“Get me out of here quick,” came the voice from the box, “or I’ll nab the lot of you!”
“Caramba!” gulped the Mexican. “Me, I no like to fool wit’ de box.”
“Mebbyso Melican man gettee stuck in box,” suggested Woo Sing. “Him wantee out. My no likee one piecee pidgin, too. We helpee him, huh?”
The object for which Merriwell had been striving had been accomplished. Peace reigned among the three in the back yard. It was a sloppy sort of peace, for all of them were more or less drenched, but still it was peace for all that.
A community of interest had drawn the three together. Just now, to their disordered fancies, the possibility of a term in jail loomed very large.
“I t’ink ve pedder hellup der feller oudt oof der pox,” said Fritz, after a period of harrowing reflection. “Silfa, you go fairst and I vill precede mit der chink.”
“You yourself go first to de box!” implored Woo Sing.
“Please, fat Melican man!” implored Woo Sing.
“Help, help!” came the voice, in a roar. “I’m listening to what you fellows say out there. When I get out, you can bet I’ll take care of the ones who don’t come to my rescue.”
As soon as this statement had had time to sink in, all three of those who were standing at a distance from the box rushed as one man to get near it and to release the supposed person inside.