The voice sounded as if it were on the outside of the wall, as my captive hung by his elbows and chest, while I could feel the leg I held quiver and tremble as I tugged hard to get its owner down into the garden; but distant and muffled as that voice was, it seemed familiar when it yelled again:
“Oh I pray let me go this time, sir.”
“No,” I shouted, as I gave the leg a snatch and hung on, “Come down, you thieving rascal, come down.”
“Why, it’s you, is it?” came from the top of the wall, a little plainer now.
“What! George Day!” I exclaimed, but without relaxing my hold.
“Oh, you sneak!” he cried. “Let go, will you.”
“No,” I cried stoutly. “Come down.”
“Sha’n’t. It ain’t your place. Let go, you sneak.”
“I sha’n’t,” I cried angrily. “Come down, you thief.”
“If you call me a thief I’ll come down and half smash you. Let go!”