“Well, he is strong,” cried the latter. “But I have it. I’m getting a bit ’fraid he’ll work quite a hole, and get out, and I’m not at all sure that the nails arn’t giving. Look here, Master George; put your hand in my pocket, and pull out and open my big knife ready for me. Then you shall hold the pole, and I’ll go down and try and cut his head off.”
“But will that be safe?” I said. “Hadn’t we better leave go and run away?”
“What, and leave a customer like this free to hunt about our place? Now you wouldn’t like to do that, I know.”
“No; I shouldn’t like to do that,” I said; “but it would be terrible if he got away.”
“Well then, out with my knife—quick! I’m beginning to wish we’d left him alone, for it’ll be chizzle for both of us if he do get loose.”
I hastily took his knife from his pocket, and opened it.
“That’s your style, Master George. Now then, stick it across my mouth, and then take hold just under my hands. You must press it down hard, or he’ll heave himself out, for he’s mighty strong, I can tell you. Got hold?”
“Yes,” I said, as I took hold of the pole, keeping my feet as far away as I could from the writhing knot, for fear it should suddenly untwine and embrace my legs.
“That’s right, press down hard. Think you can hold him?”
“I don’t know; I think so.”