“He told Philip to his face that he was a bully, and as much as said that I had served him right in doing what I did in defense of the two children. I don’t see how he can be a friend of Philip.”
Harry had not much knowledge of the world, however, and would have been surprised to hear that Congreve was more dangerous and unscrupulous, and altogether bad, than Philip himself, in spite of the latter’s unamiable traits.
After a while Harry made another attempt to loosen the cords; but the second time proved as unsuccessful as the first.
Considerable time had passed—how much he did not know—but, from the direction in which the sun glanced in the wood, he concluded that it was as late as six o’clock, and by this time he was almost always at home.
Indeed, supper must now be ready, and his mother and their boarder, Uncle Obed, were probably ready to sit down to the table, and only waiting for him. It was certainly very tantalizing to be lying there helpless, knowing that his mother would soon be anxious and troubled about him.
“If I could only use my knife,” thought Harry. “I would make short work of these cords.”
He had a knife in his pocket. If a boy has only twenty-five cents in his pocket, he is sure to spend it for some kind of a knife, or he must be very different from the average boy.
So, of course, Harry was provided with a knife—a good, strong jackknife—but, for all the good it was likely to do him, it might as well have been at home. His hands being tied, of course, he could not get the knife out of his pocket; and, even if he had done so, how could he make use of it?
“I never knew twine was so strong before,” thought poor Harry, ruefully, after a third unsuccessful attempt to get free.
He lay a while longer, getting more and more hopeless of an early release. By this time his appetite began to assert itself. He had not eaten a very hearty dinner, and naturally felt all the more hungry now.