"Not likely," said Jem. "Wish I"d got a candle. It"s like being a rat in a box trap. It _is_ dark."
"This way, Jem. Your hand."
"All right, sir. Frontards: my hands don"t grow out o" my back."
"That"s it. Now together. Let"s get to the wall."
There was a rustling noise and then a rattle.
"Phew! Shins!" cried Jem. "Oh, dear me. That"s barrel staves, I know the feel on "em. Such sharp edges, Mas" Don. Mind you don"t tread on the edge of a hoop, or it"ll fly up and hit you right in the middle."
_Flip_!
"There, I told you so. Hurt you much, my lad?"
"Not very much, Jem. Now then; feel your way with me. Let"s go all round the place, perhaps there"s another way out."
"All right, sir. Well, it might be, but I say as it couldn"t be darker than this if you was brown sugar, and shut up in a barrel in the middle o" the night."
"Now I am touching the wall, Jem," said Don. "I"m going to feel all round. Can you hear anything?"
"Only you speaking, my lad."
"Come along then."
"All right, Mas" Don. My head aches as if it was a tub with the cooper at work hammering of it."
Don went slowly along the side of the great cellar, guiding himself in the intense darkness by running: his hands over the damp bricks; but there was nothing but bare wall till he had pa.s.sed down two sides, and was half-way along the third, when he uttered a hasty e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
"It"s all right, Jem. Here is a way into another cellar."
"Mind how you go, sir. Steady."
"Yes, but make haste."
"There"s a door," whispered Don. "Loose my hand."
He hastily felt all over the door, but it was perfectly blank, not so much as a keyhole to be found, and though he pressed and strained at it, he could make no impression.
"It"s no use, Jem. Let"s try the other door."
"I don"t believe there are no other door," said Jem. "That"s the way out."
"No, no; the way out is on the other side."
"This here is t"other side," said Jem, "only we arn"t over there now."
"I"m sure it can"t be."
"And I"m sure it can be, my lad. Nothing arn"t more puzzling than being shut up in the dark. You loses yourself directly, and then you can"t find yourself again."
"But the door where the men went out is over there."
"Yah! That it arn"t," cried Jem. "Don"t throw your fisties about that how. That"s my nose."
"I"m very sorry, Jem. I did not mean--"
"Course you didn"t, but that"s what I said. When you"re in the dark you don"t know where you are, nor where any one else is."
"Let"s try down that other side, and I"ll show you that you are wrong."
"Can"t show me, my lad. You may make me feel, but you did that just now when you hit me on the nose. Well? Fun" it?"
"No, not yet," said Don, as he crept slowly along from the doorway; and then carefully on and on, till he must have come to the place from which they started.
"No, not yet," grumbled Jem. "Nor more you won"t if you go on for ever."
"I"m afraid you"re right, Jem."
"I"m right, and I arn"t afraid," said Jem; "leastwise, save that my head"s going on aching for ever."
Don felt all round the cellar again, and then heaved a sigh.
"Yes; there"s only one door, Jem. Could we break it down?"
"I could if I"d some of the cooper"s tools," said Jem, quietly; "but you can"t break strong doors with your fisties, and you can"t get out of brick cellars with your teeth."
"Of course, we"re underground."
"Ay! No doubt about that, Mas" Don."
"Let"s knock and ask for a pencil and paper to send a message."
Jem uttered a loud chuckle as he seated himself on the floor.
"I like that, Mas" Don. "Pon my word I do. Might just as well hit your head again the wall."
"Better use yours for a battering ram, Jem," said Don, angrily. "It"s thicker than mine."
There was silence after this.
"He"s sulky because of what I"ve said," thought Don.
"Oh, my poor head!" thought Jem. "How it do ache!"
Then he began to think about Sally, and what she would say or do when she found that he did not come back.
Just at the same time Don was reflecting upon his life of late, and how discontented he had been, and how he had longed to go away, while now he felt as if he would give anything to be back on his old stool in the office, writing hard, and trying his best to be satisfied with what seemed to be a peaceful, happy life.