"Listen to her squeak, would you?" called out Bristles. "Again, fellows, for the honor of old Riverport! Together with a will!"
"Yo-heave-o!" cried Wagner, for the time being willing to be classed as one of the Riverport crowd, since he was working hand in glove with them.
The door cracked more than ever under this strain.
"She's giving way!" declared Bristles. "We're doing the business all right, boys!"
"Keep moving!" called out Sid, encouragingly, and wishing one of the workers might back out, so that he could find a chance to exercise his muscles on the job.
One, two, three more tremendous pushes and there was a crash as the door gave way before the united efforts of the three determined lads. Either the rusty lock had been unable to hold out longer, or else the hinges were in a state of complete collapse.
Indeed, so suddenly did the result occur that Bristles was unable to keep on his feet. His support being withdrawn, he went plunging headlong with the falling door.
"Ouch!" they heard him cry out, as he struggled there on the floor amid a whirl of dust.
"Are you hurt?" asked Fred, anxiously; for the other had come down pretty hard.
"N-no, not much, I guess," Bristles replied, as he began to struggle once more to his feet, aided by Fred's ready hand; but as the breath had been pretty well knocked out of him by the concussion, Bristles, for once, lacked words to explain his feelings.