Samson chuckled, and thrust his hand into his wallet, where he made a rattling noise.
“Don’t be stupid, Samson,” cried Fred, angrily. “What do you mean?”
“These here, sir,” cried Fred’s follower, drawing something out of the wallet.
“Well, what’s that—flint and steel?”
“Tinder box and bit o’ candle, Master Fred. That’s the best way, after all.”
“Samson!” cried Fred, joyously. “I did not think of that. Come along.”
“Stop a moment, my lad; don’t let’s do nothing rash. Just think a bit.”
“I’ve no time to think.”
“Ay, but you must, sir. That there’s a long hole, and you’re thinking of going down it.”
“Yes, of course.”