“Well, well! I do call that mean,” growled the man. “You comes and fetches me to help, and I has to chuck my cap away; then you chucks my best knife down after it; and now you chucks that there in my teeth. I do call it a gashly shame.”
“Never mind. I don’t want the rope at all,” said Gwyn. “There, slacken your hold. I’m going to climb up.”
“Nay; better have the rope, my lad.”
“I don’t want the rope. I’m tired and hot, but I can climb up.”
“Gwyn!” came at that moment.
“Yes, father.”
“Just sarves you right,” growled Hardock. “Take some of the gashly conceit out of you, my lad. Now, then, I’m going to tie you up.”
“No; I shall do it myself,” said Gwyn, making a snatch at the line lowered down. “Now, get out of my way.”
“Oh, very well; but don’t blame me if you fall.”
“No fear, Sam.”