Tommy hastened upstairs, and Bobsey, entering the kitchen, made various pantomimic expressions of delight, such as inflating his cheeks, putting out his tongue, winking one eye and setting his fingers to his nose.
"Oh, my," he cried to the cook, "ain't he soft? I'm glad I ain't going far away from this place, 'cos I can 'ave no end of fun with 'im."
"What you done now?" asked Susan.
"You'll hear the racket, if you listen at the foot of the stairs," replied Bobsey.
They both adjourned to the spot mentioned, and eagerly listened to what was taking place above.
When Tommy entered the Rev. C. Floyd's room he found it full of thick coal smoke, which was pouring in dense volumes from the blocked-up chimney.
The windows were open, and so were the doors, but this only gave a partial relief.
"What on earth is the matter with the chimney?" asked Mr. Floyd.
"I stopped it, sir," replied Tommy.
"How?"