve got him--got him on the Caudine Toasting-fork!” said Stalky, after those hints were taken. “King’ll have to prove his charges up to the giddy hilt.” “Too much ticklee, him bust,” Beetle quoted from a book of his reading. “Didn’t I say he’d go pop if we lat un bide?” “No prep., either, O ye incipient drunkards,” said McTurk, “and it’s trig night, too. Hullo! Here’s our dear friend Foxy. More tortures, Foxibus?”