Satisfied at last, the ex-steward raised his weapon, and for some seconds plied it briskly.
Miss Nugent trembled, but sternly repressing sympathy for the sufferer, was pleased that the long arm of justice had at last over-taken him.
"Let him go now, Sam," she said; "he's crying." "I'm not," yelled Master Hardy, frantically.
"I can see the tears," declared Miss Nugent, bending.
Mr.Wilks plied the rod again until his victim, with a sudden turn, fetched him a violent kick on the shin and broke loose.

The ex-steward set off in pursuit, somewhat handicapped by the fact that he dare not go over flower-beds, whilst Master Hardy was singularly free from such prejudices.

Miss Nugent ran to the side-entrance to cut off his retreat.
She was willing for him to be released, but not to escape, and so it fell out that the boy, dodging beneath Mr.Wilks's outspread arms, charged blindly up the side-entrance and bowled the young lady over.
There was a shrill squeal, a flutter of white, and a neat pair of button boots waving in the air.

Then Miss Nugent, sobbing piteously, rose from the puddle into which she had fallen and surveyed her garments.

Mr.
Wilks surveyed them, too, and a very cursory glance was sufficient to show him that the case was beyond his powers.