As they went up stairs that night, in spite of the cautions given by the usher to be quiet, a sham scuffle ensued on purpose between Salisbury and Frank Digby, during which the former let his candle fall over the bannisters, and they were left in darkness; though, happily for the comfort of the doctor's dinner party, the second hall and back staircase arrangement effectually prevented the noise that ensued from reaching the drawing-room.
“Halloa there—you fellows! Mortimer, ahoa!” cried one of Salisbury's party; “bring your light.”
“You may come and fetch it if you want it,” shouted Reginald from his room.
“We're in the dark,” was the reply.
“So much the better,” said Reginald: “perhaps you will behave a little better now; if you want a light you may come and light your candle here.”
“Our candle's on the hall floor,” said another voice, amidst suppressed laughter.
“Pick it up, then.”
“We're desperately afraid of hobgoblins,” cried Frank, rushing into his room and blowing their candle out.
“What did you do that for, Frank?” asked several indignant voices.
“Because Salisbury and his myrmidons were coming to carry it off by a coup de main—he-he-he—” giggled Frank.