“Tear it open!” he cried. “Tear it open!”
A fresh burst of flame was blowing in his eyes.
The boy he had rescued was on his feet, but the fire had caught his shirt and he was trying to break away in the madness of his terror.
By this time Mr. Fenton had come close to the stage; he pulled off the thick coat he wore and tossed it up to Llewellyn. The young man smothered the child in its close folds, throwing him down and rolling him over as though he were fighting with a wild beast.
The boy who played the other half of the Dragon was almost safe, thanks to Howlie’s efforts. He had broken out of his prison uninjured and was free, all but one leg which was held fast.
In order that the monster might lash its tail properly there was a curious arrangement of steel wire at the point at which it began to narrow, and in this the victim’s foot had caught. The fire was approaching it and his cries increased; his struggles were pitiful to see. As Llewellyn had prevailed and was supporting one boy, more frightened than hurt, the crowd’s horrified attention was now fixed on the other. It did not notice Howlie Seaborne, whose arms were plunged up to the elbows in the Dragon’s carcase. In each hand he grasped a piece of the steel-trap which he was forcing doggedly apart. His face was growing grey and his eyes stared; for almost the first time in his life his mouth was shut. This was because he was grinding his teeth together.
The thing which takes so many words to say had happened all in a moment, and St. George had barely had time to extricate himself from his stirrup and to run behind the scenes. He now returned with a bucket of water, which he held upside down over the burning tail just as Howlie had bent the wires enough to set the prisoner free. The water hissed and the steam rose in a column.
A few people from the crowd had come up and pressed in a little circle round the two children; the blue muslin lady was weeping tempestuously. The showman, in his costume of St. George, began, with Mr. Fenton, to examine the burnt foot. The boy was crying with pain, but the injuries did not seem extensive.
“Well done, boy!” said Llewellyn, as he came up to Howlie, very white and smelling dreadfully of smoke.
The words raised a ghost of the vertical smile, but it faded so strangely that he looked down lower than the rabbit face. “My God!” he cried, as he saw the arms and hands.