“What, for him to smell the frying? He would, as sure as could be. No; we must wait.”
“I say, Cinder,” whispered Mike, “what an unlucky day we are having! Everything seems to go wrong.”
“It’ll go worse still if you whisper so loud,” said Vince; “the sound runs along the walls here, and gets stronger, I believe, as it goes.”
“Well, I can’t help it; I feel so wild. I say, couldn’t we creep out without being seen, and get home?”
“Yes, when it’s dark; not before.”
“But that means waiting here for hours, and I feel as if I can’t settle to anything now. Let’s go back down to the cave. The smugglers can’t come to-day. It would be too bad.”
“Better wait here and watch till Lobster goes,” said Vince; but, yielding at last to his companion’s importunity, he was about to follow him back, when there was a loud rustling, a heavy thud, and then a dismal howl.
The Lobster had slipped and fallen into the rift while backing so as to get a better view of the ridge.
“Oh my! Oh my! Oh, mother! Oh, crikey! Oh my head—my head! Oh, my arm! Oh, it’s broke! And I’m bleeding! Won’t nobody come and help me?”
The above, uttered in a piteous, dismal wail, was too much for Vince’s feelings; and, pushing his companion aside, he was about to hurry to the lad’s help, but Mike seized him by the arm, and at the same moment they heard Carnach junior jump up and begin stamping about.