"If that hasp just fell over the padlock eye," Tom whispered, "and didn't fit in like it ought to, maybe if I could bore a hole right under it I could push it up. Don't get scared," he added impassively. "There's another way, too; but it's a lot of work and it would make a noise. We'd just have to settle down and take turns and dig through with the wire barbs. I wish we had more matches. Don't get rattled, now. I know we're in a dickens of a hole----" "You said something," observed Archer. "I didn't mean it for a joke," said Tom soberly. "This has got the trenches beat a mile," Archer said, somewhat encouraged by Tom's calmness and resourcefulness. Striking another match, Tom examined more carefully the area of planking just in the middle of the side where he knew the hasp must be. He determined the exact center as nearly as he could. While doing this he dug his fingernails under a large splinter in the old planking and pulled it loose. Archer could not see what he was doing, and something deterred him from bothering his companion with questions. For a while Tom breathed heavily on the splintered fragment. Then he tore one end of it until it was in shreds. "Let's have another match." Igniting the shredded end, he blew it deftly until the solid wood was aflame, and by the light of it he could see that Archer was ghastly pale and almost on the point of collapse. Their dank, unwholesome refuge seemed the more dreadful for the light. "You got to just think about our getting out," Tom said, in his usual dull manner. "We won't suffocate near so soon if we don't think about it, and don't get rattled. We _got_ to get out and so we _will_ get out. Let's have that wire." All Archer's buoyancy was gone, but he tried to take heart from his comrade's stolid, frowning face and quiet demeanor. "We can set fire to the whole business if we have to," said Tom, "so don't get rattled. We ain't going to die. Here, hold this." Archer held the stick, blowing upon it, while Tom heated an end of the wire, holding the other end in some of the damp straw. As soon as it became red hot he poked it into the place he had selected above him. It took a long time and many heatings to burn a hole an eighth of an inch deep in the thick planking, and their task was not made the pleasanter by the thought that after all it was like taking a shot in the dark. It seemed like an hour, the piece of splintered wood was burned almost away, and what little temper there was in the malleable wire was quite gone from it, when Tom triumphantly pushed it through the hole. "Strike anything?" Archer asked, in suspense. "No," said Tom, disappointed. He bent the wire and, as best he could, poked it around outside. "I think I can feel it, though. Missed it by about an inch. There's no use getting discouraged. We'll just have to bore another one." Long afterward, Archibald Archer often recalled the patience and doggedness which Tom displayed that night.