The first thing I was conscious of, after partially recovering from the agony, mental and bodily, of my late accident, was a sharp tugging at my handle.
“Watch! I say, watch!” I heard a voice whisper, “what’s to be done?” It was the watered ribbon.
“How should I know?” I growled; “if you had done your duty we should never have been here!”
One is always ready to blame somebody for everything that happens amiss.
“Oh, yes, I dare say,” it replied; “if you hadn’t poked your nose into that hole we should never have been here.”
I did not like being thus talked to by a disreputable piece of watered ribbon, and so kept a dignified silence.
“What’s to be done?” presently repeated my companion, giving me another rude tug at the collar.
“Hold your tongues, if we’ve nothing to say,” was my curt reply.
“Oh, but I’ve a lot to say,” went on this irrepressible chatterbox; “in the first place—”
“Will you be silent?” said I, angrily; “isn’t it bad enough to be down here, all through your carelessness?”