“One,” said Mike. “Three offers out.”
“All right: you shall have your innings then,” said Vince, picking up the hook, aiming more truly, and again sending it flying up.
This time it passed right up out of sight and fell back, striking the bottom of the crack and glancing off again to the floor, falling silently into the sand.
“Two,” cried Mike. “He won’t do it.”
“Wait a bit,” said Vince, and he swung the hook upward. There was a click, and it stayed just within the crack; while the lad laughed. “Now,” he cried, “can’t I do it?”
“No!” said Mike triumphantly, for at the first jerk of the rope the iron fell back into the sand.
“You don’t know how to throw a grapnel,” said Mike, picking up the rope. “There, stand aside and I’ll show you.”
Vince drew back, and after a good deal of swinging, Mike launched the grapnel upward, so that it passed right into the hole some distance from the length of rope which followed; then came a click, and the rope hung swinging from the sloping roof.
“There!” cried Mike.
“It’ll come away as soon as you pull it.”