“The rope’s so slippery,” he said angrily.
“And you call yourselves young gentlemen!” grunted Samson. “Why, you’d ha’ been just as badly off if your rope hadn’t slipped. Here, give us hold.”
Samson seized the rope, and they heard him grunt and pant and cease his struggle, and then begin to grunt and pant again for quite ten minutes, when, just as they rather maliciously hoped that he would prove as awkward as themselves, they heard the lanthorn bang against the rock, a shower of shale fell as it was kicked off, and Samson’s voice came down—
“Line is a bit slithery,” he said; “but I’m all right now.”
They could not see, but they in imagination felt that he had reached the first slope, up which he was climbing, and then felt when he passed up the second, showers of shale and earth following every moment, till, all at once, there was a cessation of noise, and of the shower, and Samson’s bluff voice exclaimed—
“Up a top! Now, then, lay hold, and I’ll have you up to where you can climb.”
“Go on, Scar.”
“Go on, Fred.”
The boys spoke together, and, after a little argument, Scarlett seized the rope, felt himself hoisted up, and, once up at the slope, he soon reached daylight, Fred following in the same way, to stand in the sunshine, gazing at his companions, who, like himself, were covered with perspiration and dust.
“You look nice ones, you do,” said Samson, grinning; “and all that there trouble for nothing.”