"Hillo!"
"Here--quick--help!" I gasped; and then I was silent, and hearing a
loud ejaculation, as I felt the wood of the penstock tremble.
"All right. Hold tight, lad," said a familiar voice, and a hand grasped
my collar. "I've got you, and I've got him too. Here, can you climb
out?"
"If--if you can hold him," I said.
"I can hold him, and give you a help too. That's the way--get tight
hold of the edge, draw yourself up. Well done. Now sit down, and put
your arm round the post."
I had been conscious of a strong hand grasping my waistband and giving
me a drag up, and now I was sitting trembling and holding tightly by the
post.
"Now then, Master Mercer, don't stare like that, lad. I've got you
safe. There, out you come. My word, you're wet! Stop a moment,
though; you'd better try and get ashore before I pull him right out.
There ain't room for three of us. Can you manage it now?"
"Yes," I said, standing up with my teeth chattering.
"Sure? Don't tumble in."
"I can do it," I said, and, trembling the while as if cold, I walked
dripping along the woodwork to the shore, where I sank down on the grass
as if my legs had suddenly given way, and crouched there watching, as I
saw the man from the farm, Jem Roff, with his arm round Mercer, whom he
had lifted right out, bring him streaming with water to the shore, and
the fishing-rod behind, while, as he lowered him on to the grass, there
was a horrible writhe from something wet close to me, which made me
start away.
"What have you two chaps been at?" cried Roff wonderingly. "The line's
all twissen round his legs,--and hold hard a minute till I get my knife.
I must have that eel."