"Don't struggle," said Sister in a stern professional voice. "Keep
your arms still, and you'll come down all right." A muffled screaming
and a dangerously increased agitation of the chute was the only reply.
Cook had quite lost her head and was having violent hysterics. Three
or four of us raced upstairs to aid Sister in keeping the top end
of the apparatus from jerking free, while several more went to the
assistance of the flustered Dutton.

Cook ceased to struggle for a moment, but only through exhaustion;
for when Sister seized the opportunity to repeat her advice a fresh
paroxysm came on, and everybody "stood to" at their posts again. Miss
Ropes conceived the idea of attaching a cord to Cook's armpits and
hauling her up again by main force. She dashed into the house, and
found a demoralised kitchen-maid calling incoherently for help down
the telephone.

Meanwhile Cook had had her worst spasm. We hung grimly on to the
chute, dismally confident that something would have to give way soon.
Suddenly there was a rending sound; the seam of the canvas ripped open
and a gaping slit appeared, through which Cook's freed arm flapped
wildly. Then the arm disappeared as the body to which it was attached
gathered momentum; and when Miss Ropes appeared with a length of cord
she was just in time to see her retainer return to the world--alive,
but practically inside out.

As soon as Cook recovered her breath it was apparent that her temper
was no longer placid. Forgetting entirely that it was by her own
choice that she had made the trip, she gave us all to understand
that she believed the whole incident to have been specially arranged
for her humiliation. She gave notice on the spot, and staggered