“You mind your own business, Browny. Anyone would think you were the master here.”
“Master or no, here’s Sir Francis coming. Let’s see whether he likes you to be throwing stones down the well.”
Mr Solomon uttered a sigh of relief, for, as Sir Francis came along a neighbouring path, the two lads slowly walked away.
“That’s a blessing,” he said. “Now we can work in peace. You’ll try her first—won’t you, plumber?”
“All right, gardener. What are you scared about?”
Mr Solomon looked at him angrily and then said:
“I don’t know that I’m scared about you, my man; but I don’t want to risk my life, or to send down one of my men to fetch you out.”
The plumber grunted, and I looked on wondering what the danger was, for I knew nothing then about chemistry or foul gases; and I stared all the more when the plumber took a ball of thin string from his jacket pocket, tied the candle with a couple of half hitches, and then struck a match and lit the wick. Then as soon as it was burning brightly, sheltered by his hands from the breeze, he stooped down and held it in the well and then lowered it down.
We stood round watching the candle swing gently and the flame dance as the plumber slowly unrolled the ball of string.
At first the light looked very pale; but it grew brighter as it left the sunshine near the mouth of the well and lit up the dark slimy-looking old bricks, the rusty iron pipe, and the cross pieces of timber, while far down I could now and then catch sight of the cylinder of the pump as the candle began to swing now like a pendulum. It was very indistinct, just gleaming now and then, while the walls glistened, and I realised more and more what a horrible place it would be for anyone to fall into.