“Mr Manners, are you much hurt?” asked Will, as he dropped down softly by the artist’s side.
“Yes, my boy? I am rather badly. But take care. Take care, Josh!”
“Oh, we are all right, sir. What’s the matter?”
“I fell while trying to get to that peak there for a better view.”
“But where does it hurt?” said Will.
“I’ve twisted my arm,” said the artist, “and injured my ankle to boot. That’s a joke. Look here, Will; you could help me to get my arm free. It’s—it’s painful; that’s what it is.”
“Wait a minute,” said Will; and he altered his position on the ledge, shifting himself along so as to be nearer to where the artist lay. “Now,” he said. “Ah!”
“Yes, I am heavy, am I not?” said the artist, with a sort of chuckle. “Oh!” he continued, with a groan. “I don’t think it’s possible for you to do it.”
“I think it is,” said Will. “You, Josh—Steady!—Yes, that’s right; get down on his other side. Now, Mr Manners, I will help to pull you over, and Josh shall push. Now—are you ready?”
“Ready! Ay, ready!” said the artist, with a ghastly attempt at a smile.