“Down there?” said Saxe, after a glance. “Oh, I say!”
“It is an ugly bit, certainly,” said Dale, looking at the guide.
“With a little care it is nothing,” said Melchior. “The herr will go down first. He has only to mind where he plants his feet. When he reaches that ledge he will stop till we join him.”
As Melchior spoke he unfastened the rope from Dale’s breast and placed the end from his own breast there instead; after which he set himself in a good position by the edge.
“Hadn’t we better get the youngster down first?”
“No, herr, you are heavy, and if you slip he can help me to hold you. We can do it easily. Then you will untie yourself, and I can let him down.”
“And what then?” cried Saxe merrily, to conceal a feeling of uneasiness at the awkward descent before him. “Are we to come up again and let you down?”
“The young herr speaks like a gentleman Irlandais who was with me last year. He made John Bulls, his friend said.”
“Irish bulls, Melchior,” said Dale, smiling.
“Ah, yes, the herr is right, they were Irish bulls; but I do not quite know. Are you ready?”