“Yes: I see.”
“We’ve got to get this laid-down rock in a line with it, and there are our bearings; we can’t be wrong then.”
“No,” cried Mike. “Who wouldn’t know how to take his bearings when he’s out, and wants to mark a spot! Now then, is it lay our heads for home?”
It was a long while before either of them slept that night for thinking of their discovery, and when they did drop off, the dark, tunnel-like place was reproduced in their dreams.
Chapter Nine.
Study versus Discovery.
“Dear, dear, dear, dear!” in a tone full of reproach, and then a series of those peculiar sounds made by the tongue, and generally written “tut-tut-tut-tut!” for want of a better way—for it is like trying to express on paper the sound of a Bosjesman’s click cluck or the crowing of a cock.
The speaker was Mr Humphrey Deane—a tall, pale, gentlemanly-looking young university man, who, for reasons connected with his health, had arranged with Sir Francis Ladelle and the Doctor to come and stay at the Mount, where he was to have a comfortable home and the Doctor’s attendance, a moderate stipend, and, in exchange, to help on the two lads in their studies every morning, the rest of the day being his own.