“I feel better moving. It was just fright, panic!” declared Gloria, actually getting to her feet, noting the auto robe she had been resting upon and remembering Marty’s hurt ankle.
“Oh, he can’t walk!” she exclaimed. “We must bring the robe—”
But when they got there Ben Hardy was on the little landing in the cellar, with Tommy Whitely astride the rail, and Marty Gorman was talking a blue streak.
“Yes, sir! Right over there. Flash your light and you kin see it—” he insisted.
The handy pocket light was flashed at the guilty pool that still bubbled, and swirled and even splashed against the wall occasionally.
“Sure as you live!” exclaimed Ben, the young student.
Trixy and Gloria stood at the top of the stairs. The spring lock was now securely fastened back.
“What—is—it?” asked Trixy.
“A lost river. An underground river!” replied Ben triumphantly.
“Isn’t it dreadful,” moaned Gloria. “And I had hoped it might be fixed.”