"Yes."
Without ceremony, poor Tom was marched away to the trap-door, a man on each side of him. Dan Baxter came behind.
"You don't like it, do you?" sneered the bully. "You'll like it still less when you get below. It's beautifully damp and musty."
"You're a cheerful brute, Dan," answered Tom.
"Hi! don't you call me a brute!" stormed Baxter.
"Oh, excuse me, I didn't mean to insult the dumb creation," responded Tom. "Baxter, you are the limit. I suppose you have joined this gang."
"What if I have?"
"I am sorry for you, that's all."
"Oh, don't preach!"
"I am not going to, for it would be a waste of breath."
"You'll sing pretty small by the time we are through with you," growled the bully; and then Tom was led below and placed in the cell with the others.
