“Harry?” repeated Gilroy. “Is he in this nightmare, too?”
“Oh, Harry’s all right,” Jimmie answered, resolved to get in a parting shot at the frightened man. “Harry’s fine as a fiddle. He’s got a busted wing, and an annex on his steeple big enough to put a bell in. That’s all that’s the matter with Harry!”
“Say, Jimmie,” Ned interposed, “perhaps you’d better take Gilroy back to the place where we left Harry.”
“You come along, too, then!” the boy insisted.
“Perhaps I’d better remain here on the chance of some of the outlaws getting into the pit,” Ned suggested.
“According to all accounts, there’s two in the pit now,” Jimmie chuckled as he turned away. “Now, Gilroy,” he continued, taking the frightened man by the arm, “I’ll escort you into the chief’s office, and give you the third degree! I think you’ll learn to like this place!”
The two disappeared in the darkness, Jimmie wisely restraining an inclination to light the way with his electric. Ned remained at the entrance for some moments, listening for further evidences of an attack, but none came. Then he heard footsteps and heard a chuckle close behind.
“What do you think?” Jimmie asked. “Jack and Frank have crawled out of the bottomless pit and are back there trying to comfort Harry. As for Gilroy, he’s trying to send his sobs by wireless to New York.”
“What’s the use tantalizing Gilroy!” Ned said, unable to restrain a laugh. “You’ve got him so scared now that he doesn’t know which way is from him. Why don’t you let him alone?”
“I try to let him alone,” Jimmie replied with assumed gravity, “but when I think how fat he is, and how his face reminds me of a cold roast of veal, I just can’t help stirring him up a bit.”