“Yes,” says I. “What?”
“Look at that fire-escape. See how it goes along right past that room we were in. The p-president’s office is next and it goes p-p-past his window. We kin git in that way.”
“He’d throw you off into the street,” says I.
“He couldn’t l-lift me,” says he, and grinned.
“Well,” says I, “I’m willin’ to go second if you’ll go first.”
“Come on,” says he.
In two jerks of a lamb’s tail we pushed up the window and got onto the fire-escape. Then we skittered along it, ducking past windows as quick as we could, until we were in front of a window that we judged was in the president’s room. We looked in. Sure enough, there he was leaning back in his chair and scowling and smoking like a chimney. His window was up a little from the bottom, but not enough for us to get in. We stood and watched him a minute. Then Mark says, “Here goes.”
He rapped loud on the window and then pushed it up.
“Good m-m-mornin’!” says he. “Kin we come in?”
The president looked at us like he was seeing spooks or something, and rubbed his eyes and jumped up, and Mark says: