“Not without making your wound worse. That’s what you would have said to me.”
“Then I must make it worse,” said Pen angrily. “Next time he comes in I’ll try to make him explain which way we ought to go to find some of our people.”
“Well, we can only try,” replied Punch, “for ’tain’t nice living on anybody when you can’t pay, and I do feel ashamed to eat as I do without being able to find money for it. ’Tain’t as if he was an enemy. I’d let him see then.”
“Go and open the door, Punch, and let the fresh air in. The sun does make this place so hot!”
“Can’t, comrade.”
“Why not?”
“I did try while you was asleep; but he’s locked us in.”
“Nonsense! He fastens the door with that big bar, and there it is standing up by the side.”
“Yes, but there’s another one outside somewhere, for I tried, and the door won’t move. I think he’s gone to tell somebody we are here, and he has shut us up so that we sha’n’t get away while he’s gone.”
“No, no,” said Pen impatiently. “The old man means well to us; I am sure of that.”