“I won’t tell you. Pitch us in if you dare. Don’t you mind, Josh. He’s only saying it to frighten us.”
“Yes; a very nice boy,” said the artist, gravely; “but as I promised, I won’t be hard, for anyhow you’ve got some pluck. Look here, how did you manage to get my gamp up yonder?”
“Went up above and fished for it,” said Will, coolly.
“Fished for it? What with?”
“Water-cord and an eel-hook,” growled Will. “I say, Mr Manners, this is bad manners, you know; you do hurt awfully.”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed the artist, boisterously. “Fished it up with an eel-hook? Well, I suppose I am heavy. Look here, if I let you get up, will you fish it down?”
“Won’t promise,” growled Will.
“All right; I believe you will,” and he rolled off, leaving the boys at liberty to spring up, Josh to begin rubbing himself all over, Will to dash to the first big stone, catch it up, and make an offer as if to throw it at the artist’s head.
The latter blew a cloud of smoke at the passionate-looking lad, and sat looking him full in the face.
“All right,” he said, coolly; “chuck!”