[CHAPTER XLI.]
THE MAN THE BOX.
“Where’s the water?”
Merriwell stirred and opened his eyes. He was usually an early riser, but an hour or two had been chopped out of his sleeping schedule during the night by Bleeker. For this reason he wasn’t so prompt in beating Clancy out of bed that morning, as was generally the case.
Clancy had just husked himself out of his pajamas and was standing wrathfully over a washtub—an empty washtub.
“Who’s trying to hold the morning dip out on me?” demanded Clancy, throwing a look of suspicion at Merry.
“How do I know?” asked Merry. “Don’t be so darned ambitious on a Sunday morning. Bottle up and let a fellow sleep.”
With that he knocked the red-headed chap off his balance with a pillow. There was a great racket as Clancy sat down hard in the empty tub.
“No one can do that to me and live,” hissed Clancy, wriggling out of the tub and rushing at his chum.
It was the duty of Woo Sing, Chinese roustabout in the hotel, to fill the tub with cold water. The first lad out of bed took his plunge, and the second one up had to empty and fill the tub for himself. Now Woo Sing, who was allowed an honorarium for his work, had failed in his duty.