“For a fact,” said Diego, nodding his head sagely, “old Bartolomeo cannot hurt much anyhow.”
“Old Bartolomeo!”
A hand was on the collar of each boy’s jacket. Neither looked up to see whose the hand was. They had recognized the voice as that of him whom Diego had called “old Bartolomeo.” They cast despairing and disgusted grimaces at each other.
“Will you lay hold of this scape-gallows,” said the Franciscan to the man with whom the boys had been holding converse.
The man grinned and took a firm hold of Diego’s collar, much to the surprise of that lad, who had expected, as a matter of course, to be made the example of; it being evident that the pedagogue intended to administer summary punishment.
“Be careful,” said the Franciscan; “for he is a slippery rascal; and, now, give me space.”
It was a diversion as good as any for the idle crowd to see Alfonso capering under the hot blows of the angry friar, and they cheered him on with laughing shouts.
“And now,” said Fray Bartolomeo, letting the scourge fall at his side from sheer exhaustion, “do thou hasten back to the convent, and make good speed, or it shall be the worse for thee.”
Diego had not felt the same sorrow for Alfonso that he might have done, but for the conviction that the worthy friar would be too worn with his exertions to do justice to his particular case. But when the Franciscan released Alfonso, Diego, not to betray his satisfaction, set up a howl, and begged the friar not to be too hard upon him, at the same time casting a comical glance at the spectators, to let them understand that he cared not a fig for the worthy man’s castigation.