They were startled by a crash from within the library; a heavy weight
seemed to have fallen (or to have been hurled) a considerable distance.
Stepping to the window, William beheld a large volume lying in a
distorted attitude at the foot of the wall opposite to that in which the
reading-lamp was a fixture. But of all human life the room was empty;
for Mr. Parcher had given up, and was now hastening to his bed in the
last faint hope of saving his reason.

His symptoms, however, all pointed to its having fled; and his wife,
looking up from some computations in laundry charges, had but a vision
of windmill gestures as he passed the door of her room. Then, not only
for her, but for the inoffensive people who lived in the other half of
the house, the closing of his own door took place in a really memorable
manner.

William, gazing upon the fallen Plutarch, had just offered the
explanation, "Somebody must 'a' thrown it at a bug or something, I
guess," when the second explosion sent its reverberations through the
house.

"My doodness!" Miss Pratt exclaimed, jumping up.

William laughed reassuringly, remaining calm. "It's only a door blew
shut up-stairs," he said "Let's sit down again--just the way we were?"

Unfortunately for him, Mr. Joe Bullitt now made his appearance at the
other end of the porch. Mr. Bullitt, though almost a year younger than
either William or Johnnie Watson, was of a turbulent and masterful
disposition. Moreover, in regard to Miss Pratt, his affections were
in as ardent a state as those of his rivals, and he lacked Johnnie's