“I haven’t forgot it for a moment,” added Bill, with something like triumph in his tones. “I am going down once more to see why the blaze didn’t do as it was expected to do.”
“Not yet, Bill. Wait till Salter has been into the steerage again.”
“It isn’t twenty minutes since he was here; and he will not come again for half an hour at least.”
Bill Stout felt that he had done enough, and had proved that he knew enough, to entitle him to have his own way. Raising the scuttle, he descended into the hold. He did not dare to remain long, lest the chief steward should come into the steerage, and discover that he was not in the brig. But he remained long enough to ascertain the reason why the fire did not burn; and, filled with amazement, he returned to communicate the discovery he had made to his fellow-conspirator. When he had closed the trap, and turned around to confront Bark, his face was the very picture of astonishment and dismay.
“Well, what’s the matter, Bill?” asked Bark, who could not help seeing the strange expression on the countenance of his shipmate.
“Matter enough! I should say that the Evil One was fighting against us, Bark,” replied his companion.
“I should say that the Evil One is fighting on the other side, if on either,” added Bark. “But what have you found?”
“The fire is out, and the straw and other stuff feels just as though a bucket of water had been thrown upon it. At any rate, it is wet,” answered Bill.
“Nonsense! no water could have been thrown upon it.”
“How does it happen to be wet, then?”