"But what's 'appened?" demanded Tilda, recovering herself a little.
"And ow? And oh! what's become of the boy, Arthur Miles?"
"There is a boy, somewhere at the back of me," the Fat Lady answered; "and a dog too. You can talk to them across me; but I couldn't move, not if I was crushin' them ever so."
Tilda called softly to the prisoners, and to her relief Arthur Miles answered out of the darkness, assuring her, albeit in a muffled voice, that they were both safe.
"But what's the meanin' of it?" Tilda demanded again.
"The igsplosion's the meanin' of it."
"But there ain't been no explosh'n. And anyway," said Tilda, "you ain't tellin' me you been blown 'ere?"
"Igsplosion or no igsplosion," replied the Fat Lady incontestably, "'ere I h'am."
"Sure yer can't move?" Tilda coaxed.
At this the Fat Lady showed some irritation.
"I ought to know what I'm capable of by this time. . . . If you could run along and fetch somebody with a tackle and pulley now—"