“Some liddle dhings make a pigger vuss dan——”
He cocked an ear around, and listened for the voices, but they were no longer to be heard.
“Shimminy Ghristmas! Dose vellers gid along like shain lighdnings. I vos half to hurry uf dey gacht me oop, I tolt you!”
He crowded his foot back into the shoe, hurriedly laced and tied it, then picked up his alpinstock and set his short legs in motion.
But it was a hopeless chase. They were swinging on at a swift pace, and had gained so much that it was quite impossible for the Dutch boy to come up with them.
Discovering this, he became terrified.
“Vot uf dose shinermoons shoult pe hiding dese pushes behint, und kilt myselluf mit a club der head ofer?” he panted, staring about in wild-eyed expectancy.
He heard a movement in the bushes, which almost raised the hair on his head. The brush cracked. The sound came toward him.
He dropped his alpinstock and turned to run, but his short, fat legs became so weak they would not sustain him.
He dropped to his knees with a bellow of fright, and pleadingly threw up his hands.