There came to Mr. Wriford some odd experiences. He looked at Mr. Puddlebox and saw in the little round face where usually was merriment, alarm, white and sickly. Then saw Mr. Puddlebox's eyes search his own, and waver, and then fill with some purpose. Then was pulled and pushed backward by Mr. Puddlebox. Then both were hanging, half over the sacks, half on top. Then over the front of the wagon before them appeared the wagoner's cap and a vast arm clutching the whip. Then Mr. Puddlebox scrambled forward a yard, placing himself between Mr. Wriford and the approaching fury. "Down you go, loony; he's not seen you. Hide yourself, boy." Then Mr. Puddlebox's elbow and then his knee at Mr. Wriford's chest, and Mr. Wriford was slithered down the sacks and fallen in the road.
Now from above, and before yet Mr. Wriford could get to his feet, very quick things. Baleful howl from the flaming wagoner standing on his driver's seat and towering there in omnipotent command of the wagon-top. Appalling whistle-wup of the whip in his mighty and ferocious hand. Pitiful yelps from Mr. Puddlebox, head and shoulders exposed, baggy stern, surmounted by the bulging pockets, suspended above Mr. Wriford in the road and wriggling this way and that as the whip fell. Baleful howl from the flaming wagoner and the whistle-wup! at each loudest word of it: "Now, my beauty, I've GOT yer!"
Pitiful yelp from Mr. Puddlebox: "Yowp! Hup!"
"Now I'll CUT your liver out for yer."—"Yeep! Hup!"
"Before I have my BLINKIN' 'air cut."—"Yowp!"
"Now I'll CUT your liver out, my beauty."—"Yowp! Yeep! Hup! Hell!"
Beneath the blows and the convulsive wrigglings they caused, Mr. Puddlebox's stern slipped lower down the sacks. Mr. Wriford scrambled to his feet from where he was fallen to the road. He was utterly terrified. He turned to run. He stopped, and a cry of new fear escaped him. Figure of Wriford stood there.
Mr. Wriford put a hand before his eyes and went a few steps to the side of the wagon and stopped again, irresolute.
There came from above again that bellow, again whistle-wup! of the whip, again from Mr. Puddlebox in agonized response: "Yowp! Hup!"
Mr. Wriford cried aloud: "Oh, why doesn't he drop down?"