“Now!” said Stephen, as boldly as he could, and wondering what on earth was to become of him.
“Are you going to do what you’re told, or not?” demanded Loman.
“Not what you tell me,” replied Stephen, promptly, but not exactly cheerfully.
“Oh!” said Loman, his face becoming crimson, “you’re quite sure?”
“Yes,” said Stephen.
“Then take that!” said Loman.
It was a sharp box on the ears, suddenly administered. Stephen recoiled a moment, but only a moment. He had expected something a good deal worse. If that was all, he would brave it out yet.
“Don’t you hit me!” he said, defiantly.
Loman could not stand to be defied. His vanity was his weak point, and nothing offended his vanity so much as to find any one as determined as himself.
He took up a ruler, and in his passion flung it at the luckless Stephen’s head. It struck him hard on the cheek. The blood flushed to the boy’s face as he stood a moment half-stunned and smarting with the pain, confronting his adversary. Then he rushed blindly in and flung himself upon the bully.