“Why,” said Saxe, “I thought this lake was very beautiful; but you seem to be taking all the blue out of it. Ugh! why, it would be like falling into a well and trying to get out. I shall be glad to get away from this place.”
“That’s imagination, Saxe,” said Dale; “and imagination is something all mountaineers should leave behind.”
“Why?” said Saxe argumentatively.
“Don’t go so near to the mule’s heels: if he kicks you, nothing could save you from a fall into the lake.”
“That’s imagination, sir,” said Saxe, laughing; “and imagination is something all mountaineers should leave behind.”
Dale frowned, but laughed directly after.
“Pert, but smart, Saxe,” he said. “Seriously, though, a mountain climber, who must naturally be often walking along risky places, has enough to think about without indulging in fancies of what might be if this happened or that took place. Such thoughts may unnerve him; and you may depend upon it, some of the bravest things are done by those who think the least. I remember, one day in London, seeing the men taking down one of those vast scaffolds formed, not of poles, but of square timbers bolted together; and I saw one man, about a hundred and fifty feet from the ground, standing on one of these pieces of timber, which was fastened to an upright at each end. He was looking on while another workman unscrewed one of the bolts which held it.”
“How wide was it?” said Saxe, looking down at the narrow shelf of rock upon which he was walking.
“About ten inches, I suppose. There was nothing near him, for he was on the very top of the scaffolding, which swayed a little with the weight of the wood; but he seemed perfectly cool and comfortable up there, and after a few minutes he turned and walked along it to the other end, while I, who have often gone along dangerous ledges of ice, felt my hands turn wet inside.”
“With fright?”