Joe did not stir, and Gwyn’s face turned ghastly, while his mouth opened ready for the utterance of a wild cry for help.
But the cry did not escape, for Gwyn’s teeth closed with a snap. He felt that it would result in adding to his companion’s despair.
He was once more master of himself.
“Now then!” he cried; “I don’t want to use that pin. Go on, old lazybones.”
The energy was transferred again, and Joe slowly struggled up another step, closely followed by Gwyn, and then remained motionless and silent.
“You stop and let yourself get cold again,” cried Gwyn, resolutely now. “Begin once more, and don’t stop. You needn’t mind, old chap. I’ve got you as tight as tight. Now then, can’t you feel how safe you are? Off with you! I shall always be ready to give you a nip and hold you on. Now then, off!”
But there was no response.
“Do you hear! This isn’t the place to go to sleep, Joe! Wake up! Go on! Never mind your feet being numb. Go on pulling yourself up with your hands. I’ll give you a shove to help.”
No reply; no movement; and but for the spasmodic way in which the boy clung with his hands, as if involuntarily, like a bird or a bat clings in its sleep, he might have been pronounced perfectly helpless.
“Now, once more, are you going to begin?” cried Gwyn, shouting fiercely. “Do you hear?”