“Oh, no! Do let’s go on!” cried Coppertop. “There may be something frightfully old and mysterious down there. I’ll go alone if you’re afraid.”
That settled it! To be taunted by a mere girl was too much for Tibbs, and taking Kiddiwee by the hand, he descended the steps.
It was now so dark that they had to feel their way along the wall, and once or twice they stumbled over the uneven flooring. On one occasion their blood went cold at the sound of a venomous hiss! And “something” brushed against Coppertop’s legs.
After walking along this passage for what seemed to be a very long way, Tibbs said breathlessly—
“I say! This passage is going down hill! We shall be miles underground, soon. I don’t believe there is a December day down here, or any other day. We have been done!”
“But the voice did ask us to come in, didn’t it?” said Coppertop.
“Yes. But whose voice was it? It sounded to me very much like the Clerk of the Weather.”
“It’s dreadful if it was!” panted Coppertop. “Whatever shall we do?”
“Nothing to do but go on, now,” said Tibbs; “we don’t know the way back—and perhaps it’s all right,” he added, seeing how scared they both were.
There was something so mysterious and awful about this dark, down-hill passage, that they all became quite silent, and only the sound of their stumbling steps and quick breathing could be heard.