The Tunnel of Hugsy Goode by Eleanor Estes

sort of dried-out space beside the hidey hole. We listened and we heard it again, the sound of gurgling water, our lost river again, as lost as ever.
    But we didn't care. "True explorers take what comes," I said.
    "Come what, come may," Tornid said.
    So we rolled up our pants and stepped into the hidey hole. Squ-ish! You'd of thought we were on a clamming beach off the state of Connecticut. Our hole was bigger than ever now, thanks to the rain. Rain and raccoon, our two allies so far in the Alley.
    I have a large foot. My family all have big feet. My mom says it's the wheat germ she sprinkles on cereal and just about everything else she gets a chance to. Not bad. So I stuck one of my big feet into the hole we'd made and, just like the day before the rain, all I felt was nothing.
    "Time to get busy," I said. "Before they get back from Job Lots." We got all our things—shillelaghs, flashlights, rope, string, food—out of the sack and prepared for the descent into the tunnel.
    This might be
the
day.
    We tied one end of my strong rope around Hugsy Goode's peach tree—that he planted from a peach pit—and made sure it was firm. We hopped in the hidey hole and shoved the other end of the rope, knotted to make it heavy, down into the hole. No splash. I pulled it back up. It wasn't wet. Maybe the tunnel river had already gotten itself altogether lost.
¿Quién sabe?
I would soon.
    We put our sneakers in the waterproof sack to leave them behind and be dry as possible when we returned—if we did. Tornid has a small regular sort of flashlight. But mine is a big red one my mom bought me once at Job Lots during a friendly period. I clamped it on my belt around my waist so my hands and arms would not have too much to carry. I slung my canteen over my shoulder. I have learned to drink out of the canteen with it slung over my left shoulder, the way I've seen them do in some villages in Mexico, also in movies, and to spit the water out and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
    "
Agua,
" I said. "Means water. Remember that, in case it comes up on an'S.A.T. some day."
    "There's so much to learn," said Tornid.
    "You'll get the hang of it all," I said. "Steve did."
    I was going down first. I tied the knotted end of the rope around my waist below the flashlight and let out a couple of feet of rope. I held onto the rope with both hands. "Tornid," I said. "When I jerk the rope, let out some more. And hand me down my shovel, shillelagh, or anything else I ask for. Don't drop anything on my head..."
    "Yeah. No," said Tornid.
    "Here I go, then. If I never come back, dial 911 ... that's the police. Or call my dad."
    "Good-by," said Tornid.
    And down I went into the unknown from location TRATS.

Chapter 15
The Tunnel of Hugsy Goode—Descent No. 1
    As I lowered myself down the rope, I took in a deep breath of upper Brooklyn smog air, not knowing what to expect below, river ... what.... Tornid and me often practice holding our breaths. I can hold mine for one minute without busting open my lungs. It pays to practice all things. Holding breath to get past
grils,
practicing being blind in the Alley, counting the number of steps from the drain to where the Circle used to be, and to other points—all would come in handy in the darkness beneath me. We were experts in groping and holding breaths.
    I clung to the edge of the hole. Stomach to wall, I eased myself down. I let myself down some more. All Tornid could see of me now were my arms, neck, and head.
    Tornid laughed. "You look like a puppet," he said.
    I blew my breath out and up at him. "Cut that out, cluck," I said. "Want to make me laugh and da-rown laughing?"
    "No," he said.
    I stayed where I was a minute and felt around with my feet. I swung my left foot around first. I felt nothing behind me. But far to the left, I felt solid wall. I thought it must be the wall separating the tunnel from the cellar. I swung my right foot around. Behind me, it also felt nothing; but to