With a cry of horror he shrank back. Directly beneath
where he had been standing, he saw, under a fifteen or sixteen feet
layer of gravel soil--water; a huge caldron of water, black and
silent; water, that gave him the impression of tremendous depth and
coldness.
"Hulloa! matey, what's the matter?" the man with the spade called out.
"Are you looking for your skin, for I never saw any one so completely
jump out of it?"
"So would you," Hamar said with a shudder, "if you saw what I do!"
"What's that, then?" the man said leering on the ground. "Snakes!
That's what I always see when I've got them."
"So long as you don't see yourself, there's some chance for you!"
Hamar retorted. "What makes you so hot?"
"Why, digging!" the man laughed; "any one would get hot digging at
such hard ground as this. As for a little whippersnapper like you,
you'd melt right away and only your nose would remain. Nothing would
ever melt that--there's too much of it."
Hamar scowled. "You needn't be insulting," he said, "I asked you a
civil question, and I repeat it. What makes you so hot--when you
should be cold--or at least cool?"
"Oh, should I!" the man mimicked, "I thought first you was merely
drunk; I can see quite clearly now that you're mad."
"And yet you have such defective sight."
"What makes you say that?" the man said testily.
"Why," Hamar responded, "because you can't see what lies beneath your
very nose.
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