Bob Hampton laid a hand upon my shoulder to stop me; but I thrust him back and was half into the opening when the rustling sound within increased.
“I’m coming, Blane,” I said, in a loud whisper.
“No, no; don’t you come,” he whispered back. “I’m coming out, and there arn’t room for two.”
I stopped in astonishment, for I had pictured him to be hopelessly fixed and unable to move; and not only did the rustling continue, and he seemed to be approaching, but he said he was coming out.
“Rather an awkward kind o’ place, sir,” he said, and his voice was carried along toward me, so that it sounded as if he were whispering close to my ear. “One feels like a rat going down a pump to make a meal off the sucker, and a drink o’ water after. Don’t you try to come, sir.”
“But I am in, Barney, I came to help you.”
“Thankye, sir; but I’ll talk to you when I get out. I’m coming fast now.”
And he did come on so fast that in less than a minute, as I waited motionless, and with one hand extended to touch his feet when they came into reach, his face was close to mine, and I shrank back as he said—
“Here we are, sir. That’s you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Barney. But you didn’t go in feet first?”