The speaker had taken on an air of excitement at the prospect.
Alas! The matches in Henri's possession had been carried on his sleeping side, the side all night in contact with the slimy floor. There was not a strike in one of them.
Schneider, inveterate smoker that he was, remembered that his pipe, tobacco and match-case were all in the pocket of his great coat, of which the Cossacks had divested him after capture.
So in silence the unfortunate three mouthed the soaked meal, bitterly disappointed that they could not realize upon Billy's brilliant idea.
From bad to worse, they did realize, and soon, upon a much less desirable development. The rain had no stop this time to reduce the water flow into the cellar. In restoring the meal sack to the shelf for safekeeping, Schneider's long boots were wetted to the knees, and there was nothing to do but mount the ladder, and stay there.
To save a fall when napping, the prisoners lengthened their belts and buckled themselves each to a rung above the one upon which he sat.
"While you were wishing awhile ago, Schneider, why didn't you wish for a boat?"
"You'd joke on the way to the scaffold, young man," said the subdued firebrand, fixing a reproachful look on Billy.
"Never say die," retorted the irrepressible youth.
Another wearing night, and in Schneider's next trip for the meal bag his hip boots were none too long in the matter of preventing his taking on a cargo of water.