If I set you to hold a lanthorn, you'd be in somebody's way.

We can't half of us work as it is, for want of room.

It's a sad job." As he spoke he kept on caressing Bruff, who rolled his stupid great head from side to side with evident enjoyment, while, in spite of the horror of what was going on, Mark could not help a feeling of satisfaction at the way in which his dog was growing in favour.
One hour--two hours--three hours must have gone by, and still the men toiled on at their fearfully difficult task, one which seemed to grow more solemn as they went on.
"Can't hear a sound, my lad," said the first-mate; "and I think we'll try the dog again.

Come along, old chap." Mark loosened his hold on the dog, and he followed the mate and was lifted down into the great cavernous hole the men had made, while a lanthorn was held so that they could watch his proceedings.
Bruff did not leave them long in doubt, but began snuffing at one side, close to the end, following it up by scratching and whining.
"That'll do," shouted the first-mate hoarsely.

"Come, my lad.