“Think not, Jem?”
“I feel ’bout sure on it. Look here, Mas’ Don, I arn’t got any money, but if I had, I’d wager half-a-guinea that all the sharks are at home and fast asleep; and if there’s any of ’em shut out and roaming about in the streets—I mean in the sea—it’s so dark that they couldn’t see more than an inch before their noses; so let’s open our knives ready, in case one should come, so that we could dive down and stab him, same as the natives do, and then swim on ashore. I’ll risk it: will you?”
Don was silent for a few moments.
“Don’t say yes, my lad, if you’d rayther not,” said Jem, kindly. “I don’t want to persuade you.”
“I’m ready, Jem. I was thinking whether it was right to let you go.”
“Oh, never you mind about me, my lad. Now, look here, shall us one go down each rope, or both down one?”
“Both down this one close here, and whoever goes down first can wait for the other. Yes, Jem; I’ll go first.”
“When?”
“Now, at once.”
“Hoo—ray!” whispered Jem in Don’s ear, so sharply that it produced a strange tickling sensation.