"When—when I get you out of here I am going to do something to you that you won't like, Teddy Tucker," panted Phil.
"What—what you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to pour a pitcher of cold water on your bare feet."
"Oh!"
The thought of it sent Teddy into a nervous chill. He would rather take a sound thrashing, at any time, than have that done to him. Now he struggled more desperately than ever to hold Phil under the bed. At last, however, the boys rolled out and Teddy's shoulders struck the cabin floor with a bang that sent the pitcher jingling in the wash bowl.
Phil sprang up, seized the water pitcher, making a threatening move with it toward his companion.
"Wow! Don't, don't!" howled Teddy.
Phil pursued him around the cabin, the water splashing from the pitcher to the floor. Teddy yelling like a wild Indian every time he stepped in the puddles.
The window was open and the band was playing just outside.
Suddenly a new plan occurred to Teddy—a plan whereby he might escape from his tormentor.