So mumbling, with the responsive titter still continuing below and
Irving standing there stern and red, Westby disappeared into the loft.
There was a moment’s silence, then a sudden clicking of a ratchet wheel,
and Allison began to rise rapidly towards the ceiling.

“A-ay!” cried Allison in amazement.

The boys burst out in delighted laughter.

“Westby! Westby! Stop that!” Irving’s voice was shrill with anger.

Allison became stationary once more, and Westby displayed an innocent,
surprised face at the loft opening.

“If there is any more nonsense in letting Allison down, I shall really
have to report you.” Irving’s voice rose tremulously to a high key; he
was trying hard to control it.

Westby gazed down with surprise. “Why, I guess I must have turned the
crank the wrong way, don’t you suppose I did, Mr. Upton?—Don’t worry,
Allison, old man; I’ll rescue you, never fear. I’ll try to lower you
gently, so that you won’t get hurt; you’ll call out if you find you’re
coming down too fast, won’t you?”

He withdrew his head, and presently the ratchet wheel clicked and
slowly, very slowly, Allison began to descend. When his feet were a
couple of inches from the floor, the descent stopped.

“All right now?” called Westby from above.