“He will cry. Don’t hit too hard!” shouted a warning voice from the closet.
“Booh-ooh-ooh!” went Pip.
“I didn’t hit you hard,” explained the “principal of the academy,” as he had several times called himself. “You mustn’t be a-foolin’ in school. If you were in a real school you would get worse whippings than that.”
Pip’s only answer was, “Booh-ooh-ooh!”
“Wort, come here. You are not presenting a respectful face to your teacher. I caught you, sir. Hold out your hand.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Do you rebel?” and the principal swelled as if ambitious to puff himself into a giant.
It is not pleasant to put it on record that Wort did rebel. He refused to hold out his hand, and when Sid seized him he resisted. Then a tussle set in, and it was doubtful whether the teacher would floor the scholar, or the scholar floor the teacher. But they drew off and scowled at one another like two thunder clouds.
“There,” said the principal of the academy finally, “I am not going to be teacher any more. Who wants my chance may have it.”
“And I won’t belong to this old club any more,” said Wort, smarting under the castigation he had received. “Who wants my chance may have it.”