He climbed awkwardly, out of his seat, and advanced hesitatingly with shuffling feet towards the master.

It was now evident that Gable was not a large boy, but a little old man, slightly built, with a round ruddy clean-shaven face and thick white hair.

But his manner was that of a boy of eight.
'Hold out, my young friend!' Joel commanded, with an expressive flourish of his cane.
Gable held out his hand; his toothless mouth formed itself into a dark oval, his eyes distended with painful expectancy, and he assumed the shrinking attitude of the very small boy who expects the fall of the cane.

The situation was absurd, but no one smiled.

Ham raised the extended hand a little with the end of the dreaded weapon.
'You are going the right way to come to a dishonoured old age, Gable,' he said, and the cane went up, but the cut was not delivered.