"Why so?"
"Because it's going to be hard to cling there. It's a stiff position to hold, and we ought to stay here, where we have a good footing, as long as possible. There's time enough when the water gets up to our shoulders."
It was like waiting for almost certain death, but the boys never lost their hearts. Somehow they felt that there would be a way out—yet how it would come they dared not even imagine. They only hoped and—waited.
"We'd better climb up now," said Frank at length. "You go first, Andy, and get a good hold. I'll follow."
"Why don't you go first?"
"Oh, you might fall."
"So might you."
"Go ahead, I tell you!" and Frank spoke more sharply to his brother than he had ever done before. Andy turned and clambered up in the niches. They had cut them slanting to give their feet and hands a better grip, and this was a wise provision, for it was desperate holding at best.
Frank followed his brother, and then, at the last stand, they clung there together, listening to the lapping of the water that, raised up as they were, even now wet their legs.
How long they clung thus they did not know. It seemed a long time, but it could not have been more than fifteen minutes they agreed afterward, for the water did not gain much. But suddenly the silence of the night outside was broken by a loud report.