Winnie lowered the window, and put her head out, white as a ghost.

In the depths of the cab, her mother was exclaiming, in tones of anguish: "Is that boy hurt?
Is that boy hurt ?" Stevie was not hurt, he had not even fallen, but excitement as usual had robbed him of the power of connected speech.

He could do no more than stammer at the window.

"Too heavy.

Too heavy." Winnie put out her hand on to his shoulder.
"Stevie! Get up on the box directly, and don't try to get down again." "No.