But just as he was about to turn and gloat over his success, the treacherous coal gave way once more. Hawkins went flat upon his face and slid back to me, feet first.
When he arose he presented a remarkable appearance.
Light overcoat, pearl trousers, fancy vest—all were black as ink. Hawkins' classic countenance had fared no better. His lips showed some slight resemblance of redness, and his eyes glared wonderfully white; but the rest of his face might have been made up for a minstrel show.
“Yes, it's devilish funny, isn't it?” he roared, sitting down again rather suddenly as the coal slid again beneath his feet.
“Funny isn't the word. What's our next move to be?”
“Climb out, of course. There must be some place where we can get a foothold.”
“Why not shout for help?”
“No use. Nobody could hear us down here. Go on, Griggs. Make your attempt. I've done my part.”
“And you wish to see me repeat the performance? Thank you. No.”
“But it's the only way out.”