“Now run ... so ... hands extended ... so ... left leg up ... so ... head looking over shoulder ... so ... no, try not to overbalance ... that piece again ... never mind the music ... just do as I say ... so ... Ow ... OW!”
“Go!”
WILLIAM AND GINGER RUSHED OUT FROM BEHIND A TREE
AND CHARGED WILDLY INTO THE CROWD OF ÆSTHETIC
AND BONY REVELLERS.
Two tornadoes rushed out from behind a tree and charged wildly into the crowd of æsthetic and bony revellers. With heads and arms and legs they fought and charged and kicked and pushed and bit. They might have been a dozen instead of two. A crowd of thin, lightly-clad females ran screaming indoors. One young man nimbly climbed a tree and another lay prone in a rose bush.
“We’ve put ’em to flight,” said William breathlessly, pausing for a moment from his labours.
“Yes,” said Ginger dispiritedly, “an’ what’ll we do next?”
“Oh, jus’ keep ’em at bay an’ live on their food,” said William vaguely, “an’ p’raps they’ll soon begin to worship us as gods.”
But William was unduly optimistic. The flute player had secured some rope from an outhouse and, accompanied by some other youths, he was already creeping up behind William. In a few moments’ time William and Ginger found themselves bound to neighbouring trees. They struggled wildly. They looked a strange couple. The struggle had left them tieless and collarless. Their hair stood on end. Their faces were stained with liquorice juice.
“They’ll eat us for supper,” said William to Ginger. “Sure’s Fate they’ll eat us for supper. They’re prob’ly boilin’ the water to cook us in now. Go on, try’n bite through your rope.”