“My studies in Caesar and Horace never gave me the power to be conversational, Dale,” he replied; and soon after, as it was now getting late, and from the sounds we heard forward it was evident that the crew were enjoying themselves, Mr Frewen proposed that we should make our first start at cutting the board.
Word was passed through the opening to Mr Preddle, who was all eagerness to begin, and asked for one of the little saws, so that he might work at the top of the board while we cut at the bottom; but Mr Frewen promptly decided that one of the instruments would make quite enough noise, and told him that he must understand that our task was one probably of days, for everything must be done slowly and carefully, and in a way that would leave no traces behind.
“Very well,” said Mr Preddle, almost petulantly, “you know best; but I am very, very anxious to get out of this wretched cabin.”
“So are we,” said Mr Frewen. “Help us, then, by keeping guard by your door, and at the slightest sound outside giving us the alarm.”
“Yes, yes; of course,” he said eagerly; and directly after, in the darkness, I heard Mr Frewen open the drawer and the instrument-case, to take out the little saw which might open our prison, and cut a way into another for the scoundrelly mutineers.
“How are you going to begin?” I whispered, after listening at the door. “Shall I bore some holes first to make a way in for the saw?”
“They will not be necessary,” he replied. “I can manage to cut a way across the last board but one.”
“Why not the last?” I asked.
“Not enough room to work. I shall try to cut in a sloping way to splay the board if I can, so that it will fit better when we put it back—if we get one out. Hush!—don’t talk.”
I stood close by him, ready to help in any way he required, and expected that when he grew tired he would ask me to take his place, so that no time might be lost.