Bill was to go to bed as usual, but in about fifteen minutes he was to get out of the window, slide along the roof of the L and descend to the ground, when Dick was to meet him, escort him to his house and allow him to share his room for the night. “Then,” said he, “when the old man comes up to tackle you he’ll have to pound the bed and get his satisfaction out of that. Won’t that be a splendid joke?” Bill smiled faintly. It seemed to him a daring defiance of Mr. Badger, but, after all, he wouldn’t fare any worse than he was sure of doing, and he finally acquiesced, though with serious doubts as to the propriety of the plan. “Don’t say a word to let ’em know what you’re going to do. Bill--mind that!” “No, I won’t.” “You’ll be sure to find me waiting for you outside the house, just at the back of the barn. I’ll give you some supper when you reach the house.” When the bound boy came from work in the evening he met stern, cold looks from Mr. and Mrs. Badger, but Andrew Jackson wore a look of triumphant malice. He was gloating over the punishment in reserve for the boy whom he so groundlessly hated. “Ain’t you hungry?” he said tauntingly. Bill looked at him, but did not answer. “Oh, you needn’t answer. I know you are,” said the young tyrant. “You didn’t like it very much, going without your dinner. You ain’t going to have any supper, either. If you’re very hungry, though, and will go down on your knees and beg my pardon, I’ll get you something to eat. What do you say?” “I won’t do what you say,” said Bill slowly. “I don’t care enough for supper to do that.” “You don’t?” exclaimed Andrew angrily. “So you’re stubborn, are you? Anyhow, you can’t say I haven’t given you a chance.” “You’re very kind!” said the bound boy sarcastically, in spite of his gentleness. “Of course I am,” blustered Andrew Jackson. “Most boys wouldn’t be, after the way you treated me.” “You want the satisfaction of having me beg your pardon,” said Bill, looking full in the face of the petty despot. “Yes, I do; and I mean to have it.” “You can, upon one condition.” “What’s that?” asked Andrew Jackson, his curiosity overcoming his indignation. “If you’ll beg my pardon for striking me with your whip, I’ll beg yours for hitting you with the hoe.” Andrew fairly gasped for breath at this daring proposal, and he looked for a moment as if he were in danger of having a stroke of apoplexy. “You saucy beggar!” he ejaculated. “How dare you talk to me in that impertinent way? I’ll tell father to give you the worst flogging ever you had to-night--see if I don’t!” And the boy left to report Bill’s new insolence to his mother. Bill crept up to bed a little earlier than usual. He knew that Mr. Badger would not ascend to his humble room to administer the threatened punishment till nine o’clock or later. Through a refinement of cruelty that humane gentleman chose to let his intended victim lie in an anxious anticipation of the flogging, thus making it assume greater terror.