I ran to the side with my heart throbbing painfully, and I felt as if my eyes were wild and staring as I saw the lad go down about a dozen feet and stop.
“I say, Phil,” he cried, with his voice echoing and sounding hollow, “come down. It is so jolly and cool.”
“I’ll go down when you’ve come up,” said his brother. “That isn’t far enough. I don’t call that anything.”
“Wait a bit. Don’t be in a wax.”
“Come up, sir, pray come up,” I cried. “There’s foul air lower down. The candle wouldn’t burn.”
“Pitch him down if he don’t hold his tongue, Phil,” cried Courtenay. “Here goes for a slide.”
He grasped the sides of the ladder, took his feet off the round on which he stood, and throwing his legs round he began to slide slowly down.
“I say, it’s as cool as eating ices, Phil,” he cried. “Come on down.”
Philip made no answer, but glanced at me, and I suppose my blanched and horrified countenance startled him, for he too suddenly turned white and exclaimed:
“There, you’ve won, Court. I give in. Come back now.”