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 M'Turk 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 Cæsar: unto Cæsar shalt thou go.' They had heard that sentence once or twice before in their careers. 'None the
