"Now, chaps, let's get back to the cathedral. There's a likely spot there—that hole, I mean, where the boulder was jammed."
"What's the time, Mr. Neville?" asked Joe, on arrival at the big chamber.
"Quarter to one."
"Why, we've hardly been three hours in! I made sure it was about six."
"I vote we have a go at the prog," chipped in Tom. "It'll help to take the nasty taste away."
"Good idea!" was the general verdict.
The pals had lost a good deal of their natural spirits. Three hours groping in semi-darkness, with a throat full of choke-damp thrown in, was enough to stale the strongest; yet they had no thought of surrender. They were "baffled, to fight better."
In a few minutes the outer entrance is gained, and in another five minutes they reach camp.
The hot tea was particularly acceptable. Nothing in the wide world could have been more refreshing and stimulating. Billy-tea boiled with gum sticks, just so far sweetened as to countervail the natural roughness without impairing the aromatic flavour, stands at the head of all beverages—whether aerated, brewed, distilled, or concocted.
"My word, this is bully tea, ain't it?" cried Tom, smacking his lips with satisfaction, after emptying his pannikin for the third time.