which fastened on my jacket
finished my courage."

"Now you're talking nonsense," said Mike angrily.

"Very well, then, I'll talk sense. If that captain was an Englishman
perhaps we would do as you say; but as he's a Frenchman of bad
character, as he must be, I feel as if we can't trust him. No, Ladle,
old chap, I mean for us to escape, and the only thing we can do now is
to wait till it's dark and then try. We mustn't run any risks of what
Mr Jarks might do. Now then, you do as I've done before I put out the
light."

"You're not going to put out the light."

"Yes, I am."

"I won't have it. It shall burn as long as I like. Besides, you
couldn't light it again."

"Oh yes, I could. I've got the tinder-box, and it has always been too
high up to get wet."

"I don't care," said Mike desperately; "it's too horrible to be here in
the dark."

"Not half so horrible as to be in the dark not knowing that you could
get a light if you wanted to. We could if I put it out. We couldn't if
it was all burned."

"I don't care, I say once more--I say it must not be put out."

"And I say," replied Vince, speaking quite good-humouredly, while his
companion's voice sounded husky, and as if he were in a rage--"and I say
that if you make any more fuss about it I'll put it out now."

As Vince spoke he made a sudden movement, snatched the lanthorn from
where it stood by the wall, and tore open the door.

"Now," he cried, catching up a handful of sand, "you come a step nearer,
and I'll smother the light with this."

Mike had made a dart to seize the lanthorn, but he paused now.

"You coward!" he cried.

"All right: so I am. I've been in a terrible stew to-day several times,
but I'm not such a coward that I'm afraid to put out the light."

Mike turned his back and began to imitate his companion in stripping off
his wet lower garments, wringing them thoroughly, and spreading them on
the dry sand, with which he, too, filled his saturated boots.

Meanwhile Vince was setting him another example--that of raking out a
hole in the softest sand, snuggling down into it and drawing it over him
all round till he was covered.

"Not half such nice sand as it is in our cave, Ladle," he said.

There was no answer.

"I say, Ladle, don't I look like a cock bird sitting on the nest while
the hen goes out for a walk?"

Still there was no reply, and Mike finished his task with his wet
garments.

"Sand's best and softest up here