“Have it which way you like,” said Vince, giving the lanthorn a swing, “but it seems to me most like the back attic window. I say, though, if Lobster has found it out, he’ll have devoured every scrap we left there, and, I daresay, carried off the fishing tackle and pans.”
“A thief! He’d better not,” cried Mike.
“Ha—ha—ha!” laughed Vince. “I do call that good.”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Your calling him a thief for taking away the things he discovered there.”
“Well, so he would be. They’re not his.”
“No,” said Vince, laughing; “and those things in the far cavern aren’t ours, but you want to take them.”
“That’s different,” said Mike hastily. “We only put our things there a few weeks ago; those bales and barrels have been there perhaps hundreds of years.”
“Say thousands while you’re about it, Ladle,” cried Vince cheerily. “Hold hard. Puff!”
The candle was blown out through a hole in the lanthorn, and the latter lowered down to the usual niche close to the cavern wall, where they were accustomed to keep it.