“I'm sure it is I, Fred Munson.”
“Whoop! hurrah!” shouted Mickey, leaping several feet in the air, and, as he came down, striking at once into the Tipperary jig.
The overjoyed fellow kept it up for several minutes, making the cold, moist sand fly in every direction. He terminated the performance by a higher leap than ever, and a regular Comanche war-whoop. Having vented his overflowing spirits in this fashion, the Irishman was ready to come down to something like more sober common sense. Reaching out, he took the hand of Fred, saying as he did so:
“Let me kaap hold of your flipper, so that I can prevint your drifting away. Now tell me, my laddy, how did you get here?”
“I come down the same way that you did.”
“Through the skylight up there? It's a handy way of going down-stairs, the only trouble being that it's sometimes inconvanient to stop so suddint like. Did n't you obsarve the opening till you stepped into it?”
“I didn't see it then. I was near it, asleep, and when I woke up in the night I crawled in under the bushes to shelter myself, when I went through into the cave. How was it you followed?”
“I was sarching for ye, as I've been doing for the last two days and more. I obsarved the hole, for I had the daylight to help me, and I crawled up to take a paap down to see who lived there, when I must have gone too fur, as me uncle obsarved after he had been hung in a joke, and the ground crumbled beneath me, and I slid in. But let me ax you again, are ye much acquainted in these parts? You know I'm a stranger.”
“I never was here before. I've looked around all I can, but haven't been able to find how big the cave is. There's a small waterfall, and the stream comes in and goes out somewhere, and there is one rent, at least, so deep that I don't believe it has any bottom. I've learned that much, and that's all.”
“That's considerable for a laddy like you. Are you hungry?”