"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.