“Such little accidents are disheartening,” the general gasped, as he struggled to his feet; “but we are above letting them deter us from our duty. Charge again! Only, be more careful.”
As he alone was blamable for the mishap, this advice was superfluous.
The ram was shouldered again, somewhat reluctantly; a furious charge was made; and the ram was brought against the “blood-bought” door with considerable force. A peal of thunder ensued, and the nowise strong door was shattered, fatally. Truly, this was effecting an entrance in warlike style.
But a catastrophe might have been the result. Henry was seated in the hall, not aware that the besiegers were at hand, and little dreaming that they intended to force an entrance. When the door was suddenly burst open, he was started into action in an unlooked for manner—the flying timbers striking his crazy chair so forcibly that it gave way, flinging him headlong to the floor.
More startled than hurt, Henry sprang to his feet, and recognizing Will and some of the others, shrieked, in accents unmistakably English: “Saved! Saved!”
The appearance presented by the rescued one was superlatively ridiculous. None of the boys had seen him attired in this disguise, and they were thunder-struck at the metamorphosis. Even Marmaduke stared aghast at the sight he beheld.
In a spirit of mischief Stephen had clothed Henry thus, saying, “Poor Marmaduke; he’ll never know; he’ll think you’re dressed up in the height of fashion. But he will think that Paris fashions, in crossing the seas, lose much of their beauty; and while your costume is all right, other people’s must be all wrong!”
As a hoodlum boy would have put it: He looked like all possessed!