Hardock chuckled.
“It’s just the part, sir, as is worth nothing except for show,” he said. “It’s very pretty, but there isn’t an ounce o’ tin to a ton o’ working here, sir, and—”
His words were checked by a faintly-heard muffled roar, which was followed by a puff of moist air and the customary whispering sound of echoes; but before they had died away Grip set up his ears, passed right away into the darkness, and barked with all his might.
“Quiet, sir!” cried Gwyn; but the dog barked the louder.
“Kick him, Ydoll; it’s deafening,” cried Joe.
“Didn’t that shot sound rather rum to you?” said Hardock.
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Gwyn, who was slow to take alarm. “Sounded like a shot and the echoes.”
“Nay; that’s what it didn’t sound like,” said Hardock, scratching his head. “It was sharper and shorter like, and we didn’t ought to hear it like that all this distance away.”
“Isn’t the roof of the mine fallen in, is it?” said Gwyn, maliciously, as he watched the effect of his words on his companions. “You, Grip, if you don’t be quiet, I’ll rub your head against the rough wall.”
“Nay, this roof’ll never fall in, sir,” said Hardock, thoughtfully. “More it’s pushed the tighter it grows.”