“Bring me a switch” said he. “One that is not too stout, or else it will not sting. It must sting, remember,—sting well. Not too stout, remember.”
“Yes, sir,” said Dale; and away he went again.
He was now gone yet longer; and by the time he returned everybody’s eyes were fixed on the door, to see what sort of a switch would next appear. Dale entered, bringing a straw.
“I think this will not be too stout, sir.”
Everybody laughed but Hugh—even Holt.
There was that sneer about Mr Carnaby’s nose which made everybody sorry now for Dale: but everybody started, Mr Carnaby and all, at Mr Tooke’s voice, close at hand. How much he had seen and heard, there was no knowing; but it was enough to make him look extremely stern.
“Are these boys not caned yet, Mr Carnaby?”
“No, sir:—I have not—I—”
“Have they been standing here all this while?”
“Yes, sir. I have no cane, sir. I have been sending—”