Brownsmith's Boy Part 25

"You stupid fellow! I tell you they are."

"Mary Louisas ain't ripe," he cried.

"Don't care; they've gone after them. Come, and bring a stick."

"Fain larks," he said dubiously.

"Just as if I would play tricks with you!" I cried impatiently.

"No, you wouldn't, would yer?" he said hoa.r.s.ely. "Wouldn't be hard on a chap. Stop a minute."

He rustled off amongst the straw, and I heard a rattling noise and then a chuckle, and Shock was back to hand me a stick as thick as my finger.

"Hezzles," he whispered--"nut hezzle. Come along. You go first."

Though I had roused Shock out of bed he had no dressing to do, and following me down the ladder he walked quickly after me down one of the paths, then to the right along another till we came to a corner, when we both stopped and listened.

Shock began to hiss very softly, as if he were a steam-engine with the vapour escaping from the safety-valve, as we heard, about fifty yards from us, the rustling of the pear-trees, the heavy shake of a bough, and then through the pitchy darkness _whop! whop! whop! whop_! as the pears fell on to the soft ground.

"You go this way," I whispered to Shock, "and I'll go that way, and then we'll rush in and catch them."

"Yes," he said back. "Hit hard, and mind and get hold o' the bag."

We were separating when he caught hold of my arm.

"'Old 'ard," he whispered. "Let's rush 'em together."

In the darkness perhaps his was the better plan. At all events we adopted it, and taking hold of hands we advanced on tiptoe trembling with expectation, our sticks grasped, and every now and then the pendent branches of some tree rustling in and sweeping our faces. And all the time, just in front, we could hear the hurried shaking of boughs, the fall of the pears, and t.i.ttering and whispering as the party seemed to be picking up the spoil.

"We shall have too many," whispered a voice just before us.

"Never mind; let's fill the bag. Go it, boys."

"Hush! Some one'll hear."

"Not they. Go on. Here's a bough loaded. Oh, I say!" Shock gave my hand a nip to which I responded, and then all at once from under the tree where we stood we made a rush at the indistinct figures we could sometimes make out a few yards away.

_Whish, rush, whack_!

"I say what are you doing of?"

"Oh!"

"Run! run!"

"Oh!"

These e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.ns were mingled with the blows dealt by our sticks, several of which fell upon heads, backs, legs, and arms, anywhere, though more struck the trees; and in the excitement one I delivered did no end of mischief to a young pear-tree, and brought down a shower of fruit upon my head.

It was all the work of a few moments. At the first the marauding party thought it was some trick of a companion; directly after they scattered and ran, under the impression that Old Brownsmith and all his men were in pursuit.

As for me, I felt red-hot with excitement, and found myself after a dash through some gooseberry bushes, whose p.r.i.c.king only seemed to give me fresh energy, running along a path after one boy at whom I kept cutting with my hazel stick.

At every stroke there was a howl from the boy, who kept on shouting as he ran:

"Oh! please, sir--oh! sir--don't, sir--oh! pray, sir!"

In my hard-heartedness and excitement I showed no mercy, but every time I got near enough as we panted on I gave him a sharp cut, and he would have been punished far worse if all at once I had not run right into a hanging bough of one of the pears, and gone down backwards, while when I scrambled up again my stick was gone.

I felt that if I waited to search for it I should lose the boy I meant to make a prisoner, and ran on in the direction where I could hear his steps.

Knowing the garden as I did I was able to make a cut so as to recover the lost ground, for I realised that he was making for the wall, and I was just in time to catch him as he scrambled up one of the trained trees, and had his chest on the top.

He would have been over in another second or two had I not made a jump at his legs, one of which I caught, and, twisting my arms round it, I held on with all my might.

"Oh! oh!" he yelled pitifully. "Pray let me go, sir. I'll never come no more, sir. Help! oh my! help!"

"Come down," I panted as well as I could for want of breath, "come down!" and I gave the leg I held a tremendous shake.

"Oh!--oh! Pray let me go this time, sir."

"Come down," I cried again fiercely, and I nearly dragged him from the wall, as I held on with all my might.

"No, sir! oh, sir! It wasn't me, sir. It was--oh, please let me go!"

The voice sounded as if it were on the outside of the wall, as my captive hung by his elbows and chest, while I could feel the leg I held quiver and tremble as I tugged hard to get its owner down into the garden; but distant and m.u.f.fled as that voice was, it seemed familiar when it yelled again:

"Oh I pray let me go this time, sir."

"No," I shouted, as I gave the leg a s.n.a.t.c.h and hung on, "Come down, you thieving rascal, come down."

"Why, it's you, is it?" came from the top of the wall, a little plainer now.

"What! George Day!" I exclaimed, but without relaxing my hold.

"Oh, you sneak!" he cried. "Let go, will you."

"No," I cried stoutly. "Come down."

"Sha'n't. It ain't your place. Let go, you sneak."

"I sha'n't," I cried angrily. "Come down, you thief."

"If you call me a thief I'll come down and half smash you. Let go!"

His courage returned as he found out who was his captor, and he kicked out savagely, but I held on.

"Do you hear?" he cried. "Here, let go, and I'll give you a fourpenny piece out of my next pocket-money."