“Then get down on your knees, and beg my pardon, as I tell you,” persisted Waddie, flourishing his stick. “If you do, I’ll let you off on part of the punishment.”
“I apologized because I had done wrong, and not because I was afraid of the punishment,” I added, still schooling my tongue to gentle speech.
“Humph!” exclaimed the scion; and my remark was based on a philosophy so subtle that he could not comprehend it.
“Go in! Go in! Give it to him!” shouted the supporting ruffians. “He’s fooling you, Waddie.”
“If you are not going to do what I tell you, look out for the consequences,” blustered the young gentleman, who still seemed to have some doubts in regard to the prudence of his present conduct.
“Waddie Wimpleton,” said I.
“Well, what do you want now?” demanded he, dropping his weapon again.
“If you strike me with that stick, you must look out for consequences. I shall defend myself as well as I know how.”
Waddie glanced at his companions.
“Hit him! What are you waiting for?” cried his friends; and I have always observed, in such cases, that it is easier to give advice than to strike the blow.