"Bend over there!"
Golding showed a natural reluctance to do anything of the sort.
"No, right down; and lift up your coat."
Gordon gave him a fairly hard stroke. Golding squealed "Oh!" and rose, holding his trousers, and looking round fretfully. Gordon's heart melted. After all, this was a new kid, and a pretty poor specimen at that.
The next shot was very gentle.
The sequel reached Gordon three days later. Golding had gone back down to the day-room. Rudd was taking hall, which was, of course, an excuse for everyone to talk.
"How many?" asked several voices. "Did he hurt?"
"Oh, only one and a half," announced Golding, puffed out with pride. "First hardly hurt me at all, and the second one was quite a misfire."
This was rather a surprise to those who remembered Gordon's driving power. Golding was thought rather a "lad" after all.
Gordon, however, soon dispelled this illusion. A week later he went down to the House game in which Golding was playing and cursed him roundly all the afternoon with perfect justice. After tea he gave him six for slacking: and all delusions about Golding's bravery were immediately dispelled.