"As soon as they unlock my door, I'll come an' let ye out in the
mornin'," Tunk whispered.
"Are they going to lock me in?"
"Wouldn't wonder," said Tunk, soberly.
"What can ye 'spect from a couple o' dummed ol' maids like them?"
There was a note of long suffering in his half-whispered tone,
"Good night, mister," said he, with a look of dejection. "Orter
have a nightcap, er ye'll git hoar-frost on yer hair."
Trove was all a-shiver in the time it took him to undress, and his
breath came out of him in spreading shafts of steam. Sheets of
flannel and not less than half a dozen quilts and comfortables made
a cover, under which the heat of his own blood warmed his body. He
became uncomfortably aware of the presence of his head and face,
however. He could hear stealthy movements beyond the door, and
knew they were barricading it with furniture. Long before daylight
a hurried removal of the barricade awoke him. Then he heard a rap
at the door, and the excited voice of Tunk.
"Say, mister! come here quick," it called.
Sidney Trove leaped out of bed and into his trousers. He hurried
through the dark parlour, feeling his way around a clump of chairs
and stumbling over a sofa.
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