Supper that evening proved a very pleasant affair, although John still felt too strange and ill at ease to take much part in the conversation that might be said to have raged from the instant grace was over to the end of the meal. The dining-room was a home-like apartment, light, roomy, and well furnished. There were many pictures on the walls—not a few of them photographs of former inhabitants of West House grouped on the lawn or on the steps—and a leather couch occupied the bay. A mammoth sideboard hid the door into the parlor, which was never used, and a small serving-table stood between the windows at the back, through which John looked at the edge of the oak grove. The dining-table was long enough to seat twelve quite comfortably, although its capacity was not often tested. Mrs. Linn presided at the head and[52] Fred Sanderson at the foot. At the matron’s right sat Hooper Ross, with Otto Zoller beside him and Ned Brent coming next. At Sanderson’s right was Fergus White. John’s place was next and his right-hand neighbor was Claire Parker. Beyond Parker, Mason Halladay completed the company. Hulda, red of face and always good-natured, waited on table and Mrs. Linn served. The food was plain, well-cooked and attractively served; and there was plenty of it. For supper there was cold meat, a plain omelet, baked potatoes, graham and white bread, preserved peaches and one of Mrs. Linn’s big white-roofed pound cakes. And each end of the table held a big blue-and-white pitcher of milk which had usually to be refilled before the meal was over. It was quite like a family party, and everyone talked when he pleased, to whom he pleased and as much as he pleased, and sometimes it became quite deafening and Mrs. Linn placed her hands over her ears and looked appealingly down the length of the table at Fred Sanderson; and Sandy served rebukes right and left until order was restored. Tonight everyone save the two new members of the household[53] had lots to say, for they had been making history during the three months of summer vacation and had to tell about it. Even Mrs. Linn was more excited and voluble than usual, being very glad to get her boys back again, and contributed her full share to the conversation. John contented himself with satisfying a very healthy appetite and trying to learn something about his companions. For a while it was exceedingly difficult, for the boys talked in a language filled with strange and unfamiliar words.
“Another slice of the cold, if you please, Marm,” said Ned Brent. “Pass along, Dutch.”
“Any more bakes in the bowl, Marm? They’re the slickest I’ve had since Com.”
“Easy there, Dutch! You’re training, you know, and bakes are very fattening.”
“Yes, and go light on the heavy sweet, Dutch. I’ll eat your wedge for you.”
And it took some time for John to get the fellows sorted out by names. The round-faced, good-natured Dutch he identified easily, and he knew that the boy who had tripped him on the steps was called Hoop, but for a while it wasn’t apparent whether Spud was the chubby[54] smiling youth sitting beyond Parker or the tall, older boy at the foot of the table. But at last he had the names all fitted; Hoop, Dutch, Ned, Sandy, The Fungus and Spud. Everyone, it seemed, was known by a nickname save Ned Brent. He was just Ned, or, on rare occasions, Old Ned. John wondered whether they would find a nickname for him. He wasn’t long in doubt.
After supper the fellows congregated in the Ice Chest, the room occupied by Sandy and Spud Halladay, John being conducted thither by Ned. The Ice Chest had only the regular allowance of chairs and so several of the visitors perched themselves on the beds. John and Claire as new arrivals were honored with chairs, however. As school did not begin until tomorrow, there was no study tonight and until bedtime at ten o’clock West House might do as it pleased. It pleased to discuss the football situation and eat marshmallows and salted peanuts, the former supplied by Ned and the latter by Dutch Zoller.
“Say, Boland, you’ve got to come out for football, you know,” announced Sandy. “We need every fellow we can get this year. Think you can play?”
[55]
“I cal’late I can try,” answered John modestly.
“Wow!” exclaimed Spud. “‘Cal’late,’ fellows!”
“You’ve got it,” said Sandy approvingly.
“Right-o, Spud!” cried Ned.
“Only ‘cal’late’s’ too long. Make it ‘Cal’ for short,” suggested The Fungus.
