"Don't do it!" cried Connie to him.
"If you'll pull the wheel that way, so!" he said to her, showing her how.
"No! You mustn't lift it! You'll strain yourself," she said, flushed now with anger.
But he looked into her eyes and nodded. And she had to go and take hold of the wheel, ready. He heaved and she tugged, and the chair reeled.
"For God's sake!" cried Clifford in terror.
But it was all right, and the brake was off. The keeper put a stone under the wheel, and went to sit on the bank, his heart beating and his face white with the effort, semi-conscious. Connie looked at him, and almost cried with anger. There was a pause and a dead silence. She saw his hands trembling on his thighs.
"Have you hurt yourself?" she asked, going to him.
"No. No!" he turned away almost angrily.
There was dead silence. The back of Clifford's fair head did not move. Even the dog stood motionless. The sky had clouded over.
At last he sighed, and blew his nose on his red handkerchief.