“Course I am, Tommy. And you give in, sir. He’s got a horful long head has Tommy Smith, and what he says is right; we aren’t going to let you go.”
“Cowards!” cried Panton angrily.
“That’s right, sir, you just go on like that a bit, and call us names. It’ll ease your mind ever so. We don’t mind, do we, Billy?”
“Not us,” growled Wriggs. “He’s right, sir. Give it to us.”
“Brutes!” cried Panton, as the darkness began to approach with wonderful speed. “Here, Drew, we must go together. We cannot desert our comrade at a time like this.”
“No,” said Drew, “it would be the act of cowards if we could do anything; but the men are right. You cannot go.”
“What? You side with them? Cowards! Yes, worse. How could we ever face his friends unless we had striven to the last?”
“We have striven to the last, man. Look! In a few minutes it will be black night, and to attempt to plunge into that horrible vapour would be madness, weakened and overwrought as we are.”
“I thought so,” cried Panton. “The poor fellow has but one who will make a fight for him.”
“Stop!” cried Drew, clinging to his arm.