“And you are beginning a mutiny,” cried Stan angrily.
“No, sir; only going to stop you from doing a mad thing.”
“Mad?”
“Yes; going to throw your life away, when we want you to help us.”
Stan hesitated.
“I don’t want to do anything mad,” he said more quietly. “But we must know the meaning of what is going on upstairs and outside. The enemy may be laying a mine to blow us all up.”
“No, they may not, sir. In their selfish cunning they will not do anything to destroy the place.”
“Absurd!” cried Stan. “Why, they’ve been trying since the beginning to burn the place down.”
“Oh no, sir; there you’re wrong. Only to drive us out—stifle us with their stink-pots. As soon as they had done that they would have been the first to drown out any fire that had taken hold. Come, sir; I’ve fought my best and tried to prove to you that I was staunch, so take my advice—wait.”
“No one could have been more brave and true,” cried Stan warmly. “Forgive me if I have spoken too hotly, but don’t try and stop me now. I must make a dash for it.”