“No, he hasn’t,” cried Josh. “Run, run! Never mind me.”
“Shan’t run,” snarled Will, between his teeth. “Here, catch hold of my hands.”
He lay down on his chest, hooking his feet in amongst the tough roots of the heather.
“Come on, I tell you! Catch hold.”
Obeying the stronger will, Josh made a desperate scramble, putting into it all the strength he had left, and, regardless of the angry shouts of the artist, he scrambled up sufficiently high for Will to grasp him by the wrists. He could do no more, for his feet slipped from beneath him, and he hung helpless, and at full length, completely crippling his companion, who had the full weight dependent on his own failing strength.
Encouraged by this, the breathless artist made his final rush, and succeeded in getting Josh by the ankles, holding on tightly in spite of the boy’s spasmodic movement, for as he felt the strong hands grasp his legs, he uttered a yell, and began to perform motions like those of a swimming frog.
“Be quiet! Don’t!” roared Will. “You’ll have me down.”
“Let go, you dog!” shouted the artist. “I’ve got him now.”
“Let go yourself,” cried Will, angrily. “Can’t you see you are pulling me down?”
“Oh, yes, I can see. Let go yourself.”