“You’d better give the signal to ask if all’s right,” said Edgar, who felt a little anxious.
“Do so,” said Baldwin, nodding to the assistant.
The man obeyed, but no answering signal was returned.
According to rule they should instantly have hauled the diver up, but Baldwin bade them delay a moment.
“I’m quite sure there’s nothing wrong,” he said, stooping over the side of the barge, and gazing into the water, “it’s only another touch of nervousness.—Ah! I see him, holdin’ on like a barnacle to the ladder, afraid to let go. He’ll soon tire of kickin’ there—that’s it: there he goes down the rope like the best of us.”
In another moment the life-line and air-pipe ceased to run out, and then the assistant gave one pull on the line. Immediately there came back one pull—all right.
“That’s all right,” repeated Baldwin; “now the ice is fairly broken, and we’ll soon see how he’s going to get on.”
In order that we too may see that more comfortably, you and I, reader, will again go under water and watch him. We will also listen to him, for Rooney has a convenient habit of talking to himself, and neither water nor helmet can prevent us from overhearing.
True to his instructions, the pupil proceeded to fasten his clew-line to the stone at the foot of the ladder-rope, and attempted to kneel.
“Well, well,” he said, “did ye iver! What would me mother say if she heard I couldn’t git on my knees whin I tried to?”