Pulling himself together, he rose and faced Renard, looking full in the cruel green eyes without flinching.
"Master," said he firmly, "Phil is little, and I'm big, and what's more, he haven't done nothin' wrong, and I ain't a-goin' to lay a finger on him—not for you nor no one. I won't—no matter what you say nor what you do."
For a minute old Foxy stared at the lad, hardly able to believe his own ears. But when Tad repeated: "I wouldn't do master, not if it were ever so," the man raised his sinewy right arm and with a blasphemous oath struck him down upon the mattress where Phil was lying. Then snatching up the scourge which he had dropped for a moment in the surprise of Tad's refusal to obey him, he began to use it upon both the boys, Tad managing to cover his little friend, now and again, with his own broader back, thus shielding him from many a blow.
The flogging went on till Renard's arm was tired and weak. Then he flung the instrument of torture aside, and going back to the corner where he had thrown his coat, he drew out of one of its capacious pockets a bottle of spirit, and sitting down upon the second mattress, began to drink, muttering ominously the while.
We have said that, as a rule, Foxy only became more excited and furious the more he took, and that he managed to stop short of the helpless stage. But this night, either because he was more weary than usual, or that he had a greater craving for the stimulant in which he habitually indulged, he went on drinking steadily until he passed from the raving and excited stage into a drunken stupor, and at last rolled over on the straw couch quite unconscious, the now empty bottle escaping from his listless hand.
For a little while Tad and Phil lay still. Sore and aching all over, they had eagerly watched their master in the various stages of his intoxication, and now they half feared lest he should be only shamming, to see what they would do.
But at last his stertorous breathing convinced the lads that he was in a stupor. Tad was the first to sit up, and Phil, glancing at him, was frightened at the expression of his friend's face. The eyes were hard and sullen, the mouth rigid, and a dogged scowl was sot deep between the brows.
"Now at last," said Tad with a gasp, "we can take some kind of revenge upon that brute for all he's made us suffer. I'd like to kill him—I would; he deserves it. But I suppose we must be content with robbin' him. Where does he keep the tin, Phil?"
The younger lad caught Tad's arm with a look of fear and horror. "Are you crazy, Tad?" he whispered. "Do you want to be as wicked as he is? After standin' out agen bein' burglars, are we goin' to be common thieves! Think, Tad—only think a moment! You must be well-nigh off your head, dear old boy, to speak of such a thing."
"But we may never have such a chance again, Phil," said Tad.