"It isn't that," quavered Jack. "I'm not really afraid of it. I don't know what the feeling is. But Sandy, I can almost see myself lying at the foot of the tower with all my bones broken."
"Rubbish," laughed Sandy. "I'm not near as good at the broad jump as you, and yet I made it all right."
"I know. But—but—you go on, Sandy. Get help, if you can. I'm going back. I can't do it. I can't!"
Then Sandy had an inspiration.
"Coward!" he hissed, putting all the contempt he could into the words. "Coward!"
It was then that Jack Dacre found himself. Burning with anger and humiliation, he leaped forward into the night, to be caught by Sandy at the other side of the gulf.
"Good for you!" exclaimed Sandy, as the comrades clasped hands. "I knew you'd do it."
"Not if it hadn't been for you, Sandy," breathed Jack. "You saved me from recapture, and—and—something else."