"Say, old chap," came in a far-away whisper to his ears, "don't!"
It pulled him up short. Bob's eyes were closed, and he looked so like fainting again that Eustace gave him more brandy.
It had a good effect; but later, not even when he had regained his full consciousness, could Bob move hand or foot; he was as stiff as a log. Just as he had been bound rigidly upright, so he remained now lying at full length.
"Guess I'm pretty helpless," he said in a thin, weak voice. "I shall have to be oiled before I can move." Then, after a little while, when he had been lying staring at his companion meditatively some minutes, he said, "Just explain what you are doing here, will you?"
From the very beginning—the return of Bolter—Eustace told the story of the last few days, and Bob listened with growing eagerness in his eyes.
"So you lost yourself finding me," he said at the end. "And there isn't a doubt you've saved my life, old boy."
But even this assertion did not cheer Eustace.
"I'm afraid I haven't, though," he said miserably, "because you see we are lost."
"Not a bit of it," Bob said. "If I had any legs I could walk you out of the wood in two hours. I know the way perfectly."
"Do you?" Eustace exclaimed. "Then what did you come here for?"