“Got you, kid,” Spud agreed. “Make you acquainted, fellows, with my very dear friend Mr. Cal Boland.”
“Speech! Speech!” cried the others. John looked about him perplexedly.
“Huh?” he asked finally.
“Don’t say ‘huh,’ Cal; it isn’t done in the best circles,” advised Dutch. “Give us a speech.”
“Me?”
“Sure thing! You’ve been christened.”
“Let him alone,” laughed Ned. “How about the other, fellows?”
“Oh, that’s too easy,” said The Fungus, grinning at young Parker. “Thought you’d all met Clara!”
There was a howl of laughter and Claire got very red and distressed. But,—
“I—I don’t mind,” he said.
[56]
“That’s the stuff! Of course you don’t. Besides, it’s a very nice nickname and rather—rather unusual,” said Hoop Ross. “Satisfied with your cognomen, Mr. Boland?”
“I cal—I guess so,” answered John, amidst renewed laughter.
“I move you, Mr. Chairman,” said Hoop, rising and bowing to Sandy, “that the christening exercises take place tonight.”
“Good stuff!”
“Second the motion!”
“Moved and carried,” proclaimed Sandy. “All in favor— Thank you, gentlemen. The motion is carried. The exercises will take place tonight at the witching hour of—of eleven-thirty at the Haunted Tarn. A full attendance is requested. And if any fellow forgets to turn out he will be court-martialed. The usual regalia, gentlemen.”
“Fine!” said The Fungus. “And there’s a moon tonight. But won’t half-past eleven be a little early, Sandy? Marm never puts out her light until about eleven.”
“We’ll use the emergency exit,” said Ned gayly. “I’ll sneak down and unlock the back door after Queen Hulda goes to bed and we can get in that way when we come back. Marm[57] will be fast asleep by that time. Wish I was in the pond now.”
“So do I,” agreed Hoop. “My, but it’s hot for this time of year, isn’t it? When we came back last year—”
“Rained like fury,” said Spud. “Remember?”
“Do we?” laughed Dutch. “Do we remember your suit-case, Spud? Oh me, oh my!”
“What was that?” asked Sandy. “Was I there?”
“No, you came up ahead. We had Red-Head’s carriage and it was full up. Spud was holding his suit-case in his lap, and just as we made the turn into Elm Street it slipped—”
“Slipped nothing!” cried Spud. “The Fungus shoved it off!”
“Why, Spud Halladay, how you talk! I wouldn’t do such a mean trick!”
“Well, anyway, it went out,” continued Dutch, “and there was a nice big pool of muddy water right there and the suit-case went kerplunk—”
“And I hadn’t shut it tight because it was sort of crowded, and the water got inside and just about ruined everything,” said Spud.[58] “Oh, it was funny—maybe. I’ll get even with The Fungus yet for that.”
“Spud, I didn’t—”
“Shut up, Fungus, and don’t lie. I saw you,” said Hoop.
“I was about to remark,” said The Fungus with dignity, “that I didn’t see the puddle. It was—it was a coincidence, Spud.”
“Yes, it was—not! You wait, you white-haired, bleached out toadstool!”
“Spud, you can’t call me that and live,” said The Fungus. Instantly Spud and The Fungus were thrashing and kicking about on the floor beside the window-seat. Proceedings of this sort were so frequent, however, that the others merely looked on calmly until The Fungus, by virtue of superior size and agility, had Spud at his mercy. “Beg pardon?” demanded The Fungus.
“No, you old puff-ball!”
“What?” The Fungus rubbed Spud’s short nose with the heel of his hand and Spud writhed in a vain attempt to unseat his enemy.
“Let me up!”
“Be good?”
“Maybe.”
[59]
“Apologize?”
“Never! Pull him off, someone.”
“Cut out the rough-house, you two,” said Sandy. “Let’s go down and have harmony. Got any new songs, Ned?”
“I don’t know; yes, I guess so. But I’m tired.”
“Oh, come on, Ned!”
