"What is the meaning of this, Creakle?" he asked of that worthy, who was still on the floor, dazed with his fall.
"I fell, sir."
"You did, and pray why?" with biting sarcasm.
Just then he smelt the fumes of rye on the garb of the miserable Creakle, and his face grew dark with severity.
"You have been drinking, sir?"
"I have not," stammered the monitor.
"Don't give me the lie, sir; you are reeking with the fumes of an ale-house. Ugh! you putrescent miscreant! This is a case for the head. You will appear before him to-morrow. Such a disgrace! In what light will the public view this scandalous demoralisation? Outra geous, sir! This is the second offence to-night. I thought you were inebriated,—intoxicated—in short, what the vulgar tongue calls drunk, when you brought me a silly, drivelling tale of a misdemeanour of two honourable students, and now you make it evident by staggering around, sprawling, and destroying the peace and sobriety of the school!"
"I—I—I am not drunk."
"I call you all to witness the state of filthy inebriety of this fellow," said Sherwood, with cold dignity.
"What do you say, sir?" said the tutor to Dick.