“No, that I won’t,” cried his companion. “I’ll make the best of what we’ve got as much as you like, but I must draw the line somewhere—I won’t be thankful.”
“I will,” said Aleck, good-temperedly; “thankful enough for both.”
“Come on,” said the midshipman, gruffly.
“Wait a moment till I’ve coiled up the line loosely. We may want it, and it must be hung up to dry.”
This was done, and then after noting that the water was growing deeper in the direction of the sea entrance, the pair made their way right round by the head, stopped at the spring to have a hearty drink, and then pressed on, lanthorn in hand, to their resting-place, where, thoroughly upset by his adventure, the midshipman grumbled at everything till Aleck burst into a hearty laugh.
“Hallo!” cried his companion, eagerly; “let’s have it. Got a bright idea as to how to get out?”
“No,” said Aleck, “I was laughing at the comic way in which you keep on finding fault.”
“Humph! Well, I have been going it rather, haven’t I?”
“Doing nothing else but growl.”
“That’s the worst of having a nasty temper. Don’t do a bit of good either, does it?”