Chapter 17 of Two Magicians and a Boat!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Driskil was in a really poor way.
The other students stood around his bunk and gazed down at him. The vomiting had stopped, but his skin was clammy and his breathing spasmodic and irregular. He no longer seemed to be aware of his surroundings.
“Poor old Driskil,” Burlox said.
“We've got to tell Old Stick,” Gorol said.
Thavaar raised an elegant eyebrow. “Do you think so?” he said nonchalantly.
“Driskil's sick,” Gorol insisted.
“Nonsense. Indeed, I dare say tush,” Thavaar said. “This, brother Gorol, is but a temporary indisposition, induced by a touch too much enthusiasm in his potations. He'll be all right by tomorrow.”
“You said that yesterday,” Burlox pointed out.
“No, Thavaar, he's really ill,” Gorol said. “I'm going to get Old Stick.”
“Are you quite sure, dear fellow, that you wish to involve the illustrious pedagogue at this point?” Thavaar inquired. “Would this not involve us all in somewhat delicate interrogations as to our extra-mural activities?”
“Involve you, you mean,” Burlox said rudely.
“I?” Thavaar was a picture of wounded innocence.
“You're the one who's been feeding us all that rot about being men and drinking beer,” Burlox continued. “If Driskil's drunk too much, it's your fault.”
“Brother Driskil is surely possessed of as much free will as any of us,” Thavaar countered smoothly. “If he chose to imbibe to excess, it was nobody's fault but his own. Still, brother Gorol, if you are determined—”
“No,” Gorol said. “I mean, yes I am, but it wasn't you. I know who it was made him like this.”
( Cut for length... )