The first blow descended heavily upon the shrinking form of the little victim. It was followed by a shriek of pain and terror.
“What are you howling at?” muttered the padrone, between his teeth. “I will whip you the harder.”
Giacomo would have been less able to bear the cruel punishment than Phil if he had been well, but being sick, it was all the more terrible to him. The second blow likewise was followed by a shriek of anguish. Phil looked on with pale face, set teeth, and blazing eyes, as he saw the barbarous punishment of his comrade. He felt that he hated the padrone with a fierce hatred. Had his strength been equal to the attempt, he would have flung himself upon the padrone. As it was, he looked at his comrades, half wishing that they would combine with him against their joint oppressor. But there was no hope of that. Some congratulated themselves that they were not in Giacomo’s place; others looked upon his punishment as a matter of course. There was no dream of interference, save in the mind of Phil.
The punishment continued amid the groans and prayers for mercy of the little sufferer. But at the eighth stroke his pain and terror reached a climax, and nature succumbed. He sank on the floor, fainting. The padrone thought at first it was a pretense, and was about to repeat the strokes, when a look at the pallid, colorless face of the little sufferer alarmed him. It did not excite his compassion, but kindled the fear that the boy might be dying, in which case the police might interfere and give him trouble; therefore he desisted, but unwillingly.
“He is sick,” said Phil, starting forward.
“He is no more sick than I am,” scowled the padrone. “Pietro, some water!”
Pietro brought a glass of water, which the padrone threw in the face of the fallen boy. The shock brought him partially to. He opened his eyes, and looked around vacantly.
“What is the matter with you?” demanded the padrone, harshly.
“Where am I?” asked Giacomo, bewildered. But, as he asked this question, his eyes met the dark look of his tyrant, and he clasped his hands in terror.
“Do not beat me!” he pleaded. “I feel sick.”