Joe did not say what was the good of fidgeting, but he fidgeted all the same; and Gwyn noted, as the time went on, that his companion looked quite hollow-cheeked, while at the same time he felt a peculiar sinking sensation that was very much like dread; and at last, as over two hours and a-half had passed, he began to feel that something ought to be done.
Joe not only felt, but said so, and frowned angrily as he spoke.
“It’s too bad,” he said; “those two sit there as coolly and contentedly as if nothing could be the matter. I say, Dinass,” he cried aloud, “do you think there is anything wrong?”
“No, sir,” said the man, coolly, “I don’t. They’re only having a good long prowl. You’ll hear ’em shout to be taken up directly.”
But the boys did not feel satisfied, and hung about the opening, growing more and more uneasy, though Gwyn kept the best face on the matter.
“Don’t you fidget,” he said, “father was only joking, of course, about time; but he knew they’d be down a long while, and he meant to be. They’re all right.”
“They’re not all right,” said Joe, quickly. “They can’t be, or we should have heard from them. They’ve either fallen down some hole, or the roof has come down and crushed them, or they’ve lost their way in some wild out-of-the-way part of the mine. Let’s call for volunteers, and go down and search for them.”
“Hush! Be quiet! Don’t be hysterical,” whispered Gwyn; “there’s no need to call for volunteers. I feel sure I know what it means; this old mine must be very big, perhaps winds about for miles in all directions; and they’re only having a good long hunt now they are down. They’d laugh at us if we were to send volunteers.”
“Send volunteers down!” said Joe.
“Well, lead them then. Wait a bit and see.”