“Not I,” cried Vince.
“Get out that tinder-box at once!”
“Do you want to make me savage?” growled Vince. “I don’t care what I make you now,” cried Mike. “You’re going to strike a light, so that we can find our way out.”
“I’m not going to strike a light and go back to please you, Ladle, and so I tell you,” said Vince, holding his companion at arm’s length, with his teeth set, and a strong desire rising in him to double his fists and strike. “Give me the flint and steel,” cried Mike fiercely. For answer Vince wrenched himself free, thrust out his hands, and, guiding himself by the wall, backed softly away and stood motionless, listening to Mike’s movements. Then, stooping, he picked up a stone and pitched it over where he supposed Mike to be standing, with the result that it clattered down on the floor.
His anger had evaporated, and his face relaxed into a grin, for his ruse took effect directly. Judging that the noise was made by Vince backing from him, and in his horror and confusion mistaking his way, Mike thrust out his hands and went in the direction of the sound, while, under cover of the noise made, Vince backed still farther, moving as silently as he could.
“Now then,” cried Mike, from fully thirty yards away, “it’s of no use,—I have you. No more nonsense: take out that box and strike a light.”
Vince turned aside to smother his laughter, then turned back to listen.
“Do you hear me?” cried Mike, in a hoarse, excited tone. “You’ll be sorry for this. See if I come out with you again!”
Vince remained perfectly still, listening while he heard Mike make a short dash or two in the darkness as if to seize him, kicking up the stones on the floor and once more threatening what he would do when he got hold of his companion again.
Then he shouted louder, his voice echoing along the passage; and at last from far back in the darkness he groaned out: