The boy’s courage began to fail him. He looked down at the two great paws on his chest, armed with long, sharp claws. The bear’s breath came hot and fast on the back of his neck.
“Halloo! help!” shouted Tom desperately.
A savage snarl from the rear told him that a repetition of the cry might be fatal to him. The bear’s patience began to give out. The growls came nearer together, and more angrily. Every moment Tom expected to feel those long, white teeth in his scalp. To make matters worse, he now seemed to remember the words the hotel man had shouted after him, though he had paid no attention to them at the time.
If Randolph and the rest would only come! It was not like a fight with a wild bear. That would be bad enough. But to be killed by a chained beast, as a result of his own folly!
Both hope and courage were at the lowest ebb, and the danger really very great, when Tom’s hand felt in the lining of his coat a hard bunch.
Cautiously, with trembling hands, he ripped out the lining and extracted—a solitary lump of sugar which had slipped down through a hole in his pocket.
He held it out at arms-length. After a fruitless attempt to support himself with one paw and reach the sugar with the other, the bear relaxed his hold and dropped upon all fours.
To fling down the sugar and dart out of the radius of that hard-trodden circle was the work of a moment. Tom was safe!