One fine summer evening Flashman had been regaling himself on
gin-punch, at Brownsover; and, having exceeded his usual limits, started
home uproarious. He fell in with a friend or two coming back from
bathing, proposed a glass of beer, to which they assented, the weather
being hot, and they thirsty souls, and unaware of the quantity of drink
which Flashman had already on board. The short result was, that Flashey
became beastly drunk. They tried to get him along, but couldn't; so they
chartered a hurdle and two men to carry him. One of the masters came
upon them, and they naturally enough fled. The flight of the rest raised
the master's suspicions, and the good angel of the fags incited him
to examine the freight, and, after examination, to convoy the hurdle
himself up to the School-house; and the Doctor, who had long had his eye
on Flashman, arranged for his withdrawal next morning.
The evil that men and boys too do lives after them: Flashman was gone,
but our boys, as hinted above, still felt the effects of his hate.
Besides, they had been the movers of the strike against unlawful
fagging. The cause was righteous--the result had been triumphant to a
great extent; but the best of the fifth--even those who had never fagged
the small boys, or had given up the practice cheerfully--couldn't help
feeling a small grudge against the first rebels.
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