“Don’t be a tight-wad!”
“I’ll sing for you,” announced The Fungus eagerly as he removed himself from Spud’s prostrate form. But this offer met with groans of derision and protest.
“If you open your mouth, Fungus, we’ll throw you out,” said Sandy decisively. “Come on, Ned, like a good chap.”
“But I tell you I’m tired—”
“It will rest you,” said Spud. “Nothing like music to soothe and rest you.”
“I know a lullaby,” suggested The Fungus.
“So do I,” answered Hoop darkly. “Mine’s a club. I’m not going down if The Fungus is going to howl.”
“If he tries it I’ll lick him,” said Spud. “I can lick him, you know. You fellows saw how I smeared him a minute ago.”
“How’s your old stub nose?” asked The[60] Fungus maliciously. Spud felt of it and made a face.
“Hurts, you abominable Fungus. You just wait!”
“Come on,” said Sandy. “All down to The Tomb!”
They trooped down the stairs and into the parlor. Sandy turned up the light and Hoop opened the piano.
“I’ll bet Marm hasn’t had this old music-box tuned,” said Ned as he seated himself on the stool and ran his fingers inquiringly along the keyboard. “I should say not! It’s something fierce!”
“‘Hark, from the Tomb a doleful sound!’” murmured Spud. “What you going to sing, Ned?”
“What do you want?”
“Something The Fungus doesn’t know.”
“That’s easy,” laughed Ned. “He doesn’t know anything.”
“Give us something new,” said Sandy, seating himself beside John on the couch. “He’s a dandy singer,” he confided to the latter. “Do you sing?”
“A little,” replied John modestly.
Ned broke into a rollicking song that had[61] become popular during the summer and the others joined lustily in the chorus. In the middle of it Dutch seized a sofa cushion and aimed a blow at The Fungus.
“Cut out the parlor tricks,” cried Hoop.
“He was trying to sing! I heard him!”
“I never!”
“You did, Fungus! You were making awful noises in your throat,” charged Dutch.
“I was trying to cough. I guess I may cough if I want to!”
“You go outdoors and do it. This is a gentlemen’s party. Give us that chorus again, Ned.”
Ned obeyed and Dutch and Hoop stood guard over The Fungus and threatened him whenever he started to open his mouth. Mrs. Linn tiptoed in and seated herself in a chair which Spud moved forward for her, beaming upon them.
“I do love to hear them sing,” she confided to Claire in whispers. “I’ve always been fond of music. My husband had such a grand tenor voice. I wish you might have heard him.”
“Yes’m,” said Claire. “I wish I might have. Did he—did he lose it?”
[62]
“Who knows?” answered Mrs. Linn with something that sounded like a sniffle. “He had genuine talent, had Mr. Linn. And he played the guitar something wonderful. ‘Derby Day’ was one of his favorite pieces. It would most bring the tears to your heyes—I mean eyes,” she corrected hastily.
“It must have been very nice,” murmured Claire politely.
“Here’s a fellow says he can sing,” announced Sandy in a lull. “Go ahead, Cal, and do your worst.”
But John was embarrassed and begged off.
“Come on,” said Ned. “What do you know, Cal? I’ll play your accompaniment if I can.”
“I cal’late you wouldn’t know my songs,” said John.
“Well, let’s see. What are they?”
“Know ‘The Wreck of the Lucy May’?” asked John after some hesitation.
“No, how does it go? Come over and hum it. Maybe I can catch on to it.” But John shook his head.
“I cal—I guess all the things I know are sort of funny,” he said apologetically. “I know ‘Barney Ferry’; ever hear that?”[63] Ned had to acknowledge that he hadn’t. And he was forced to make similar admissions regarding several other songs of John’s suggestion. Finally, however, John mentioned “Sally in Our Alley,” and Ned swung around and started the tune.
“Got you there, Cal. Come on and sing it.”
