“You and Barney get hold of a leg each, and haul me back, or I shall be suffocated.”
“Yah! not you; wiggle yourself back, matey.”
“There arn’t no wiggle left in me, lad, and it’s so hot that I can’t breathe.”
“Have another try,” whispered Barney.
We heard a rustling, struggling sound as if some one was striving hard to get forward or back, but without result, and then the voice came more husky and smothered than ever.
“No go, lads. Look sharp and have me out, or I’m a goner.”
“Get out,” growled Bob, quite excitedly. “You don’t half try.”
“I did, mate, but I’m getting worse,” came back faintly, “I’m a-swelling up and fitting tighter every moment. Can’t yer get me out?”
“Here, ketch hold of one o’ his legs, Barney,” growled Bob, hurriedly. “We must have him out somehow. Got him?”
“There arn’t no room, messmate.”