Part 2 (1/2)

”Shan't run,” snarled Will, between his teeth. ”Here, catch hold of my hands.”

He lay down on his chest, hooking his feet in amongst the tough roots of the heather.

”Come on, I tell you! Catch hold.”

Obeying the stronger will, Josh made a desperate scramble, putting into it all the strength he had left, and, regardless of the angry shouts of the artist, he scrambled up sufficiently high for Will to grasp him by the wrists. He could do no more, for his feet slipped from beneath him, and he hung helpless, and at full length, completely crippling his companion, who had the full weight dependent on his own failing strength.

Encouraged by this, the breathless artist made his final rush, and succeeded in getting Josh by the ankles, holding on tightly in spite of the boy's spasmodic movement, for as he felt the strong hands grasp his legs, he uttered a yell, and began to perform motions like those of a swimming frog.

”Be quiet! Don't!” roared Will. ”You'll have me down.”

”Let go, you dog!” shouted the artist. ”I've got him now.”

”Let go yourself,” cried Will, angrily. ”Can't you see you are pulling me down?”

”Oh, yes, I can see. Let go yourself.”

”Shan't!” growled Will, through his set teeth. ”Kick out, Josh, and send him over.”

”I can't!” cried Josh.

”He'd better! I'd break his neck.”

”Never mind what he says, Josh. Kick! Kick hard!”

”Kick! I've got you tight. I could hold you for a wee--wee--”

He was going to say ”week,” but Fate proved to him that this was a slight exaggeration on his part, and instead of finis.h.i.+ng the word week he gave vent to a good loud ”oh!” Tor the heather roots had suddenly given way, and the three contending parties descended the sharp slope with a sudden rush, to be brought up short amongst the stones that accompanied them in a contending heap, forming a struggling ma.s.s for a few moments, before the strongest gained the day, the artist rising first, and seating himself in triumph upon the beaten lads, to begin dragging out his handkerchief to mop his face, as he panted breathlessly--

”There, I've got you now!”

CHAPTER THREE.

THE ARTIST'S REVENGE.

It was not manly on Josh's part, but he was weak, beaten, quite in despair; the artist was a heavy man; and he had his companion Will upon him as well.

Consequently his tone was very pathetic, as he whimpered out--

”Here, you'd better let me alone!”

”Likely!” said the artist. ”I wanted a model, and now you have got to sit for me.”

Will didn't whimper in the least. Pain and anger had put him in what would have been a towering rage if he had not been prostrate on the ground.

”Here, you get up,” he said, in a bull-dog tone.

”By and by,” cried the artist, coolly, as he began to recover his breath. ”I haven't made up my mind what I am going to do yet.”

”If you don't get up, I'll bite,” cried Will.