“You’re not going out,” said Mrs Solomon.
“Yes, please; it will do me good,” I said; and the air did seem to refresh me, as I followed them back to the well, where the plumber tried it again by lowering down the lighted candle, to find it burn brightly till it was down by the cross piece on which young Dalton had lain, after which it went out directly.
He tried it again and again, always with the same result.
“It’s got lower and lower,” he said. “By to-morrow there won’t be much in. That young gent couldn’t have been overcome by the bad air,” he continued. “It’s my belief as he fell out of being frightened, and it’s lucky for him that he stopped where he did. If he’d gone a foot lower, that doctor wouldn’t have brought him round.”
“Well,” said Mr Solomon rather impatiently, “what are you going to do?”
“Kiver up the well for to-day, and come on tomorrow.”
“But we want water.”
“Can’t help it; I couldn’t go down and work there to-day. My nerves is shook.”
“Suppose we put a rope round you.”
“Bless your heart, Mr Brownsmith, sir, I couldn’t go down if you put two ropes round me. I’m just going to lift out this here ladder, and then p’r’aps your man will help me put on the stone.”