“Yes; but speak low. He will come and tell us when he thinks it is safe.”
“All right, I’ll whisper; but I must talk. I can’t bear it any longer, I do feel so savage with myself.”
“Why, what about?”
“To think about that old chap. I wanted to trust him, but I kept on feeling that he was going to sell us; and all the time he’s been doing everything he could for us. But, I say, it was comic to see him carrying you. Here, I mustn’t talk about it, or I shall be bursting out laughing.”
“Hush! Don’t!” whispered Pen.
“All right. But, I say, don’t you think we might have a go at the prog? There’s all sorts of good things in that basket; and I want a drink of water too. But you needn’t have poured a lot of it down my back. I know you couldn’t help it, but it was horrid wet all the same.”
“Don’t touch anything, Punch; and be quiet. He will be coming up soon, I dare say.”
“Wish he’d come, then,” said the boy wearily. “I say, how’s your leg?”
“Hurts,” said Pen curtly.
“Poor old chap! Can’t you turn yourself round?”