“I think you could—bagosh,” answered Denzil heavily. “They’ll bring a rope to haul me up?”
“Junia has a lot of sense, she won’t forget anything.”
“And if your father’s there, he’ll not forget anything,” remarked Denzil.
“He’ll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow,” said the boy stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the brass-headed toes.
There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the words: “You’ll have your own way about the boots.”
Carnac murmured, and presently said:
“Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you’d have been in the water, and then I couldn’t have been of any use.”
“I hear them coming—holy, yes!”
Carnac strained his ears. “Yes, you’re right. I hear them too.”
A few moments later, Carnac’s father came sliding down the bank, a rope in his hands, some workmen remaining above.