“I want it, please, ma’am,” said Smith.
Again the Henniker glared at this audacious youth, and again she replied, “You will not have it, Smith!”
“Why not?”
“Leave the room instantly, sir, for daring to speak like that to me, and write out one hundred lines of Caesar before you get your dinner!” cried the Henniker, indignantly. “You’ve no right to keep—”
“Smith, follow me!” interrupted Miss Henniker, in her most irresistible voice, as she led the way to Mr Ladislaw’s study.
Smith did follow her, and was flogged, of course.
I was as indignant as he was at this tale of injustice; it reminded me of my box of sweets last year, which I had never seen back.
Smith’s rage was beyond all bounds. “I won’t stand it!” said he; “that’s all about it, Fred!”
“What can we do?” asked I.
That was the question. And there was no answering it. So we slunk back to our places, nursing our wrath in our bosoms, and vowing all sorts of vengeance on the Henniker.