His courage returned as he found out who was his captor, and he kicked out savagely, but I held on.
“Do you hear?” he cried. “Here, let go, and I’ll give you a fourpenny piece out of my next pocket-money.”
“You come down to Mr Brownsmith,” I cried.
“Get out! You know who I am: George Day.”
“I know you’re a thief, and I shall take you up to Mr Brownsmith,” I said, “and here he comes.”
“If you don’t let go,” he cried with a sudden access of fury, “I’ll just come down and I’ll—”
He did not finish his threat. I daresay it would have been something very dreadful, but I was not in the least frightened as I held on; but as he clung to the big quaint coping of the wall he suddenly gave two or three such tremendous kicks that one of them, aided by his getting his free foot on my shoulder, was given with such force that I was driven backwards, and after staggering a few steps, caught my heel and came down in a sitting position upon the path.
I leaped to my feet again, but only just in time to hear a scuffling noise on the top of the wall, the sound of some one dropping on the other side, and then pat, pat, pat, steps fast repeated, as my prisoner ran away.
“Ah!” I exclaimed, with a stamp of the foot in my disappointment.
“Chiv-ee! Why, ho! Where are yer?”