“Then strike lower man.”
“There, then,” cried Samson, viciously, as he nicked harder, with the result that one of the tiny sparks, instead of fading out, seemed to remain motionless on the floor. This spark Samson blew till it increased and glowed more brightly, showing his face close to the light, and the point of something yellow being applied to the red glow.
That something yellow, being a pointed match dipped in brimstone, began to melt, and then boil and burst into a blue fluttering flame, which ignited the match; and the next minute Samson held up the lighted candle close to the arched roof of the passage, exclaiming, “There!” in a triumphant tone; and then, “Why, this is only a big drain, Master Fred!”
“Hist! Give me the light,” said Fred, as he listened intently.
“Going along here, sir?”
“Yes, of course.”
“All right, sir; I’m candlestick,” said Samson, making a rattling noise as he replaced the light-engendering apparatus in his pouch.
“No, no; I’ll go first,” said Fred, impatiently.
“Yes, sir; you shall go first after the light.”
“Samson!”