“Yes,” I replied, and without a moment’s pause he rose, thrust his head and shoulders into the hole, and as he drew himself in, he began to whistle.
“He’d better save his wind,” grumbled Dumlow. “He’ll want it soon.”
“Ay, that’s the worst o’ young chaps, they’re so wasteful,” muttered Bob Hampton. “But they thinks they knows best. How are you getting on, messmate?”
“Tidy—tidy!” came back. “It arn’t so very tight.”
The rustling went on, and I heard Dumlow whisper—
“When he holloas, let’s fetch him out with a will.”
“Ay, ay, but he don’t holloa,” said Bob. “Why, he’ve got farder than we did.”
“Nay, not he. Why, he have though!”
For the whistling went on, just a softened hissing, and it was evident that Barney had got some distance in. What was more was that he was still progressing.
“He’s going to do it, Bob!” I cried excitedly.