“Where’s the drain to lead?”
“Yes; where is the water to run?”
“Where’s the water to run?” said Tom, scratching his head. “Where’s the water to run, Mas’r Harry? Why, I never thought of that.”
“No, Tom, you never thought of that; and you can’t alter it, so it is of no use to grumble.”
“Don’t you two young fellows slacken your hold there,” said a sailor, looking over at us.
“’Taint likely, is it?” said Tom grinning; “why, where should we be if we did?”
“Down at the bottom some day,” growled the sailor as he walked away, and Tom looked at me.
“Just as if it was likely that a fellow would let go and try and drown hisself, Mas’r Harry. Think it’s deep here?” he added as he gazed down into the dense blue water.
“Yes, Tom, very,” I replied, gazing down as well, for the water was beautifully transparent, and the foam left by the bows of the steamer sparkled in the brilliant sunshine as we rushed along.
“Deep, Tom?” I said, “yes, very.”