And he caught hold of my hand and gave my arm a suggestive preliminary screw. "I didn't," I said. "Yes, you did," said he, tightening the pressure, so as to make me catch my under lip in my teeth. "You knew well enough I was half through it." "I mean, I _didn't_ borrow it. I never saw the book," I shrieked, truly enough too, for this was clearly a case of mistaken identity. "Yes, you did, for I was told so." "I didn't; oh, let me go!" I cried, twisting under the torture; "it wasn't me!" "I tell you it was;" another screw, and another dance and howl from me; "and what's the use of you saying it wasn't?" "Indeed it wasn't!" I yelled, for by this time I was on my knees, and half dead with agony. "Oh! You'll break my arm! Oh! Oh!" "Say you took it, then," replied my tormentor. "It wasn't me," I shrieked. "Oh! _Yes it was_! Let go!" Then he let go, and catching me by the collar of my coat with one hand, pulled my ear with the other, saying-- "What do you mean by telling lies, you young cub?" "I only said I took it," whimpered I, nursing my sore arm, "because you made me." "Then you mean to say you didn't, do you?" cried the bully, with another grab at my hand. What would have become of me I don't know, had not a sixth-form fellow come by at that moment, at the sight of whom Master Bangs let go my arm, smiled benevolently on me and cringingly on him, and then slunk away to his den, never to find me again within reach of his ten fingers if I could help it. It would be hard to say what object Bob had in this conduct. He certainly had not much to gain. Sometimes, indeed, he succeeded in compelling his victims to empty their pockets to him, and hand over the little treasures in the way of eatables, penknives, or india-rubber to which he might take a fancy, but this was comparatively rare. Nor was his bullying actuated by the lofty motive of administering wholesome discipline on his young schoolfellows. In fact, so far from doing them good, he made sneaks and cowards of a good many of them, and, as happened in my case, led them to tell falsehoods in order to escape his clutches. I should be sorry to think that Bob Bangs was influenced by sheer spite and cruelty of heart, or by a wanton delight in witnessing and contributing to the suffering of others; yet so one was often forced to believe. It is bad enough when one fellow stands by and, without lifting a finger to help, lets another suffer; but when, instead of that, he actually makes himself the instrument of torture, he is nothing short of a brute. Perhaps, however, it would hardly be fair to say that Bob was quite so bad as this. We are bound to give the worst characters their due; and without attempting to excuse or justify a single blow the Bully ever struck, we must bear in mind this one thing.