the lowest level."

"Is he?" says Waddy. "I must see him, you know."

Whether he took in all this about the creek's playful little habits or
not I don't know. Anyway, he didn't hang back, and while I've started on
evenin' walks that sounded a lot pleasanter I wasn't going to duck then.
If Waddy could stand it I guessed I could.

So down we goes into a black hole that yawns in the middle of a muddy
field. I hadn't gone far, either, before I discovers that being your own
street light wasn't such an easy trick. I expect a miner has to wear his
lamp on his head so's to have his hands free to swing a pick. But I'll
be hanged if it's comfortable or easy. I unhooked mine and carried it in
my hand, ready to throw the light where I needed it most.

And there was spots where I sure needed it bad, for this Slope 8
proposition was no garden pathway, I'll say. First off, it was mucky and
slippery under foot, and in some places it dips down sharp, almost as
steep as a church roof. Then again there was parts where they'd skimped
on the ceilin', and you had to do a crouch or else bump your bean on
unpadded rocks. On and down, down and on we went, slippin' and slidin',
bracin' ourselves against the wet walls, duckin' where it was low and
restin' our necks where they'd been more generous with the excavatin'.

There was one 'specially sharp pitch of a hundred feet or so and right
in the worst of it we had to dodge a young waterfall that comes
filterin' down through the rocks. It was doin' some roarin' and
splashin', too. I was afraid Llanders might not have noticed it.

"How about it!" says I. "This ain't another visit from the creek, is
it?"

"Only part of it," says he careless. "The pumps are going, you know."

"I hope they're workin' well," says I.

As for Waddy, not a yip out of him. He sticks close behind Llanders and
plugs along just as if he was used to scramblin' through a muddy hole
three hundred feet or so below the grass roots. That's what it is to be
100 per cent in love. All he could think of was gettin' that ring back
and renewin' cordial relations with the lovely Marcelle. But I was
noticin' enough for two. I knew that we'd made so many twists and turns
that we must be lost for keeps. I saw the saggy, rotten timbers that
kept the State of Pennsylvania from cavin' in on us. And now and then I
wondered how long it would be before they dug us out.

"Where's all the coal?" I asks Llanders, just by way of makin' talk.