“You would not dare to go down that way.”
“Yes, I would,” said Fred, stoutly; “and so would you,” he added.
“I don’t know,” said Scarlett, dreamily. “But I do. Shall we do it? I’m ready if you are. Come along, then, back to our place, and let’s make old Samson lend as couple of good ropes.”
Scarlett nodded acquiescence, and the two lads, little thinking how their act would be importance in the future, re-climbed the cliff and started toward the Manor at a run.
It proved very easy to propose getting a rope, but much harder to get one, for everything in the shape of hempen cord was under the care of Samson Dee, who had to be found, not at all a difficult task, for he was digging—at least, handling a spade—down the garden.
Samson greeted the coming of the lads with a smile, for it was another excuse for taking a foot from the ground, and resting it upon the spade. But as soon as he heard the want, the smile faded from his face. “You want a what?” he said. “You know what I said, Samson, so no nonsense. Let us have one directly.”
“You want a rope, Master Fred?”
“There, I told you that you did hear me. Yes; I want the longest rope about the place directly.”
“What yer want it for?”
“Never you mind. I tell you I want the rope.”