Part 64 (2/2)
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE.
GRIP'S BAD LUCK.
”Why don't you speak?” cried Gwyn, angrily. ”Has there been an accident? Surely father hasn't gone down!”
”Oh, the Colonel's all right, sir,” said Hardock, genially. ”The gov'nor hasn't gone and lost himself.”
”But there has been an accident, Sam,” cried Joe.
”Nor the Major aren't gone down neither, sir,” said the man. ”Here, let me carry that fish basket. Didn't remember me with a couple o' mullet, did you?”
”Yes, two of those are for you, Sam; but do speak out? What is wrong?”
”Something as you won't like, sir. Your dog Grip's gone down the mine.”
”What for? Thinks we're there? Well, that's nothing; he'll soon find his way up. Why did they let him go down?”
”Couldn't help it, sir,” said the man, slowly.
”What--he would go? I did miss him, Joe, when I went home. I remember now, we didn't see him after we went to the mine. He must have missed us, and then thought we had gone down.”
”Sets one thinking of being lost and his coming after us,” said Joe, slowly. ”Well, he can't lose his way.”
”But how do you know he went down, Sam?” asked Gwyn, as they approached the mine.
”Harry Vores heerd him.”
”What, barking?”
”'Owlin'.”
”Oh, at the bottom of the shaft. Dull because no one was down. Then why did you suggest that there was an accident? You gave me quite a turn.”
”'Cause there was an accident, sir,” said Hardock, quietly; and he led the way into the great shed over the pit mouth, where all was very still.
Gwyn saw at a glance that something serious had happened to the dog, which was lying on a roughly-made bed composed of a miner's flannel coat placed on the floor, beside which Harry Vores was kneeling; and as soon as the dog heard steps he raised his head, turned his eyes pitifully upon his master, and uttered a doleful howl.
”Why, Grip, old chap, what have you been doing?” cried Gwyn, excitedly.
”Don't torment him, sir,” said Vores; ”he's badly hurt.”
”Where? Oh, Grip! Grip!” cried Gwyn, as he laid his hand on the dog's head, while the poor beast whined dolefully, and made an effort to lick the hand that caressed him, as he gazed up at his master as if asking for sympathy and help.
”Both his fore-legs are broken, sir, and I'm afraid he's got nipped across the loins as well.”
”Nay, nay, nay, Harry,” growled Hardock; ”not him. If he had been he wouldn't have yowled till you heerd him.”
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