Much as he hated Long Kunz and Shorty Fritz his pride forbade him to betray them.
Silently, grimly, the infuriated priest turned around and walked back toward the blackboard, the swishing of his cassock striking against his heels registering his measured, determined step. To the right of the blackboard stood a large, heavy, gnarled yellowish stick, an ever present warning to the class. Gripping the rattan firmly in his hand the priest faced about and retraced his steps, presently standing in front of Albert.
“Well, Albert?”
The instructor’s stormy blue eyes were riveted upon the boy and the heavy cane was suspended in the air.
Albert only tightened his lips more firmly.
“Speak!”
Scher’s voice trembled with wrath.
A scarcely perceptible smile appeared on the lower part of the boy’s face, which however did net escape the tantalized master.
Bang!
The stick came down with a crashing blow, but as Albert quickly turned aside it struck the table nearby and broke.