“I tink I can get dat rope out dere, if you’ll gimme a chanct, boss,” piped a voice at his elbow.
They all looked around. It was Jimmie, whom, in the stress of the last minutes, they had forgotten as completely as if he had never existed. But now here he was, repeating, with calm assurance, but no braggadocio, his offer:
“I tink I can get it to him, if you’ll gimme a chanct.”
CHAPTER IV.
JIMMIE’S PLUCK.
“You can get that rope to him?”
The professor’s voice held a note of amazement and possibly one of unconscious incredulity, for Jimmie colored under his gaze.
“Sure I can.” He spoke rapidly, for it was no time to waste words. “I used ter be wid a circus for a time, see. I learned ter do a balancin’ act wid a troupe. I’ll jes’ take dat long stick dere fer a balancin’ pole, and I’ll snake him out fer youse, er—er I’ll go up de flume meself.”