“What, again, sir? I got washed enough last night to last me for a bit. Fine place this would be to bring a cargo of umbrellas, if there was any one to buy ’em. I never saw it rain like that.”
“Oh, Ned—Ned, do try and talk sensibly,” cried Jack. “How can you make jokes when we are in such danger?”
“I dunno about being in danger now, sir. We’re pretty safe at present. I say, sir, this must be the way down into the kitchen,” continued Ned, as he went on dressing, and trying to peer into the darkness of the cavernous place. “My word, can’t you smell the black beadles?”
“I do smell something,” replied Jack thoughtfully. “It must be volcanic.”
“Beadly, sir. There, it’s quite strong.” At that moment from farther in a fluttering and squealing sound was heard, and Ned started back. “There, sir, I said so. Mice and rats too.”
“Nonsense; it is the great fruit bats.”
“What, those we see of a night, sir, bigger than pigeons?”
“Yes; this is one of their roosting-places.”
“And do they smell like beadles, sir?”
“Yes; very much like. But now, Ned, what shall we do next?”