Bunter's hand closed over the stick, which, by a happy accident, had fallen across a stable tuft of grass. He pulled it over to him, and laid it across his arms, so that he could just rest his chin upon it. The relief to his neck was momentarily so enormous that his courage was renewed. He felt he could hang on for ever.
"Help!"
Minutes passed like hours.
"See that?"
A faint, flickering gleam somewhere away to the right. With desperate energy both shouted together.
"Help! Help! Oy! Oy! Help!"
An answering yell. The light swayed—came nearer—a spreading blur in the fog.
"We must keep it up," panted Wimsey. They yelled again.