With any kind of activity, hope plays an obligato; but when there is no struggle to be made, fears tries a tremolo first on one heartstring and then another.
“You should have gone with the others,” said young Carrington to Hastings, reproachfully.
“Never!” said Hastings, decidedly. “There’s that drop of comfort in the whole thing, anyway.
“How do you suppose I should feel,” he flashed, “if I were safe on the surface, and you were here? I should feel as though I had decoyed you into it.” He turned to Trevanion. “Can’t the pumps get the water under control?” he demanded.
“If you had enough of ’em,” said Trevanion. “That’s another place where Richards economized. The Star’ll pump it out for you after a while.”
“Richards will have his day of reckoning if I get out of this,” said Hastings, furiously.
“Does he know that?” asked Trevanion, dryly.
And Hastings saw the point. So did young Carrington. The cards were Richards’ now, to play as he chose. Hastings turned to his friends.
“Ned,” he said, “I’m mighty sorry. Sorry I interfered at all. I’d give my life to have you and Trevanion safe on the surface.”
“Don’t worry about me,” said the lad, quickly.