"You have about thirty boys, I think?"

"About thirty."

"And you consider it necessary that at least fifteen out of that
thirty should be caned every day. You must have got a very bad lot
of boys, Mr. Hathorn?"

"Not so many as that," the schoolmaster said, flushing.

"I shall be prepared to prove to your worships," the lawyer said,
"that for the last six months the average of boys severely caned
by this man has exceeded sixteen a day, putting aside such minor
matters as one, two, or three vicious cuts with the cane given at
random. It fortunately happened, as I find from my young friend
in the dock, that one of the boys has, from motives of curiosity,
kept an account for the last six months of the number of boys
thrashed every day. I have sent round for him, and he is at present
in court."

Mr. Hathorn turned pale, and he began to think that it would have
been wiser for him to have followed Ned's advice, and not to have
brought the matter into court.

"Your worships," the lawyer said, "you have been boys, as I have,
and you can form your own ideas as to the wretchedness that must
prevail among a body of lads of whom more than half are caned daily.
This, your worships, is a state of tyranny which might well drive
any boys to desperation. But I have not done with Mr. Hathorn yet.