There was a rush from the rooms below in
the direction of the disturbance; all the boys were in a trice
leaping about delightedly on the stairs, and behind them came
O'Gree, Egger, and Dr. Tootle himself. From the room above rushed
out all the young Tootles, yelling for help. Last of all, from still
higher regions of the house there swept down a vision of disordered
female attire, dishevelled hair, and glaring eyes; it was Mrs.
Tootle, disturbed at her toilet, forgetting all considerations of
personal appearance at the alarming outcry. Just as she reached the
spot, Waymark's arm dropped in weariness; he flung the howling young
monkey into one corner, the stick into another, and deliberately
pulled his coat-sleeves into position once more. He felt vastly
better for the exercise, and there was even a smile on his heated
face.
"You brutal ruffian!" shrieked Mrs. Tootle. "How dare you touch my
child? You shall answer for this in the police court, sir."
"Waymark," cried her husband, who had struggled to the scene through
the crowd of cheering boys, "what's the meaning of this? You forget
yourself, sir. Who gave you authority to use corporal chastisement?"
"The boy has long deserved a good thrashing," he said, "and I'm glad
I lost my temper sufficiently to give him a portion of his deserts.
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