The boys could not be blamed for this. Probably not more than ten minutes had elapsed from Bob’s first cry of terror till Will’s cry for help; and they had been very much excited and distressed all that time.
“This is no way to get Will out!” Charles said, angrily. “Stop talking, Steve, and bring George’s rope here.”
“George’s rope!” said Will. “That will be the very thing! Get it, Steve; you’re used to hauling donkeys out of pits, you know, so show us your skill.”
The boys laughed for a full minute, and Steve said, as he darted away for the rope, “Will, that’s blunder number ten thousand seven hundred and one for you.”
The rope was found, but it was wet from end to end. However, it proved more useful than when the boys attempted to rescue Herriman with it, and Will, with considerable detriment to his clothes, was pulled out of the hole—his paddles, too.
Although coated with disagreeable slime up to his watch pocket—which, by the way, contained fish-hooks instead of a watch—he took it coolly, as became a redoubtable hero.
In order to turn the conversation from himself, he said, hurriedly, “Now, go into details about Herriman, and then I must pack off home.”
Foolish boy, he need not have been alarmed; he was an object of pity rather than of laughter.
“We told you about Herriman,” growled Steve. “I wish I could have got my claw’s on that boy; I would have made him strain his voice and his muscles!”