"Hello, yourself!" came the muffled but distinct response.
The voice seemed to float out of the blackness of the chasm, and Matt stepped closer to the edge.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name'll be M-u-d, Mud, if you don't man a line an' give me a boost out of this."
"Where are you?"
"Down the wall, hanging like a lizard to a piece of scrub. Can't you tell by my talk where I am? From the looks, I'm about a fathom down; but I'll be all the way down if you don't get a move on. Shake yourself together, mate, and be lively!"
Carl's fear, as this conversation proceeded, was gradually lost in curiosity. The voice from over the brink had a very human ring to it, and the Dutch boy was beginning to feel easier in his mind.
"Get the rope out of the tonneau, Carl," called Matt. "Hurry up!"
"Bully!" came from below, the person on the wall evidently hearing Matt's order to Carl. "That's the game, matey. If you've got a rope, reeve a bowline in the end and toss it over. I'm a swab if I don't think it's up to you to do it, too. I wouldn't have slid over the edge if your white devil-wagon hadn't made me dodge out of the way. How'd it—Wow!"
The voice below broke off with a startled whoop.