“Same as you got on. Grab hold of that root above, there under the stone, and—don’t look down. Look up. That’s all right,” as Elvesdon, panting somewhat, stood once more on the summit beside them.
“Well done,” cried Edala enthusiastically. “You are the only one besides myself who has ever looked over the Sipazi krantz. Several have tried but none of them had the nerve to get as far as the tree. Some wouldn’t even go at all.”
“The only sensible ones of the lot,” said Thornhill shortly. “It’s a fool’s trick, anyway.”
“Have you done it yourself, Thornhill?” asked Elvesdon. “I suppose you have?”
“Not any. Anyone could see that the thing wouldn’t stand my weight for a minute: even if I were such a—” He checked himself, remembering that his guest had just qualified for the uncomplimentary substantive he had been on the point of defining. “But I’m going to have a charge of dynamite brought up here and the thing blown to blazes. It’s too silly risky.”
Elvesdon was rather astonished. Thornhill was undergoing the process known as ‘working himself up.’ Yet when he himself was down there, his host’s tone had been absolutely level. And Thornhill himself was making up his mind to talk very seriously to Edala on the subject, little thinking that before any opportunity of doing so should come round, that might occur which should put any such idea clean out of his mind.