“Oh, I untied it, and brought it up here so as not to tear the kite—that’s all. Take hold of the string and pull it in.”
I picked up the line. As I did so, Mr. Waddie gave a kind of a start, and held his elbow up at the side of his head. But I did not pull on the line, for, to tell the honest truth, I was afraid he was up to some trick.
“Why don’t you haul it in, you fool?” demanded Waddie, with more excitement than the occasion seemed to require.
“I can’t stop to wind it up, Waddie; I’m in a hurry. My father is waiting for me up at the wharf.”
“It won’t take but a couple of minutes; pull in, and I’ll give you three shots with this revolver,” he added.
“I can’t stay to fire the shots now.”
“Yes, you can! Come, pull in, and don’t be all day about it,” continued he, impatiently.
I was almost sure he was up to some trick; he was earnest and excited. The longer I stayed, the worse it would be for me, and I dropped the string.
“Pick it up again!” shouted Waddie; and at the same moment he fired off the pistol.
I did pick it up; for though the pistol ball did not come very near me, I heard it whistle through the air, and as I had never been under fire, I am willing to confess that it frightened me. I do not think Waddie meant to hit me when he fired, but this consciousness made me all the more fearful for my own safety.