Before we had gone ten feet inside the crevice Thirkle coughed, and
Petrak, close behind him said: "Gold don't rust."
"I say it do," declared Buckrow. "Six months' time in here'll have this stuff with whiskers on it like a Singapore tramp that hasn't been docked in a dog's age."
"I say gold don't rust," persisted Petrak. "How about it, Thirkle? Does gold rust? I say it don't, and Bucky says it do."
"You're right, Reddy, but don't quarrel now," said Thirkle. "It won't rust because gold doesn't rust."
"I don't give a tinker's hang what Thirkle says!" cried Buckrow, throwing down his end of the sack. "I'm here to say gold will rust if it's kept wet, and that's an end of it. Gold do rust, Thirkle or no Thirkle, and I say it."
"All right," agreed Reddy. "Lay on, Bucky, and let's get this job over and done with!"
"White-livered little fool!" I heard Thirkle mutter. "He doesn't dare do it!"
I heard Petrak and Buckrow coming on, and we were soon at the end of the black hole.
"This is a fine place, lads," said Thirkle. "It will keep in here as well as if buried in white, dry sand."
"Maybe it will and maybe it won't," growled Buckrow. "I don't call no wet hole like this fine, and never did, and I'm minded to bury the rest of it outside."