“Wh-what did you get?” Stacey asked hoarsely at last.
“A hoss,” replied the other, with a grin, holding up a toy.
“I got a doll,” said Stacey weakly.
And all at once, there in this burning room, it was as though something snapped within him. The strange barrier was down. The world came rushing up to meet him. He burst into a helpless fit of laughter.
“Do I—do I look as wild as you do?” he gasped, gazing at the other’s grimy face and singed hair.
“You shuah look pretty bad,” said the young man.
Stacey pulled himself together. “I should say we’d better get out of here,” he remarked.
“I reckon we had.”
They scrambled out over the smoking porch and down the ladder, surprised at the anxious group awaiting them.
Mr. Langdon seized Stacey’s hand. “Thank God, you’re down safely, Mr. Carroll!” he said. “We were worried, sir. You shouldn’t have stayed so long. You’re not burnt? Your clothes. . . . But the things you saved were very precious to me. That Meissonier . . .”