“I must go down into that hole and keep my eyes on the ocean,” thought Walter, and guided by his lantern, he was stepping down the rough declivity in the rock, when the wind as if fearful that it might for a single instant, in some sheltered nook, lose its opportunity to make trouble, blew with frantic fury. In the midst of this fiendish blast, Walter’s light was blown out!
“She’s gone!” he was saying one moment, and the next, he was conscious that he was making a misstep and was tumbling! Then came a blank, as if the wind extinguishing his lantern, had extinguished him also, and down into a black hole he had fallen. There was an interval of unconsciousness black as the sea beyond him. Finally he was aware that somebody was calling to him. A light also was trying to reach him as he lay at the bottom of this deep, black pit. The light flashed into his eyes, sharpened and expanded, and the voice too sounded louder and louder. At last, the voice said, “Hullo, boy, what ye up to down here?”
“Joe Cardridge!” thought Walter.
“Come, git up! Lemme help ye!”
“What have you been saying about me?” was Walter’s first thought. Then he reflected: “Well, this is hardly the time to bring the matter up when a man is saving you from a fall.”
“Jest lean on me. You had an ugly tumble,” said Joe.
“Oh, I guess I can get up, thank you.”
“There’s blood on your face. You must have hit yourself when you struck.” Then Joe’s tone changed. “That comes from havin’ surf–boys round,” he muttered with a sneer. “Ought to be home with their mothers.”
“What did you say?” asked Walter, catching the words with difficulty in his confused state of mind. “I’m obliged to you for finding me, but I can walk myself. Surf–boys are good for something,” he added with pride.
“Oh, don’t be techy. Come along.”