“Hullo!”
“Don’t make any fuss; don’t alarm anybody. I don’t want them to know at home.”
“But suppose we never get you out again?” shouted Josh, in a tone of voice that startled a shag which was about to settle on a shelf of rock hard by, and sent it hurrying away to sea.
Will stamped his foot at this, and mentally vowed that he would never trust Josh again.
“Go and borrow a line,” he cried, “and look sharp. I don’t want any one to know.”
“All right!” cried Josh; and directly after Will knew that he was alone.
The place was not absolutely dark, for he could plainly make out the edge of the gallery, seen as it were against a faint twilight that came from above; and this was sufficient to guide him as to how far he dare go towards the shaft if he wished to move.
For the first few minutes, though, he felt no disposition that way, and seating himself on the stony floor, with hundreds of loose fragments of granite beneath him, he tried to be calm and cool, and to come to a conclusion as to how he should escape.
If Josh came back soon with a rope it would be easy enough; and possibly they might be able to rig up a grappling-iron or “creeper,” as the fishermen called it, for the line that was lost; but a little consideration told him that in all probability the line had sunk before now and was right at the bottom of the shaft.
Then he wondered how long Josh would be, and whether he would have much difficulty in borrowing a rope.