Once more I began to feel misgivings as to whether it would be such a game; but I said nothing, only looked on sometimes at Bob, who, in imitation of what he had seen at the quarries, or the places where they blasted out shelves in the cliff-side for houses to be built, was busy driving in a hole right under the big rock by means of the bar, and sometimes at where Bigley was shuffling and sliding down the side of the Gap till he disappeared behind the shed.
“If he gets the powder I wouldn’t put much in,” I said.
“Why not?”
“Because it may be dangerous.”
“There, get out! Just as if I didn’t know what I’m doing. I’ve watched the quarry-men lots of times.”
“Will it split the rock?” I asked.
“All depends how you put your charge,” said Bob very sagely. “I’m going to make it lift the rock, and drop it down over the side, and then away it’ll go and sweep a lot of those big bits with it, just as if they were skittles, and they’ll all go down like a big clatter stream to the bottom.”
“Here’s a better place here,” I said, crawling down on the opposite side of the rock.
“No, it ain’t,” said Bob in his opiniated manner, and without looking. “It ain’t half so good. This is the place. Now go and look, and see if old Big’s coming back.”
I rose up again, and shading my eyes looked down to the cottage, beyond which the sea was glittering in the sun.