There's nothing like
making the best of a bad case, boys. Tim, here, is determin'd not to
be worried in his mind about a little flogging, for the thought of it
can't even keep the little scoundrel awake."
Lugare smiled again as he made the last observation. He grasp'd his
ratan firmly, and descended from his seat. With light and stealthy
steps he cross'd the room and stood by the unlucky sleeper. The boy
was still as unconscious of his impending punishment as ever. He might
be dreaming some golden dream of youth and pleasure; perhaps he was
far away in the world of fancy, seeing scenes, and feeling delights,
which cold reality never can bestow. Lugare lifted his ratan high over
his head, and with the true and expert aim which he had acquired by
long practice, brought it down on Tim's back with a force and whacking
sound which seem'd sufficient to wake a freezing man in his last
lethargy. Quick and fast, blow foliow'd blow. Without waiting to see
the effect of the first cut, the brutal wretch plied his instrument of
torture first on one side of the boy's back, and then on the other,
and only stopped at the end of two or three minutes from very
weariness. But still Tim show'd no signs of motion; and as Lugare,
provoked at his torpidity, jerk'd away one of the child's arms, on
which he had been leaning over the desk, his head dropp'd down on the
board with a dull sound, and his face lay turn'd up and exposed to
view. When Lugare saw it, he stood like one transfix'd by a basilisk.
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