“No!” bawled Allison.

“Ve-ry gently then, ve-ry gently,” replied Westby; and Allison, reaching
for the floor with his toes, had at last the satisfaction of feeling it.
He wriggled out of the noose and smoothed out his rumpled coat.

“Saved!” exclaimed Westby, peering down from the opening, and then he
added sorrowfully, “Saved, and no word of gratitude to his rescuer!”

“Now, boys, don’t stand round here any longer; we’ve had enough
nonsense; go to your rooms,” said Irving.

“Mr. Upton, Mr. Upton, Mr. Upton, sir!” clamored Westby, and the boys
lingered.

Irving looked up in exasperation. “What is it now?”

“May I come down, please, sir?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Carefully Westby descended the ladder, mumbling all the time sentences
of which the lingerers caught fragmentary scraps: “Horrible experience
that of Allison’s—dreadful situation to have been in—so fortunate that I
was at hand—the man who dares—reckless courage, ready resource—home
again!” He dropped to the floor, and raising his hand to his forehead,
saluted Irving.