So John, who had wandered across to the piano, cleared his throat, hunched his shoulders once or twice and began. Hoop and Dutch nudged each other and The Fungus winked amusedly at Sandy. But John had a surprise for them and the grins disappeared. He had a good voice and had learned how to use it, and as soon as his nervousness had been forgotten he held his audience silent and delighted. Sandy raised his eyebrows and nodded appreciatively at Dutch. They all paid John the compliment of refraining from joining in with him and when he had finished applause was genuine and whole-hearted.
“Good work, old man!” cried Sandy, slapping him on the back. “You can do it as well as Ned can.”
“A lot better,” said Ned. “He’s got a peach of a voice. What else do you know?”
[64]
“That’s all, I guess,” answered John, smiling with pleasure and embarrassment.
“Now do sing something else,” begged Mrs. Linn, wiping her eyes. “That was just lovely. My, the times I’ve heard that song when I was a girl at home! Quite carries me back, it does!”
“Maybe if you’ll let me sit down there,” said John, “I can sort of find the tune. I’ll try if you want me to.”
“Sure thing!”
“Go ahead!”
“Sing us some of those things you spoke of, Cal.”
So John took Ned’s place and sang right through his repertoire before he was allowed to get up. His accompaniments weren’t ambitious, but he managed fairly well, and the songs he sang, most of them old ballads of the sea that he had heard all his life, didn’t demand much of the piano to make them go. Toward the last the others began to dip into the choruses with him, and there was one rollicking refrain that caught their fancy at once and for years after remained a classic at Oak Park. They made John sing that over and over, and howled in unison:
[65]
“Yo heave ho! When the wind do blow
It’s up with the sail and away we go!
We’ll catch the slant to Georges’ Bank,
And we won’t be home for a month or so;
Yo ho! Yo ho!
We won’t be home for a month or so!”
“That’s a winner!” declared Hoop. “‘Yo heave ho!’ What’s the name of it?”
“I don’t think it has any name,” answered John. “Leastways, I never heard any.”
“Its name is ‘Yo Heave Ho,’” declared The Fungus. “‘Yo heave ho! And away we—’”
“Kill him, someone!” begged Spud.
“It’s most ten, boys,” said Mrs. Linn. “Off with you.”
“Now, Marm, you know this is first night back,” begged Hoop. “We can stay down another half-hour, can’t we? School isn’t really begun yet.”
“Now don’t ask me—” began the matron.
“That’s so, Marm,” interrupted Sandy. “Rules don’t count tonight, you know. We’ll have one more song, eh? Isn’t that it, fellows?”
“Sure thing, Marm! One more song and[66] then we’ll go up. Come on and gather around the thump-box.”
“What’ll it be?” asked Ned, drowning Mrs. Linn’s protests by banging chords.
“‘Yo Heave Ho!’” they cried. “Can you play it, Ned?”
“I guess so. Now, then, sing the verses, Cal, and we’ll do the rest!”
Mrs. Linn subsided in smiling despair and for the tenth time they yo-heave-ho’d until the chandelier swayed. At the final roar of sound Sandy turned out the lights and there was a frantic rush up the stairway.
“Good night, Marm! Good night!”
“Sleep tight, Marm!”
“Yo heave ho! When the wind do—”
“What’s for breakfast, Marm?”
“Chops and bakes, I hope!”
“Is that right, Marm? Keep mine warm, please; I may be late!”
“Yo heave ho! When the wind do blow—”
“And we won’t be home for a month or so!”
“Go-o-od night!”
[67]
 
“Yo heave ho! When the wind do blow—”
[68]
[69]
CHAPTER V
CAL IS CHRISTENED
 
“Cal!”
“Huh?”
“Wake up!”
“Huh?”
“Wake up, I tell you!” Ned shook his new roommate by the shoulder impatiently. “It’s half-past eleven.”
“Wha—say, what’s the matter?” John sat up in bed suddenly and made his inquiry in a loud, thoroughly awakened voice, staring dazedly about him, from the unfamiliar figure of Ned Brent to the great path of moonlight that flooded in through the bay-windows. Ned clapped a hand over John’s mouth.
