"Symonds, you beas—'-choo!"
A volley of sneezes threatened to lift the roof off. The Cripples were ready to die with sneezing and breathing the foul gases that pervaded the place, but Jack had not finished yet.
"I say—want to come out?" he inquired.
"Yes—shoo! Arr-rum! At-choo! Quickly, let us—at-choo!—out!"
"Well, listen," dictated the calm voice. "You must all go down on your knees and humbly beg to be let out—get that?"
"Yeshoo! Yes! Hurry up! Atchoo! Hishoo!"
"If I open the door and find you another way," insisted Jack, "I'll keep you here for another ten minutes!"
"All right! Hishoo! At-choo!"
"Right! All down on your knees?"
"Yes."