"Be good enough to keep your hands off me, and at the same time kindly tell me exactly what you wish me to do," demanded Steve.
"Wooden-heads! Fools! There is the shovels and there is the cinders. Get them together; shovel the cinders out; then if you don't get enough work shovel them back again. Oh, such——"
"Come on, Bob; Watski is getting excited. He is likely to throw a fit and fall on a hot plate, or something."
Steve walked over to the pit, surveying it questioningly.
"That looks pretty hot to me, sir. Is it ready to be thrown out?"
Bob was standing on the edge gazing at the cinders. A faint cloud of steam was rising from the pit, on which the hose had been played gingerly for some time.
Watski gave him a push, Jarvis jumping to save falling in on his face. The drop was not more than two or three feet to the cinder bed, which was some fifteen feet broad at its top, tapering slightly toward the bottom.
Bob went in up to his knees. No sooner had he done so than he uttered a wild yell.
"It's on fire! I'm burning up!" he howled. "Help me out of this hole! Wow!"