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?"