"Arkness, just you and Flenton swing Mawdster round and hold him tightly for a minute," he ordered.
Oh, what a great day this was for Robin Hood and his Merry Men! Kicking and scratching and struggling in vain, the stout and oily Squirm was manoeuvred by Robin and Flenton into a position lending itself admirably to corporal punishment. Dick's stick, selected from the sycamore, fell like a flail where it would hurt the most and show the least. For sixty seconds or so he spared neither his strength nor Peter's feelings.
Feverishly happy, the Merry Men skipped like frolicsome lambs. Here was rich entertainment indeed—the Captain of Foxenby, in defiance of school traditions, giving a slimy Squirm a first-class whacking in the full glare of publicity!
Grimly finishing his task, Dick threw away the stick, which one of the Merry Men fastened on as a souvenir of the occasion.
"That will do. Release him, you fellows. Now, Mawdster, will you go back to your House at once, or shall I boot you there?"
Mawdster hobbled away, too genuinely sore for noisy sobbing this time, but turning once to shake his fist in ludicrous fury at the Captain.
"You'll pay for this, Forge. Mark my words!" he called back.
And Dick, as he marched away with his hands deep in his trousers pockets, quite believed that he would have to pay for this public vindication of his dignity—pay to the bitter utmost in pitiless exposure and disgrace.