"Run! Run!" whispered Mr. Shrig's voice behind him. "Ve can do it now,
--run!"
"No!" panted Barnabas, wiping the blood from his cheek. "Run!"
cried Mr. Shrig again, "there's a place I knows on close by--ve can
reach it in a jiff--this vay,--run!"
"No!"
"Not run? then v'ot vill ye do?"
"Make them!"
"Are ye mad? Ha!--look out!" Once more the echoing passage roared
with the din of conflict, as their assailants rushed again, were
checked, smote and were smitten, and fell back howling before the
thrust of the nobbly stick and the swing of the heavy bludgeon.
"Now vill ye run?" panted Mr. Shrig, straightening the broad-brimmed
hat.
"No!"
"V'y then, I vill!" which Mr. Shrig immediately proceeded to do.
But the scowl of Barnabas grew only the blacker, his lips but curled
the fiercer, and his fingers tightened their grip upon the bludgeon
as, alone now, he fronted those who remained of the nine.
Now chancing to glance towards a certain spot, he espied something
that lay in the angle of the wall, and, instinctively stooping, he
picked up Mr. Shrig's little book, slipped it into his pocket, felt
a stunning blow, and reeled back, suddenly faint and sick.
Pages:
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335