“If you please, sir, I—”
“You talk back to me? Cut it and light it!”
The boy cut and lit.
“Ger-reat Scott! a one-minute fuse! I wish you were in—”
In his rage he snatched the ladder out of the shaft and ran. The boy was aghast.
“Oh, my God! Help. Help! Oh, save me!” he implored. “Oh, what can I do! What can I do!”
He backed against the wall as tightly as he could; the sputtering fuse frightened the voice out of him; his breath stood still; he stood gazing and impotent; in two seconds, three seconds, four he would be flying toward the sky torn to fragments. Then he had an inspiration. He sprang at the fuse, severed the inch of it that was left above ground, and was saved.
He sank down limp and half lifeless with fright, his strength all gone; but he muttered with a deep joy,
“He has learnt me! I knew there was a way, if I would wait.”
After a matter of five minutes Buckner stole to the shaft, looking worried and uneasy, and peered down into it. He took in the situation; he saw what had happened. He lowered the ladder, and the boy dragged himself weakly up it. He was very white. His appearance added something to Buckner’s uncomfortable state, and he said, with a show of regret and sympathy which sat upon him awkwardly from lack of practice: