The big boys were enjoying the thing immensely. The master's rage was
deepening in proportion. He felt it would never do to be beaten. His
whole authority was at stake.

"Now, James," he reasoned, "you see you are only making it worse for
yourself. I cannot allow any disobedience in the school. You must hold
out your hand."

But Jimmie, realizing that he had come off best in the first round,
stood doggedly sniffing, his arms still folded tight.

"Now, James, I shall give you one more chance. Hold out your hand."

Jimmie remained like a statue.

Whack! came the heavy strap over his shoulders. At once Jimmie set up
his refrain, "Go away from me, I tell you! I'm not taking anything to do
with you!"

Whack! whack! whack! fell the strap with successive blows, each heavier
than the last. There was no longer any laughing in the school. The
affair was growing serious. The girls were beginning to sob, and the
bigger boys to grow pale.

"Now, James, will you hold out your hand? You see how much worse you are
making it for yourself," said the master, who was heartily sick of the
struggle, which he felt to be undignified, and the result of which he
feared was dubious.