"Aha, young Bold!" says Cyrus, clutching me roughly by the arm, "so
you thought to give us the slip, did you?"
I could not deny it, and said nothing.
"Hark 'ee, young Bold," Cyrus went on, "you're to bring us tomorrow
morning a good dozen of old Ellery's apples, d'you hear?"
"A good dozen, young Bold," says Cludde, with the precision of an
echo.
"Let me go, please, Vetch," I said, endeavoring to wrench my arm
away.
"Not so fast, bun face," says he, giving my arm a twist. "You'd
best promise, or it will be the worse for you. Now say after me,
'I, Humphrey Bold, adopted brat of John Ellery'--Speak up now!"
"Please let me go, Vetch," said I, wriggling in his grasp.
"You won't, eh? You're an obstinate pig, eh? You defy us, eh?" and
with every question the bully twisted my arm till I almost screamed
with the pain.
"Don't be a ninny," says Cludde. "What's a few apples! Why, old
Ellery's trees are loaded with 'em."
Vetch's grip somewhat relaxed while Cludde was speaking, and,
seizing the opportunity, I wrenched my arm away with a sudden
movement and took to my heels. Being thin and light of foot, I was
a fleet runner, and though they immediately set off in pursuit, I
gained on them for a few yards, and had some hope of distancing
them altogether. But just as I came to where Dogpole runs into Wyle
Cop, a stitch in the side, which often seized me at inconvenient
times, forced me to slacken speed. Seeing this, they quickened
their pace, and in a few moments they would have had me at their
mercy.
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