“Beg pardon, sir, I couldn’t help letting go, ’cause I thought we was all going to be sucked down that hole, and yer couldn’t tell whether yer was coming up again; and though I’m a tidy swimmer, I never tried hot water; but if so be as you don’t mind, me and my mate’d rayther go on along with you.”
“But you’re so wet, my lad.”
“Well, sir, that’ll only be a job for the sun to dry us, and it’s been a good wash for us and our duds too.”
“Oh, if you don’t mind,” said Oliver; “I don’t think it will hurt you. What do you say, Wriggs?”
“I didn’t say nothing, sir; I was only squeezing the hot water out o’ my trowges.”
“But do you mind being wet?”
“No, sir. I was born aboard a canal boat, and often tumbled in and had to be fished out by my father with the spitcher. I rayther like it.”
“That’s right, Billy. You don’t want to go back, do you?”
“No, matey, I want to continue on my travels, and see this here cur’us land; only if we air to have another adventer I should like it to be a dry ’un, if it’s all the same to the gents.”
“Then come along,” said Oliver, “you’ll soon get dry.”