Fortunately their fall was not always direct. There were times when they seemed to be sliding down a steep slope, while dust filled their eyes and mouths, and they were bruised and scratched and robbed of breath.
Finally, when it had seemed they would never cease falling, they stopped with a great thump and lay panting side by side.
“Great humping misery!” gasped Rattleton, weakly. “Are we diving or are we lead—I mean are we living or are we dead?”
“We seem to be living,” said Frank, “but we might be better off if we were dead. I think we are in a bad scrape.”
“What happened to us, anyway?”
“We fell.”
“Or were we pushed?”
“There was no pushing about it. We took the tumble ourselves.”
“You don’t suppose the chaps we were following fell down here ahead of us?”
“No.”