e
bore little malice, not at least towards the young and small. "How dare
you, sir, break the bottle?" says Cuff to the little urchin, swinging a
yellow cricket-stump over him.

The boy had been instructed to get over the playground wall (at a
selected spot where the broken glass had been removed from the top, and
niches made convenient in the brick), to run a quarter of a mile, to
purchase a pint of rum-shrub on credit, to brave all the Doctor's
outlying spies, and to clamber back into the playground again; during the
performance of which feat his foot had slipped, and the bottle broken,
and the shrub had been spilt, and his pantaloons had been damaged, and he
appeared before his employer a perfectly guilty and trembling, though
harmless, wretch.

"How dare you, sir, break it?" says Cuff; "you blundering little thief.
You drank the shrub, and now you pretend to have broken the bottle. Hold
out your hand, sir."

Down came the stump with a great heavy thump on the child's hand. A moan
followed. Dobbin looked up. The Fairy Peribanou had fled into the inmost
cavern with Prince Ahmed; the Roc had whisked away Sindbad, the Sailor,
out of the Valley of Diamonds, out of sight, far into the clouds; and
there was every-day life before honest William; and a big boy beating a
little one without cause.

"Hold out your other hand, sir," roars Cuff to his little school-fellow,
whose face was distorted with pain. Dobbin quivered, and gathered himself
up in his narrow old clothes.

"Take that, you little devil!" cried Mr. Cuff, and down came the wicket
again on the child's hand. Down came the wicket again, and Dobbin
started up.

I can't tell what his motive was. Perhaps his foolish soul revolted
against that exercise of tyranny, or perhaps he had a hankering
feeling of revenge in his mind, and longed to measure himself against
that splendid bully and tyrant, who had all the glory, pride, pomp,
circumstance, banners flying, drums beating, guards saluting, in the
place. Whatever may have been his incentive, however, up he sprang,
and screamed out, "Hold off, Cuff; don't bully that child any more,
or I'll--"

"Or you'll what?" Cuff asked in amazement at this interruption. "Hold out
your hand, you little beast."

"I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had in your life," Dobbin
said, in reply to the first part of Cuff's sentence; and the little
lad, Osborne, gasping and in tears, looked up with wonder and
incredulity at se