The pandybat came down again in six loud quick smacks. —Kneel down! cried the prefect of studies. Fleming knelt down, squeezing his hands under his armpits, his face contorted with pain, but Stephen knew how hard his hands were because Fleming was always rubbing rosin into them. But perhaps he was in great pain for the noise of the pandybat was terrible. Stephen’s heart was beating and fluttering. —At your work, all of you! shouted the prefect of studies. We want no lazy idle loafers here, lazy idle little schemers. At your work, I tell you. Father Dolan will be in to see you every day. Father Dolan will be in tomorrow. He poked one of the boys in the side with his pandybat, saying: —You, boy! When will Father Dolan be in again? —Tomorrow, sir, said Tom Furlong’s voice. —Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, said the prefect of studies. Make up your minds for that. Every day Father Dolan. Write away. You, boy, who are you? Stephen’s heart jumped suddenly. —Dedalus, sir. —Why are you not writing like the others? —I... my... He could not speak with fright. —Why is he not writing, Father Arnall? —He broke his glasses, said Father Arnall, and I exempted him from work. —Broke? What is this I hear? What is this? Your name is? said the prefect of studies. —Dedalus, sir. —Out here, Dedalus. Lazy little schemer. I see schemer in your face. Where did you break your glasses? Stephen stumbled into the middle of the class, blinded by fear and haste. —Where did you break your glasses? repeated the prefect of studies. —The cinderpath, sir. —Hoho! The cinderpath! cried the prefect of studies. I know that trick. Stephen lifted his eyes in wonder and saw for a moment Father Dolan’s whitegrey not young face, his baldy whitegrey head with fluff at the sides of it, the steel rims of his spectacles and his no-coloured eyes looking through the glasses. Why did he say he knew that trick? —Lazy idle little loafer! cried the prefect of studies. Broke my glasses! An old schoolboy trick! Out with your hand this moment! Stephen closed his eyes and held out in the air his trembling hand with the palm upwards. He felt the prefect of studies touch it for a moment at the fingers to straighten it and then the swish of the sleeve of the soutane as the pandybat was lifted to strike. A hot burning stinging tingling blow like the loud crack of a broken stick made his trembling hand crumple together like a leaf in the fire: and at the sound and the pain scalding tears were driven into his eyes. His whole body was shaking with fright, his arm was shaking and his crumpled burning livid hand shook like a loose leaf in the air. A cry sprang to his lips, a prayer to be let off. But though the tears scalded his eyes and his limbs quivered with pain and fright he held back the hot tears and the cry that scalded his throat. —Other hand! shouted the prefect of studies.