“I can hear it,” muttered Vince, as he kept on nicking; but not a spark took hold of the tinder.
“Here, let me try,” cried Mike.
“No, not yet: I’ll do it. The tinder must have got damp.”
“Turn it over, then,” cried Mike piteously. “Oh, do make haste.”
Vince thrust his fingers into the tinder-box to follow out his companion’s instructions, and uttered an impatient sound.
“What is it now?”
“Such an idiot!” cried Vince. “I never took the tin off the top of the tinder.”
And so it was that after the disk, which damped out the sparks after a light had been obtained, was removed, the first blow of the flint on the steel sent down a shower, a couple of which caught at once, and were blown into an incandescent state, the match was applied, began to melt, and after a little trouble the sputtering candle once more burned brightly behind the semi-transparent horn, while the roaring sound did not now seem to be so loud.
“I say,” said Vince, with a forced laugh, “isn’t it easy to feel scared when you’re in the dark?”
“Scared? It was awful!”