When he heard these words the chief of the larrikins, trying in vain to escape from the Doctor's grasp, commenced to howl in the most frightful manner I ever listened to.
'Please, Doctor,' said I, raising my voice above the awful din, 'don't boil the poor fellow! let him off this time with a caution, admonish him to be more careful in future; over-severity in punishment will surely defeat itself, and it is cruel. Make him promise not to do so any more and forgive him; I forgive him. I never bear malice. I never bore malice in my life.'
'Oh yes, of course,' replied the Doctor severely. 'I could not think of boiling or hurting a hair of the "poor fellow's" head; he never thinks of hurting anyone, man, woman, or child, at all. Oh no! You will "poor fellow" him with your very last sigh when you are on your bed of death. Your "poor fellow" will cover your million of sins, I have no doubt. But keep your mind easy. I'll only tickle him a little. I'll simmer him very gently for your sake. He will soon be ready—and willing, too—to sting you again, my dear boy; do not distress yourself on his account, I beg of you. Have you no larrikins in your part of the world?'
'We have a good many, Doctor.'
'Well, I suppose you make perfect pets of them; you keep some of them in glass cases in grand shop windows, and fatten them on butter and honey, and Stilton cheese, and lollipops, and strawberries and cream, and ham and eggs. But I need not bother you with my chatter, although we were all born to be bothered and stung to madness, and many of us to be butchered like pigs in a sty. Never mind, don't let your heart get too low or too soft, and take care, you will tell me, not to let yours require a brickbat to soften it. Stick to the happy medium, that's my motto. What ho, Florian!'
