The professor made rapid mental calculations, and then paced off the additional distance necessary to make up the five yards from the original starting-place.
"Now," he said, coming to a halt.
How carefully Walt Phelps nursed that tiny yellow flame, as it burst into being. How eagerly they glanced about them, greedy of every morsel of its light.
Suddenly the professor gave a cry.
"Look!" he sputtered out.
He was pointing downward excitedly. Almost at his feet was a mildewed iron ring. As the light died out, he grasped it.
"Never mind the darkness, now; I've got it!" he cried exultingly.
"Pull it up," urged Ralph, all else forgotten in the mystic spell of hidden treasure.
"Yes, pull," urged Walt.