“Shan’t!” growled Will, through his set teeth. “Kick out, Josh, and send him over.”
“I can’t!” cried Josh.
“He’d better! I’d break his neck.”
“Never mind what he says, Josh. Kick! Kick hard!”
“Kick! I’ve got you tight. I could hold you for a wee—wee—”
He was going to say “week,” but Fate proved to him that this was a slight exaggeration on his part, and instead of finishing the word week he gave vent to a good loud “oh!” Tor the heather roots had suddenly given way, and the three contending parties descended the sharp slope with a sudden rush, to be brought up short amongst the stones that accompanied them in a contending heap, forming a struggling mass for a few moments, before the strongest gained the day, the artist rising first, and seating himself in triumph upon the beaten lads, to begin dragging out his handkerchief to mop his face, as he panted breathlessly—
“There, I’ve got you now!”