As I caught sight of Jack Penny’s face with its imploring eyes I was for the moment paralysed. He had tight hold of the tree, which was only about half the thickness of his own thin wrists, and he was swaying up and down, the weight of his body still playing upon the elastic sapling.
“I can’t hold on long, Joe Carstairs,” he said hoarsely. “I’m such a weight; but I say I ain’t a bit afraid, only do be quick.”
The doctor had crept to my side now, and he reached out his hand to grasp Jack, but could not get hold of him by a couple of feet.
“Can’t you reach?” the poor fellow gasped.
“No, not yet,” the doctor said sharply; and his voice seemed quite changed as he took in the position; and I saw him shudder as he noted, as I had done, that if Jack fell it would be into the foaming basin where the water thundered down.
“Be quick, please,” panted Jack. “I can’t do nothing at all; and I don’t—think—I could swim—down there.”
“Don’t look down,” roared the doctor, though even then his voice sounded smothered and low.
Jack raised his eyes to ours directly, and I seemed to feel that but for this he would have been so unnerved that he would have loosed his hold.
“Now,” cried the doctor, “the tree’s too weak for you to cling to it with your legs. Swing them to and fro till we catch hold of you.”
Jack looked at me with a face like ashes; but he obeyed, and it was horrible to see the sapling bend and play like a cart-whip with the weight upon it. Each moment I expected it to snap in two or give way at the roots; but no: it held fast, and Jack swung to and fro, and danced up and down over the awful gulf till he was within our reach.