“No, we’re not; we’re trying to make you feel that we’re grateful for what you did, Sam,” said Gwyn.
“Why, of course, I know that,” said the man, with his voice sounding husky and strange; “but don’t you see what you’re doing, both of you?”
“Yes; shaking hands,” said Joe.
“Nay; pumping my arms up and down till you’ve made the water come. Look here, if, if my eyes aren’t quite wet. Ah!”
Hardock gave himself a shake, as if to get rid of his feeling of weakness, and then indulged in one of his broadest smiles.
“There,” he said, “it’s all over now; but my word, me and Harry Vores—ay, and every man-Jack of us—did feel bad. For, as I says to Harry, I says, it warn’t as if it had been two rough chaps like us reg’lar mining lads. It was our trade; but for you two young gents, not yet growed up, to come to such an end was more than we could bear. But we did try, lot after lot of us. It warn’t for want o’ trying that we didn’t find you. Wonderful place, though, aren’t it?”
“Horrible!” said Joe.
“Oh, I don’t know, sir; not horrible,” said the man in a tone that was half-reproachful; “it’s wonderful, I call it, and ten times as big as I expected.”
“So big and dangerous that it will be no good,” said Joe.
“What!” cried Hardock, laughing. “Did you look about you when you were down there?”