But these obstacles did not check the old sailor, who cleared the palings, reached the road at the other side, panting, stopped to get his breath, and then crept along through the darkness on the tips of his toes, treating the tall palings as if they were the bulwarks of a ship, and by degrees edged himself up nearer and nearer till he was able to pounce upon the fugitives in triumph.
Pan uttered a howl, dropped down, and lay quite still; but as the ex-boatswain grappled Sydney by the coat, the lad wrenched himself free and kept his captor at bay.
“No, no,” cried Barney; “you don’t get away. Hoi! help!”
“Hold your noise, you old stupid,” cried Sydney. “Who wants to get away? Keep your hands off.”
“Nay, I won’t. I’ve got you, and I’ll keep you.”
“I tell you I was going home, only Pan wouldn’t stir.”
“Wouldn’t stir, wouldn’t he? We’ll see ’bout that. Now it’s of no use, Master Syd. You’re my prisoner, so give in and cry quarter.”
“I tell you I have given in; and once more, Barney, I warn you, I’m in such a temper I shall hit you.”
“Yah! hit away, Midget, who’s afeard! Do you s’render?”
“Yes, yes.”