“Pass right on through dis room, ahead ob me, sah,” begged the guide,
respectfully.

But Jack drew back, instinctively, out of the darkness.

“Don’ yo’, a w’ite man, be ’fraid ob ole voodoo house,” advised the
mulatto, still speaking respectfully.

Afraid? Of course not. Relying on his muscle and his agility, Jack stepped
ahead. By a sudden jerk of his arm the mulatto guide shook out the flame
in the lantern.

“Here, you! What are you about?” growled Jack Benson, wheeling like a
flash upon his escort.

“Go ’long, yo’ w’ite trash!” jeered the mulatto. He gave the boy a sudden,
forceful shove.

Jack Benson, under the impetus of that push, staggered ahead, seeking to
recover his balance. Without a doubt he would have done so, but, just
then, the floor under his feet ended. With a yell of dismay, the submarine
boy tottered, then plunged down, alighting on a bed of soft dirt many feet
below.





CHAPTER VII: JACK FINDS SOMETHING “NEW,” ALL RIGHT