Just as I was in one of my most nervous fits, there was a momentary cessation of the pumping, and instead of hissing and spurting violently from the nozzle, the water ceased for a moment or two and then shot out in a couple of feeble spurts.
“It’s all over,” I thought; “the pump has broken down.”
But the thought had hardly crossed my mind when the jet came as strong as ever, and I knew that they must have been changing hands, proof of this being the correct idea coming directly after out of the dense mist. For a well-known voice exclaimed—
“Hold on tight, Mr Dale, sir; we’re coming by this side, so as to speak you.”
“Who’s with you, Bob?” I cried.
“T’other two, sir; Barney and Neb. There’s Mr Trout-and-Salmon Preddle at one handle, and the doctor at t’other, with Mr Brymer to relieve while we’re off dooty to go and ’vestigate the wittling department. That’s so, eh, lads?”
“Ay, ay,” growled Dumlow.
“That’s so,” said Barney; “and then I’m to take my turn at the squirting, if so be as you can’t put it out.”
“No fear of that, Barney,” I cried. “It seems as if it won’t be put out.”
“Oh, it’ll have to, sir, ’fore we’ve done with it.”