It's a
sheet-iron pan, I reckon, ther way it feels; an' it must be thar they
put a nigger in ter clean ther chimbly whin it gits stuffed up. I could
git up thar alone, but I couldn't do no work, but thet thar pan ought
ter cum out all right. Dew ye think ye cud hoi' me up, Cap? I'm purty
durn heavy."
I smiled in the darkness at the little fellow's egotism, and lifting
him as I might a child, poised him lightly upon my shoulder. He
struggled a moment to steady himself against the wall, and then I could
feel him tugging eagerly at something which appeared to yield slowly to
his efforts. As he worked, a dense shower of dust and soot caused me to
close my eyes.
"She's a comin' all right," he said cheerfully, puffing with his
exertions, "but I reckon as how this chimbly ain't bin cleaned out
since ther war begun. Hold up yer right han', Cap, an' git a blame good
grip on her, fer she's almighty full, an'll wanter go down sorter easy
like."
I did as he suggested, bracing myself to meet his movements, as he
stood straining on my shoulders, and in another moment I had succeeded
in lowering the large sheet-iron pan silently to the floor.
"Room 'nough yere fer two men ter oncet," chuckled my companion, in
rare delight. "'The chief in silence strode before.' Yere goes."
His weight left my shoulders; there was a slight scramble, another
shower of dirt, then the sound of his voice once more.
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