“I’m dead!” came faintly from Professor Gunn.
By this time scores of guests had reached the spot and stood asking questions. Others were coming. The whole house had been aroused.
“Dick,” said Brad, “I do believe the professor is smothering! She’s sitting on his head, and his struggles are growing weaker.”
“Lift her, Brad,” said Merriwell.
They caught hold of her and stood her on her feet.
“Water!” gasped the professor.
“Whisky!” wheezed the major.
They lay on their backs, having managed to roll over, gasping for breath.
Miss Ketchum looked down at them with an air of contempt.
“I hope,” she said, “that the proprietor has you both locked up as lunatics! You are the worst old fools I ever saw! So there!”