“Does he pull so hard?”
“Horribly; but I don’t mind—it shows he knows his way.”
Grip barked and dragged at the improvised leash as if determined to hasten their pace.
“It’s just like the greyhounds do over the coursing. But pull away, old chap! I say, though, isn’t it hot now?”
“Yes, I’m bathed in perspiration. We must be very deep down.”
“Oh, no, it’s just about on a level; sometimes we go down, and sometimes up.”
Splash, splash, splash, and then the dog’s progress seemed to be checked, as the boys followed into a pool of water which filled all the tunnel to the sides.
“Stop!” cried Joe, as he waded to his knees.
“Why? What for?”
“Because we’re going wrong.”