Mr. Armorer stepped in, Shuey following; and then, before Harry could enter it, the elevator shot upward and—stuck!
“What's the matter?” cried Armorer.
Shuey was tugging at the wire rope. He called, in tones that seemed to come from a panting chest: “Take a pull at it yourself, sir! Can you move it?”
Armorer grasped the rope viciously; Shuey was on the seat pulling from above. “We're stuck, sir, fast!”
“Can't you get down either?”
“Divil a bit, saving your presence, sir. Do ye think like the water-works could be busted?”
“Can't you make somebody hear?” panted Armorer.
“Well, you see there's a deal of noise of the machinery,” said Shuey, scratching his chin with a thoughtful air, “and they expect we've gone up!”
“Best try, anyhow. This infernal machine may take a notion to drop!” said Armorer.
“And that's true, too,” acquiesced Shuey. Forthwith he did lift up his voice in a loud wailing: “OH—H, Jimmy! OH—H, Jimmy Ryan!”