“You’ve dragged me all to pieces, and I’m so hot I—”
“But is it you, Master Frank, dressed up?”
“You knew it was,” cried the young man angrily, as the grasp being slackened he struggled up, to stand breathing hard.
“’Strue as goodness, sir, I didn’t!” said Sam, rising to his knees. “Oh, just wait till I get my wind again. I say, Mr Frank, you are strong—strong as—as a donkey.”
“I? Come, I like that!” panted Frank. “I’m a donkey, am I, sir?”
“’Pon my word, Mr Frank, I beg your pardon. I came into the tent and saw, as I thought, a real nigger robbing the place, and though I felt scared about his having a knife, I went at him, and it was you all the time.”
“Yes, it was I all the time,” cried Frank angrily. “Why didn’t you speak?”
“Never thought about it, sir. Seemed to me that I ought to catch the thief, and I caught a Tartar instead.”
“It is most vexatious! Oh, how hot I am! Have you got a match?”
“Yes, I’ve got a box somewhere.”