“A-swallerin’ the water, Billy,” said Smith, interposing a word or two.
“So I was, Tommy, lots of it. I kep’ on swallerin’ that water till I didn’t swaller no more ’cause there warn’t no room. So, of course, I left off, and went bobbin’ up and bobbin’ down, sometimes goin’ head fust and sometimes legs fust. Oh, it was at a rate! And it was as dark as pitch, and you couldn’t get out this side nor t’other side neither.”
“Well, go on,” said Mr Rimmer, impatiently.
“Yes, sir; and there I goes, getting in a puff o’ wind now and then when I has a charnsh, and the water a-rooshin’ me along and the bottom all slithery, and sometimes I was heads up and sometimes toes, and the water kep’ a carryin’ of me along so as I couldn’t stand straight nor sit down nor kneel nor nothing. But on I keeps again, on and on and on, and sometimes I was down and—”
“I say,” said Panton, “wasn’t it a very long way?”
“Yes, sir, a mortal long ways, and sometimes the water got me down when I tried to swim and sometimes—”
“Yes, yes, yes,” cried Oliver, for the mate was roaring with laughter; “but you’ve told us all that over and over again. We want you to get to the end.”
“That’s what I wanted to do, sir,” said Wriggs, “but there didn’t seem to be no end and the water kep’ a—”
“My good fellow, that isn’t the way to tell a story,” cried Oliver, impatiently. “Now, then, get on: we’ve had enough of that. The water swept you along a dark cavernous place where it had cut a way through the lava, and you couldn’t keep your feet.”
“That’s it, sir. You can tell it ever so much better nor me. Go on, please.”