"Some of us had a wet night of it, last night."
"Wet?" exclaimed the innocent Fluff. "Why, all the stars were shining."
"Your brothers at Eton know what a 'wet night' means," said the Caterpillar. "I was talking with one of the Fifth, when a fellow came in with a flask. A gentleman ought to be able to carry a few glasses of wine, but one is not accustomed to spirits."
"Spirits?"
"Whisky, not prussic acid, you know."
"But where do they get the whisky?" demanded John.
"Comparing it with my father's old Scotch, I should say at the grocer's," replied the Caterpillar. "There's some drinking going on in our house, and—and other things. One mentions it to you kids as a warning."
"Thanks," said John.
"Not at all; you're rather decent little beggars. They" (the Fifth Form was indicated), "they've let you alone so far, but you may have trouble next term, so look out! And if you want advice, come to me."
Beneath his absurd pompous manner beat a kindly heart, and the small boys divined this and were grateful. None the less the word "spirits" frightened them. Next day John happened to find himself alone with Cæsar. Very nervously he asked the question—