"Oh, Jimmy Blazes! And dey kill you, too!" sighed Iggy. "How sorry I am we both deat are alretty!"
"Who's dead?" asked Jimmy, in a faint voice. "I'm not, anyhow, but blamed near it. Is that you, Iggy?"
"Yes, I it is. But I know not if I am deader or aliver."
"Take my word for it—you're alive so far, though how long you'll be that way—or me, either—I can't say," said Jimmy. "What happened, anyhow?"
To Iggy's relief Jimmy managed to scramble out of the pile of dirt and stones that half buried him. And then, from another corner of what seemed to be the cellar, a third voice said:
"They sent over a proper shell, that time." It was Franz.
"A proper shell? Most improper, I call it!" came from Roger. "It blew the mill to pieces!"
"And us along with it," added Bob. "Are we in the cellar?"
"Sub-cellar, basement—anything you like to call it!" put in Jimmy.
"But is it possible that none of us is seriously hurt?"
He walked over a pile of masonry and beams. He saw Bob crawling out of a hole and Franz swinging himself down from what appeared to be a ledge. Roger picked himself up from a corner. Only Iggy seemed to be seriously hurt, but it was demonstrated, a few moments later, that he was not. For he scrambled out, scattering the dust in a cloud, and stood with his chums.