“Shut up!” he said fiercely. “Want to wake Marm?”
But John, still befogged with sleep, was confused and alarmed. Where he was he couldn’t imagine; this was not his little attic room at[70] home; and who the strange figure in ghostly attire might be he couldn’t imagine either. Safe to say, though, that he was there at the bedside for no good purpose; and when a hand closed over his mouth and he was told to “shut up,” John’s fighting blood surged within him! The next thing that Ned knew he was flying head over heels toward his own bed. He landed thereon with a force that made the springs creak protestingly and that sent him bounding up again in the air. And when he once more landed John was on him. There was no time for explanations. Ned grappled and avoided punishment by pulling John down upon him. Then they tossed and struggled, John striving to get to Ned’s throat and Ned striving just as desperately to roll him off and get the ascendancy. The bed swayed and groaned. Once John’s fingers reached Ned’s throat but were torn away again.
“Try to rob me, would you?” growled John vindictively.
“Let—go!” gasped Ned. “You—crazy—idiot!”
“Give up?” John asked.
But at that moment Ned got one leg free and, using it as a lever, sent John sprawling on to[71] the floor between the beds. Ned tumbled off the other side and when his roommate had found his feet Ned was ready for him.
“What—what’s the matter—with you?” he panted.
John looked across stupidly. His arms, ready for another assault, dropped to his sides and he stared about the moonlit room.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“You’re in The Den, you wild idiot,” answered Ned. “Where did you think you were?”
“Oh! I—I didn’t know. What was the matter?”
“Nothing,” replied Ned crossly. “I tried to wake you up and you lit into me and nearly broke my back.”
“I’m sorry,” said John penitently. “I—I was kind of half asleep and—”
“Half asleep! Gee, I’m glad you weren’t awake, then!” Ned chuckled. “Know where you are now? Know who I am?”
“Yes, now I do,” replied John sheepishly. “Did I—hurt you?”
“No, but you tried hard enough!” Ned rearranged his pajamas. “Next time it’s necessary to wake you I’ll let someone else do[72] it. You’ve pretty near torn this sleeve out by the roots.”
“I’m sorry,” muttered John. “I got awake and saw you there and didn’t know who you were. And then you put your hand over my mouth and I thought maybe you were a burglar or something. So I—I—”
“Tried to kill me. I know all about that, Boland; you don’t have to tell me anything that happened.” Ned put a foot on the edge of the window-seat and examined an ankle solicitously. “Well, come on now, if you’re really awake. The others are waiting.”
“Where? What to do?”
“Why, you’re going to be christened at the pond.”
“Am I? I thought that was just fooling,” said John uneasily. “Do I have to go?”
“You bet you do! And I’m going to give you an extra ducking for the way you’ve roughed me up, Cal. Aren’t afraid, are you?”
“N-no, I cal’late not, but—”
“Come on, then, and don’t make any noise. It’s a wonder, though, that Marm hasn’t been up already. It’s a good thing I thought to close the door.”
[73]
“But we ain’t—you ain’t going that way, are you?”
“What way? In pajamas? Of course. And you’re coming in that picturesque nightie of yours. Come on.” Ned opened the door and listened. Below stairs all was quiet, but from the end of the hall came the sounds of low whispers and an occasional giggle. Ned led the way in that direction, John following. In the Sun Parlor the rest of the boys were awaiting them, six figures in their sleeping clothes, five in pajamas of various shades and styles and patterns, and one, that of Claire Parker, in a chaste white night-gown.
“Thought you were lost,” whispered Sandy as Ned closed the door behind him. “You made a beast of a noise in there.”
“Yo heave ho!” chanted Spud softly. “Who’s first down?”
“You,” said Hoop. “We want something soft to fall on.”
“Fall on your head then,” answered Spud as he climbed to the window-sill. “Here goes.” He disappeared from sight and there was a thud on the roof of the shed below, followed an instant later by a second as Spud’s weight dropped to the turf. One by one the[74] fellows followed. When it came Claire’s turn he displayed an inclination to hold back. But Sandy reassured him.
