But this incident was hardly noticed, for the men were busily arming themselves with lanthorns and candles ready for the descent.
“Four of us’ll be enough,” said Vores, every man present having come forward to descend. “Perhaps Tom Dinass, Esquire, would like to go too, though. If so, we can make room for him.”
There was a roar of laughter at this, and Dinass glared round at the men, as he stood holding one leg resting on the bench, as if it had been badly bitten by the dog.
“Ready?” cried Vores.
“Ay, ay,” was answered.
“Come on, then, and let’s get the boys up. Dessay they’ve found their fathers before now.”
Vores stepped to the skep and laid his hand on the rail just as the last lanthorn was lit and snapped to, when there was the sharp ting on the gong again—the signal from below—and the men gave a hearty cheer.
“Give another, my lads,” cried Vores; and instead of taking their places in the empty skep, the men stood round and saw it descend, while they watched the other portion of the endless wire rope beginning to ascend steadily with its burden.
“I wouldn’t stand in your boots for a week’s wage, my lad,” said Vores, banteringly, as he looked to where Dinass stood, still resting his leg on the bench and holding it.
“You mind your own business,” he growled.