"What's that?" roared Professor Scotch, from the bed. "Are you crazy?"
Frank hustled the boy out of the room, whispering:
"Bring them up, and admit them without knocking."
He slipped a quarter into the boy's hand, and the little fellow grinned and hurried away.
Frank turned back to find Professor Scotch, in his night robe, standing square in the middle of the bed, wildly waving his arms, and roaring:
"Lock the door—barricade it—keep them out! If those desperadoes are admitted here, this room will run red with gore!"
"That's right, professor," agreed Frank. "We'll settle their hash right here and at once. We'll cook 'em."
"Whoop!" shouted the little professor, in his big, hoarse voice. "This is murder—assassination! Lock the door, I say! I am in no condition to receive visitors."
"Be calm, professor," chirped Frank, soothingly.
"Be calm, profissor," echoed Barney, serenely.