“I’ll see what I can do,” replied Melvin, “but I don’t think it pays to plead with people. It gives them the swelled head.”
The two visitors departed and Melvin buried himself in his books. Soon, however, he was interrupted again, this time by a very faint and timid knock.
“Hello, Littlefield,” he called to the slender, pale-faced boy, a year or two younger than Phil, who slipped in and closed the door carefully behind him. “Anything wrong?”
“They were at it again last night,” said the boy, with a look in which shame and fear were curiously blended. “They couldn’t get in because I had fixed the window so it couldn’t be opened enough to let any one in; but they banged something against the outside that frightened me pretty badly for a few minutes.”
“Did you go to sleep again?”
“Yes, after a while. I heard the clock strike two and three.”
“That’s better than you did the first time you were disturbed.”
“Oh, yes; the time the fellow stuck his head in at midnight and gave that unearthly yell, I had a terrible shock. I don’t think I slept a wink that night.”
“I wish we knew when these visitors were likely to appear again,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “We might have some fun ourselves.”
“I think they are coming to-night,” said Littlefield.