“No, of course you’re not.  But come, now, Ray, what’s the matter?  Out with it!  There’s nobody but me to hear you.  And I understand.”

I didn’t want him to speak kindly to me, for I hated him.  So I said in a rapid, trembling voice: 

“I’ve got a thousand lines from Mr. Fillet.  I didn’t deserve them and I’m not going to do them!”

Immediately I felt that a catastrophe had occurred—­that an edifice, which had been standing a second ago, was now no more.  Before that sentence I had faced a kindly friend, now I faced an offended master.  But, though I knew the ruin my words had wrought, I indulged a glow of self-righteousness and was prepared to relate my defiance to an approving world.

“Come with me,” commanded Radley.  Swinging round, he walked towards his room.  At first I remained at the window without moving, and waited for him to turn his head and tell me a second time to come.  But he walked on, never entertaining the thought of my not obeying him.  And I followed, armed with indifference.  It was a pity that walking behind him should give me so fine a view of his splendid proportions and inflate me with strange aspirations, for I hated the man and wanted to do so.  I hated him—­let no other thought replace that.

He led me to his room and said “Come in.”  I entered and, when I had closed the door, looked aimlessly about, taking little interest in the suggestive fact that Radley was opening a cupboard.  There was little change in my countenance when he placed himself opposite me with his cane in his hand.

“You have been very rude to me in speaking defiantly of your house-master.  Do you understand?”

There was no alternative for me but to say “Yes, sir.”  The answer came huskily.  I was annoyed that my voice sounded hoarse.

“Put out your hand.”

I obeyed, stretching out my right hand as far as I could and displaying no perturbation, though I was wondering what it would be like to be caned on the hand.  This was one of Radley’s surprises, and he followed it with one of his brutal remarks: 

“Put that right hand down.  You’ll need it to be in good condition for writing your lines.  Put up your left.”

I held out my left hand.  The cane sang in the air and whistled on to my open palm.  A spasm of pain passed up my arm, my hand closed convulsively, my elbow drooped, and that vast array of tears made a tremendous effort to carry everything before them.  But with all the strength at my command I got the better of them.  Angry at having closed my hand, I extended the scorching palm again, and, very pale and trembling perceptibly, looked with set features straight at Radley.

He threw the cane away and, sitting on the edge of his table, took hold of the hand that he had struck and drew me towards him.

“Don’t you think, Ray, that you, who can take a licking so pluckily, ought to face bad luck in a less cowardly fashion than you have this afternoon?  You’ll meet worse things than lines before you’re ten years older; and, Ray, I want you always to face your fate, whatever it may be, as you faced my cane—­teeth set, no wincing.”