him, and presently his shoulder struck her knee. He leaned there for a few moments, catching his breath with a little jerk.
"Now I'll—have to—open it—first," he said.
There was another silence; then a little click.
"It's open. I'll have to get with my back to you, on account of my hands being behind me. Oh, I can't reach far enough!"
He caught her dress and pulled himself to his knees.
"Now try," she said, in a voice which did not seem to come from her own lips.
"I still can't reach your hands," he said. "My arms aren't put on right to work backward. If I can get all the way up, I can reach. May I pull hard? Am I hurting you?"
"No; go on."
She felt his hand take a new grip on her skirt, and then the tremendous effort of his pulling himself from his knees to his poor little unsteady feet.
"I'm horribly afraid of cutting you," he said. "I can reach now, but I can't tell just what I'm doing."
"Cut me, if you have to. Don't mind what you do," she said.
