“Shake hands, Mikey: I’m sorry you and I haven’t always been good friends. I have often been a regular beast to you.”
Mike grasped the extended hands in a firm grip with both of his, as he said, in a choking voice,—
“Not half so bad as I’ve been to you, Cinder. I’ve got such a hasty temper sometimes.”
“Get out!” cried Vince sharply. “There, I’m better now. I’m afraid we’re going to be drowned, Ladle, but I feel as if we ought to be doing something to try and save ourselves. It’s being so cowardly to sit still here. They wouldn’t like it at home.”
“But what can we do? I’m ready.”
“So am I; but it’s so dark. I say, though, we must be going round and round in a sort of hole.”
“Then we shall be drawn right down somewhere into the earth.”
“Not that! I tell you what, it’s like one of those great pot-holes in the big passage, only a hundred times as big; and the water’s sweeping the boulders round, and grinding it out and carrying us along with it. Look here, we shall be kept on going round and round here, if we don’t get smashed, till daylight; and then old Jarks’ll come and find us, and we shall be worse off than ever. I say, though, don’t you think we could do something with the boat-hook?”
“What?”
“Wait till we bump against the rocks again, and then try and hold on.”