"See here, Louis," I exclaimed, "there's only one way to tell where to throw that bottle."
"Yesh, Rufush," and he came to me as if I were his only friend on earth.
"The bottle will go through the window and it won't go through the mirror," I began.
"Dammie—I knew that," he snapped out, ready to weep.
"Well—you undo these things," nodding to the ropes about my arms, "and I'll find out which opens, and the one that opens is the window, and you can throw out the bottle."
"The very thing, Rufush, wise—sh—head—old—old—ol' solemncholy," and he ripped the ropes off me.
Now I offer no excuse for what I did. I could have opened that window and let myself out some distance ahead of the bottle, without involving Louis and his gang in greater mischief. What I did was not out of spite to the governor of a rival company; but mischief, as I said, was in the very air. Besides, the knaves had delayed me far into midnight, and I had no scruples about giving each twenty-four hours in the fort guardroom. I took a precautionary inspection of the window-sash. Yes, I was sure I could leap through, carrying out sash and all.
"Hurry—ol' tombshtone—governor—sh-comin'," urged Louis.
I made towards the window and fumbled at the sash.
"This doesn't open," said I, which was quite true, for I did not try to budge it. Then I went across to the mirror. "Neither does this," said I.