“It’s only six feet to the roof, Clara, and about eight to the ground. It won’t hurt you, honest. Go ahead.”
So Claire gathered his courage and made the descent safely and John followed. On the grass in the shadow of the woodshed they waited for Sandy and Ned and then, forming in single file, they entered the park and proceeded along the path which John had travelled that afternoon. Once out of sight and sound of the house, Dutch, who was leading, began to prance and cavort.
“All sing!” he called softly. Instantly the procession started a slow and mournful chant:
“Hush! Hush! Not a sound!
Spirits dread are hov’ring round!
To the Haunted Tarn we go
With our victims in a row.
Dark the night and dark the deed;
Prayers for mercy never heed.
We will drown them every one;
That’s the way we have our fun!
O-o-o-oh!”
The last word was uttered in hollow, shuddering tones that sent a little shiver down[75] John’s back, in spite of the fact that he had been smiling a moment before at the ridiculous sight of half a dozen night-robed forms prancing along in the moonlight. The effect on Claire was apparent. He stopped and turned a frightened face to John, who was following.
“It’s all right, Parker,” said John reassuringly. “It’s only fooling, you know.”
“Yes, but I—I want to go back.”
“No, you don’t. It’ll be fine to have a dip in the pond. Besides, you don’t want them to think you’re scared, do you?”
“N-no.” So Claire went on just as Sandy commanded “No talking there!” The chant began again with another verse, ending as before in the mournful “O-o-o-oh!” The night was warm and the park was very still. A full moon sailed overhead and lighted the path save where the black shadow of an oak fell across it now and then. Walking with bare feet on the gravel wasn’t very pleasant, but aside from that neither of the “victims” was experiencing discomfort. Suddenly there was a sound of tinkling water and the pond came into view, black and silver, with the round moon reflected in the middle of it. The party followed the path to the lower end where the bridge stood.[76] The shadows were heavy there and behind them the brook tinkled off into the darkness. The boys drew up in a semicircle with John and Claire between them and the edge of the pond.
“Can you swim?” asked Sandy.
“Yes,” John answered.
“A little,” replied Claire.
“Then we’ll take you first, Cal. All ready, Hoop and Fungus.”
The two named stepped forward.
“Want to take off that nightie?” asked Hoop.
“I cal’late I’d better,” said John, suiting action to word.
“Hang it on the bridge rail, Ned,” said The Fungus. “All right now, Sandy.” The Fungus and Hoop Ross joined hands behind John’s back and seized him under each knee.
“We christen thee Cal’late,” announced Sandy.
“Cal for short,” added Spud.
“Lean back,” said The Fungus. John obeyed and found himself lifted off his feet. He was swung back and forward twice and the last time Hoop and The Fungus gave a heave and he shot sprawling out into the dark pool[77] with a mighty splash. He was up in a moment and found himself only waist deep. The water was warm and pleasant and he struck off leisurely toward the bridge.
“How is it?” asked Ned.
“Great! Come on in.”
“Please don’t throw me in,” begged Claire. “I don’t swim much.”
“All right,” answered Sandy. “We’ll take you over there in the shallow.” So the ceremony was repeated further around the pond, only this time the victim was held securely by Ned and Dutch and merely lowered into the water and brought up again laughing and sputtering. Then,—
“All in!” cried Sandy, and pajamas were tossed aside and one after another the boys shot into the water to emerge white and gleaming in the moonlight far out toward the center of the pond. It was great fun. They raced and played tricks on each other and dived from the bridge railing, the spray shooting up like cascades of diamonds in the moonlight. Claire contented himself with paddling around in the shallows, but John was a strong swimmer and matched his skill with the best of them. When, having exhausted all other means of amusement,[78] they did “stunts” from the bridge he not only performed all the tricks that the others did, but showed them a side-dive that no one knew. Afterwards they crawled out on the turf at the upper end of the pond and lay in the shadows of the oaks and talked and spun yarns in the warm, silent night and watched the moon go sailing down the sky.
