"Now, old chappie," said the captain, "I'm ready. Heave hard, and over I
go."
What was the use of disputing with a man like this? Josiah never had
been inclined to fight with men of strong will. He was certain he could
not move the captain, but he was able to try, and try he did. He got one
foot over the car, the captain encouraging him and cheerfully smoking.
"Very well done, old man. A few more tugs, and over we go. I'll just
have time to finish my cigar before I get to the bottom."
Josiah tugged and tugged till he felt the warm blood rushing through his
veins and his breath came short But though he might move one of the
captain's colossal legs, which seemed to his disordered fancy to be the
size of the Monument, he could do no more. The captain sat passive,
encouraging him by every kindly phrase he could think of. But it was of
no use, and after ten minutes' violent struggling Josiah threw himself
back in the car.
"Very sorry, old man," said the captain, with a tone of unmistakable
sincerity. "Thought once you'd have done it; but I've got a little out
of training lately and run up half a stun. Now I must see what I can do
with you."
First of all he tore off some slips of paper and threw them out. Josiah
looked at them with hungry eyes. Round and round they spun, falling back
into the car or dropping to the world beyond the clouds.
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