“Beastly screwed on guv’nor’s champagne!” said Marsden as he leant against the wall.
“It’s close on roll-call,” said Forester, “and the officer will see you!”
“Blow officer!” muttered Marsden.
“We mustn’t let him be discovered,” said Forester in a compassionate tone. “Let’s help him out of it.”
At a signal, Forester and the other cadets seized Marsden, lifted him off his legs, and carried him to the back yard—he shouting and struggling in a half-drunken way. Suddenly, however, he seemed to foresee what was in store for him, for he called out in quite a sober tone, “I’m not drunk, Forester; I was only humbugging. I’m not drunk; I’m not!”
Forester and his companions, whom I had followed, were silent, but very determined. They paid no attention to these shouts, but took off Marsden’s coattee, and reduced his dress to a pair of trousers and a shirt. Three cadets then held him, whilst Forester, seizing the handle of the pump, sent a powerful stream of water over Marsden’s head and down his back.
“Nothing like a cold bath to set a fellow right when he’s screwed?” said Forester, as he worked vigorously at the pump-handle and deluged Marsden with a cold stream.
“I’m not drunk?” shouted Marsden. “Let me go! I’m not drunk!”
Not the slightest attention was paid to Marsden till he had been fully a minute under the pump, when he was released with the inquiry as to his feeling better and more sober.
“I’m not drunk, you confounded donkeys!” shouted Marsden again, in a great rage.