“Say,” said The Fungus, “it’s funny neither East House nor the Hall has ever got on to this, isn’t it?”
“Because we’ve been careful to keep it quiet,” answered Sandy. “And that reminds me, you two chaps. This is a secret, you know. Not a word to anyone outside West House. Understand?”
“I’ve often thought,” chuckled Spud, “what a joke it would be if Horace or Fussy or Jim or someone happened along some night and found us here.”
“Great!” said Dutch. “We’d get fired, though.”
“I don’t believe we would,” said Sandy. “But Horace would make us promise not to do it again. So I guess we’d better not get caught at it. Wonder what time it is. I guess we’d better be getting back.”
[79]
 
“Please don’t throw me in,” begged Claire
[80-
81]
“Let’s have a race to the bridge,” Dutch proposed. “We’ll all line up here even and Clara can give the word.”
So it was done and there was a wild scamper over the grass, a plunge into the pond and a frenzied race back across the moonlit surface, John and Dutch and Sandy swimming a dead-heat. Then they found their night clothes and, holding them away from their dripping bodies, took the path back to the cottage. By the time West House was in sight they were dry and they stopped at the edge of the park and donned pajamas and night-gowns. Then they stole towards the back of the house, across the moonlit grass, and Dutch tried the kitchen door.
“Locked!” he whispered disgustedly, turning to Ned.
“Gee, I forgot to go down!” muttered Ned sheepishly. “I had so much trouble waking Cal that—”
“You’re a wonder!” growled Sandy. “This is a fine note. How do we get in?”
“Perhaps some of the windows are unlocked,” The Fungus suggested. “I’ll go around and try them.”
[82]
“I’ll take this side,” said Ned, “but I don’t believe we’ll find one undone.” Nor did they.
“All tight,” said Ned as he and The Fungus returned. Depressed silence followed the announcement. At last,—
“We’ll have to get in the way we got out,” said Spud. “Isn’t there a ladder in the shed?”
“Shed’s locked,” said Dutch. “I tried the door.”
“I’ve got it,” exclaimed Ned. “Two of you chaps put me up on the shed roof. I think I can make the window from there.”
“I don’t believe you can,” said Sandy doubtfully. “But you can try it.”
“I can do it. Then I’ll sneak down and open the Gobblery window. You and Dutch give me a leg-up, Sandy.”
Ned gained the roof without much difficulty and the others drew off to watch him essay the window of the Sun Parlor. To reach it he had to jump high enough to get his fingers over the window-ledge. He succeeded on the third attempt and then managed to pull himself up by his hands and squirm across. A minute later a window close at hand was noiselessly opened[83] and the others crawled through. Everything progressed favorably until Ned, who was bringing up the rear of the procession, stumbled on the stairs. Those ahead raced frantically upward and were out of sight when Mrs. Linn’s door opened.
“Who is it?” she cried anxiously.
Ned, rubbing his shins, replied reassuringly.
“It’s me, Marm; Ned; I—I’ve been getting water.”
“Oh! You most scared me to death, Ned. Did you find some?”
“Yes’m, lots.” Ned heard an explosion of stifled chuckles from above where seven faces lined the railing. “Very nice water it was too, Marm. Good night. I’m sorry I woke you up. I didn’t mean to, but I stumbled.”
“Good night.” The matron’s door closed softly and Ned went on up to be seized by the others and gently pummeled.
“‘Very nice water it was!’” snickered Spud. “Aren’t you ashamed to lie to Marm like that?”
“I didn’t lie,” chuckled Ned. “It was nice water. I’m going to bed. Come on, Cal. Good night, you chaps. Somebody’s got my pajamas,[84] I guess; these don’t fit; but they’ll do for tonight.”
Ten minutes later the only sound to be heard in West House was the gentle snoring of Dutch.