parents to speak of, were wholly uninterested in the thing one way or other.
"I have had disappointments to contend against," said Squeers, looking very grim, "Bolder’s father was two pound ten short. Where is Bolder?"
"Here he is, please Sir," rejoined twenty officious voices. Boys are very like men to be sure.
"Come here, Bolder," said Squeers.
An unhealthy-looking boy, with warts all over his hands, stepped from his place to the master's desk, and raised his eyes imploringly to Squeers's face; his own quite white from the rapid beating of his heart.
"Bolder," said Squeers, speaking very slowly, for he was considering, as the saying goes, where to have him. "Bolder, if your father thinks that because—why what's this, Sir?"
As Squeers spoke, he caught up the boy's hand by the cuff of his jacket, and surveyed it with an edifying aspect of horror and disgust.
"What do you call this, Sir? " demanded the schoolmaster, administering a cut with the cane to expedite the reply.
"I can't help it, indeed, Sir," rejoined the boy, crying. "They will come; it's the dirty work I think, Sir—at least I don't know what it is, Sir, but it's not my fault."
"Bolder," said Squeers, tucking up his wristbands and moistening the palm of his right hand to get a good grip of the cane, "you're an incorrigible young scoundrel, and as the last thrashing did you no good, we must see what another will do towards beating it out of you.".
With this, and wholly disregarding a piteous cry for mercy, Mr. Squeers fell upon the boy and caned him soundly: not leaving off indeed, until his arm was tired out.
"There," said Squeers, when he had quite done; "rub away as hard as you like, you won’t rub that off in a hurry. Oh! you won't hold that noise, won't you? Put him out, Smike."
The drudge knew better from long experience, than to hesitate about obeying, so he bundled the victim out by a side door, and Mr. Squeers perched himself again on his own stool, supported by Mrs. Squeers, who occupied another at his side.
"Now let us see," said Squeers. "A letter for Cobbey. Stand up, Cobbey."
Another boy stood up, and eyed the letter very hard while Squeers made a mental abstract of the same.
"Oh!" said Squeers: "Cobbey's grandmother is dead, and his uncle John has took to drinking, which is all the news his sister sends, except eighteenpence, which will just pay for that broken square of glass. Mrs. Squeers, my dear, will you take the money?"
The worthy lady pocketed the eighteenpence with a most business-like air, and Squeers passed on to the next boy as coolly as possible.
"Graymarsh," said Squeers, "he's the next. Stand up, Graymarsh."
Another boy stood up, and the schoolmaster looked over the letter as before.
"Graymarsh's maternal aunt," said Squeers when he had possessed himself of the contents, "is very glad to hear he's so well and happy,
